Manny Cleide climbed the dugout steps, hefted his bat a couple of times, and then knelt in the on-deck circle.
On the mound, Nashville reliever José Zamora was finishing his warm-up tosses, and he could hear the “pop” of the ball hitting the catcher’s mitt even through the buzz of the near-sellout crowd at Black Sox Park.
Over Zamora’s shoulder, Cleide could see the scoreboard clock nearing midnight.
The game between the Sox and Blue Birds on a warm but drizzly Sunday evening in July had stretched into the 14th inning and had passed the 4-hour mark an inning or so ago.
Manny Cleide
Zamora … Zamora …
The pitcher was into his windup, his leg kicked high, his arm coming over the top to unleash a formidable fastball that Torres took at the belt. Strike one.
Torres, a wizard in the field who could play any number of positions at an elite level, was a light hitter. To put it kindly.
Cleide winced as he watched his teammate take the strike. “Man,” he thought, “you gotta swing at that pitch. What you thinkin?”
Now his memory of Zamora came flooding back: power pitcher who could break 100 mph on the radar gun, nasty fastball, strong curve, OK changeup. Good to great velocity, but not much movement.
As Cleide ticked through his mental book on Zamora, the count on Torres quickly went to 0-2 on a weak swinging strike and then to 1-2 on a curve that just missed the corner of the plate.
“Guys can take Zamora deep, but that’s not likely gonna happen here. Joaquin will be lucky just to make contact. “And I … well, the long ball isn’t really my game. Think, Manny. What’s your plan?”
Another quick ball on a fastball up and in, and then Zamora came back to Torres with another heater that looked about knee high. Torres managed a swing, but was late and over the top … strike three.
As he stepped into the box, he could hear the field announcer give his name and the ripple of applause that greeted it. Cleide shook his head. No time for that. Get a plan, get a plan.
He looked down the line and noted the third baseman playing just left of the bag and wondered: Could I drop a bunt?
Although Cleide was one the best in the Brewster Baseball Association at bunting for base hits, this did not look like an ideal opportunity. The third baseman wasn’t playing up, exactly, but he wasn’t far behind the bag, either.
“He must’ve read the scouting report,” Cleide thought. Then he focused his attention on Zamora.
The Bluebirds’ reliever stood just under 6 feet tall and couldn’t weigh much more than 180, and yet … that arm was something else. Coiled power.
Cleide took a couple of practice swings and then dug in, focusing all his concentration on Zamora’s motion. He saw the arm come over the top … “looks like heat … but high … too high … take it … take it.”
The ball hit the catcher’s mitt with a “thwack,” but up. Shoulder high. The count went to 1-0, and Cleide could hear the crowd buzzing.
He stepped out and looked down at his third base coach running through a set of meaningless signs.
Cleide knew the crowd was hoping for a game-ending homer here, but the odds were dead against that. While Manny had hit a few home runs this year, he wasn’t a power hitter. Not much of one, anyway. And the park … Sox Park was brand new, but already had a fearsome reputation as a pitcher’s haven.
So, no … don’t try to kill the ball … give it a decent swing and see if you can drive one into the right-center alley … if I can get into scoring position, the RBI boys will be coming up … see if Zamora will throw that changeup … he didn’t show it to Torres, and he hasn’t thrown one to me yet …
He stepped back in, twirled the bat once, twice, then stilled himself. See if he throws the change …
Zamora was through his windup and kick and Cleide could see the ball leave the pitcher’s hand and see the spin … curve … take it … take it … take it …
José Zamora
Ok, Manny … this is what you like … ahead in the count … only one out … you can do this … if it’s not the change we’ll take it … you got room to maneuver now … if he throws that change, though, drive it … get extras …
Cleide could hear the crowd roaring now and saw fans down the third base line getting to their feet.
Does he feel the heat … Zamora? … He’s gotta be a little nervous, right? … He’s thrown the heat and the curve … he’ll think he can get that weakass change by me, but you can’t José … I’m lookin’ for it … waitin’ on it … throw that shit, José …
Cleide took one practice swing, then two, then settled in as Zamora went into his windup, his kick, his arm coming over the top and releasing the ball.
Looks like the heat … but no … it’s slow … slow … the weakass change … wait on it … wait on it …. NOW!!!!
To Cleide, it seemed as if the ball was traveling in slow motion, across the plate and just a bit down. He started his swing a touch low to meet it, then powered the bat upwards through the zone. He could feel the contact, hard and true.
The “crack” as ball met bat and then rocketed down the line towards the rightfield stands resounded throughout the stadium, cutting through the cheers and scream to register on 34,000 sets of eardrums.
With the sound, Cleide launched from the batter’s box, flinging the bat away and moving at top speed …
Good hit … good hit … dig for two … dig for two …
And then he saw the first baseman’s head as he followed the ball’s majestic arc down the line, dropping his hands helplessly to his side. The crowd’s deafening, animal roar told Manny the rest as he slowed from sprint to trot nearing first.
Power might not be his usual game, but tonight it was … that was home run number nine on the year and maybe the sweetest. No, definitely the sweetest.
As he rounded second, Cleide could see his teammates pouring from their dugout and sense the Bluebirds trudging back towards theirs.
Now, he was jogging down the third base line, listening to the screams of the crowd and as he prepared to cross home plate into the embrace of his excited teammates.
A walk-off, man. Nothin’ better.
As he prepared for the tumult of congratulations, Cleide glanced one last time towards the field and caught a glimpse of Zamora, head down as he neared the visitors’ dugout.
Shouldn’t have done it, man. Should never throw Manny that weakass change.
Then he laughed, and surrendered to joy.