Max, with Marcia clinging to his hand and pressing as close to him as she could, inched his way toward the man selling tickets. The line was long and still stretched out behind them, though it was nearing time for the game to start.
“I hope we can get in,” Max whispered, squeezing their ticket money tightly in his hand. “We just have to.”
They did get in and quickly found seats near the hot spot where they could see the dugout of the Brookfield Sluggers. Behind the wire fencing it was difficult to see who the players were, and Max turned to his score card to see what number Maxwell Burton was.
When the teams came out on the field, Max was delighted that his favorite player was an infielder on their side of the field. “There he is, Marsh,” Max exclaimed, pointing. “I just wish we could talk to him.”
Marcia said nothing, but watched the players below them as the game got underway. It was an exciting start to the game and when player number 28, Maxwell Burton, caught a ball making the third out, both Marcia and Max cheered.
“Maybe we can!” Max announced suddenly, nudging his sister. “Maybe we can.”
Marcia gave him a puzzled look. “Can what?”
“Can get to talk for a minute to Maxwell Burton. After the game we might be able to talk for a minute before they leave, if we wait outside for them.”
Marcia nodded but said nothing. Max didn’t really expect a reply.
It was a great game, everyone said so. In the fourth inning the Brookfield Sluggers struck out the Bentenville Indians with three up and three down. At the top of the sixth, the game was tied seven to seven, with one out and the bases loaded. Max fairly held his breath as the pitcher let fly the first pitch. It was a ball. The second pitch was also a ball, and Max groaned. The next was a called strike and the batter thumped his bat against home-plate and scowled Taking a new grip on the bat, he toed the dirt and waited. Then the field was shattered by the sound of a sharp crack as the bat made connection with the oncoming ball. Up, up, up into the blue sky it sailed as everyone watched, breathless. Like a falling star it dropped suddenly, but no one was under it!
“Get it!” Max screamed.
Whether Number 28 heard him or not, no one knew, but with glove outstretched, Maxwell Burton made a dive and caught the ball before it hit the ground. Before he even got to his feet, he flipped the ball to second catching the runner off the base.
The game continued tied for two more innings.
Then, in the top of the ninth, with one man on, the Bentenville Indians managed to break the tie with a home run before the last man struck out. Max was on the edge of his seat as the Sluggers came up to bat for the last time. He took no notice of those around him or the fact that his fist was clutching the score card in a grip that left his knuckles white.
The lead off batter managed to reach first base just as the baseman leapt up to snag the hight thrown ball. In that brief split second of time his foot left the bag and the runner was safe. The next hitter laid down a perfect bunt beating the throw to first and advancing his teammate to second. Maxwell Burton was up.
“Oh, I don’t think I can watch,” Max heard Marcia whisper beside him. “He’s struck out the last two times he’s been up.”
“All the more reason he’s going to hit it now.”
But player number 28 did not hit the ball. He waited out the erratic throws of a suddenly nervous pitcher and trotted down to first on a walk, and bringing up the team’s strongest batter. Swinging on the first pitch, the Brookfield Slugger’s team captain broke his bat and sent the ball sailing over the fence for a grand slam home run. The crowd went wild as player after player rounded third and jogged for home. The Brookfield Sluggers had won the game.
As soon as the game was officially over, Max grabbed his sister’s hand and fought his way through the throng, dragging Marcia with him. He didn’t want to miss his only chance to talk with his hero. There was no opportunity for either one to say anything until they had reached a place near the door where the Brookfield Sluggers would come out.
“I hope they come soon,” Marcia murmured at last, as the crowds spilling around them thinned out and they were left alone.
“They will,” Max promised, hoping against hope that he would at last be able to meet the player he so admired.
Time ticked by. “Max, it’s getting late–” Marcia began but stopped suddenly as the door opened and the players came out laughing and talking.
“Mr. Burton,” Max said, stepping forward as that player approached. “Would you sign my score card?”
The player, tall, lean, and with a friendly grin, held out his hand. “Sure thing, kid.”
“Hurry it up, Burton,” someone yelled, “we’ve got to get on the road.”
Maxwell Burton signed his name with a flourish and flashed a grin at the brother and sister. “Gotta run, kids.” That was all, and he jogged away to join his team mates while Max stood staring after him, speechless.
It wasn’t until Marcia tugged at his arm that his mind returned from its wanderings. “Come on, Max, we’re going to be awfully late for supper and Aunt Kate won’t be happy.”
Starting guiltily, Max turned. “I forgot about supper. Let’s hurry.”
The End
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