Chapter 28

In his years of being involved with athletics, Cole had learned many lessons. Some he remembered, of course, others were forgotten. He had known the thrill of victory at the highest level and the pain of defeat.

He had watched young boys become men and seen the heartbreak of boys who had gave everything but discovered it was not enough. Cole had two biological sons, but in reality, had hundreds of sons, all the boys who put on the uniforms of the Petros Panthers and stepped out on the fields or courts, seeking glory for their school and themselves.

It was impossible to count the number of his players who went on to a successful life, using the character and work ethic they first learned by parents and later reinforced and added to by a coach who settled for nothing less.

Cole had learned many things along the way also, of course. He probably was not ready to be a head coach when he started and sometimes Cole wondered if being the head coach in all three sports was the right thing to do.

He was one of the last of the dinosaurs and while it was difficult and stressful, Cole wanted to keep it this way as long as possible.

Cole had the dream again that night, a painful reminder of an event that almost ended his coaching career. For once, Cole knew his boys were the best team in the state. It was the previous spring when everything seemed to come together.

After the struggles in football and basketball, the Panthers made up for it in baseball. Two years ago, Petros roared through the season and got even tougher in the playoffs. Petros reached the state finals and almost pulled off a huge upset over Jamison, a school with a tradition in baseball unlike any other.

Petros lost that game, 6-5, getting the tying run thrown out at the plate in the bottom of the seventh and final inning. But the success of that team set the stage for last year’s greatness. The Panthers were 27-2 in the regular season, then flew through the playoffs, simply destroying all opponents.

In the area finals, Petros got its revenge for years of frustration, shelling Jamison 11-2 to move on to the state tournament and a likely showdown with second-ranked Brownsville. Jamison came back through the loser’s bracket to also reach the state tournament as the top two teams from each area made the state tournament.

After getting to state, Petros blew away the first two opponents, winning those games without breaking a sweat.

Jamison was on the other side of the bracket and won its opener then played Brownsville in the semifinals, winning one of the best games in tournament history, 1-0, in twelve innings, setting up a rematch with Petros in the finals.

Cole had many friends in the coaching profession. Karl Slate, the longtime coach at Jamison, was not one of them. An abusive man who cared nothing about anything or anybody other than himself and winning, he did whatever it took to win, no matter who or what it hurt.

Everything was set up in Petros’ favor. Steve Hopfer, probably the best baseball player Cole had ever coached, was rested and would be on the mound. Steve was unbeaten on the season, practically unhittable.

The game started as everybody expected on a miserably hot May afternoon. The Panthers scored two runs in the second and had the bases loaded in the top of the third with no outs.

Jamison changed pitchers. Slate brought in his son, Warren, a junior right-hander, to try and stop the bleeding.

Derwin Lane was up, one of the few underclassmen to see playing time.

Warren came with the heat, a fastball the scouts were already drooling over. But Derwin caught the ball with the meat of his bat, sending a scorching line drive down the line so hard the third baseman barely had time to react, finally throwing up his glove in self-defense. Somehow the ball hit the glove, dropped to the ground in front of him, and he picked it up. The Jamison player stepped on third for the force and threw home to get the runner at the plate.

The next batter flew out, ending the inning. The game then turned into a pitcher’s duel in the hottest day in May anybody remembered.

Steve was masterful, allowing only one baserunner in the first five innings. But by the sixth inning, he was starting to tire. His fastball had lost some of its zip and the curve was not bending as much.

He did come through with a solo homer in the top of sixth to increase the Panthers’ lead to 3-0.

Jamison tried to rally in the bottom half of the inning, getting two runners on base before Steve bore down and retired the side.

Steve was worn out. Cole knew it and considered bringing in Kenneth Williams, who was fresh and almost as good a pitcher as Steve.

After the Panthers were retired in the top of the seventh, all Petros had to do was get three outs and a state championship trophy would finally go home with the Panthers.

Cole approached Steve as he started out to the mound.

“You good?” Cole asked.

“I’m fine,” Steve answered, the answer his coach expected.

Steve got the first two batters out, but both flied out deep in the outfield and also went deep into the count, making the Petros pitcher work even harder.

It was down to one out and Petros’ fans stood, ready to celebrate the school’s first state championship. Steve ran the count to 3-2 on the next batter then threw a curveball that appeared to be his best pitch of the day. As the ball hit the catcher’s mitt, all the Panthers started celebrating. The batter even dropped his bat and put his hands on his head, expecting to make the long walk back to the dugout after making the last out.

But the home-plate umpire’s hand never shot out to indicate a strike and he continued standing at the plate, looking at the batter, then motioned toward first base. The batter saw this and realized the umpire had called it a ball.

The Panthers’ celebration ended and Cole got a bad feeling. He wanted to throw a tantrum, but knew it would only upset his players. He glared at the umpire, but could not get his attention.

The next batter quickly had two strikes on him and no balls when Steve tried to sneak a fastball past. The batter thew his bat out and made enough contact to send a blooper into right field.

The hit sent the runner to third base, giving Jamison runners at the corners. Petros still needed only one out.

Jamison’s next batter worked the count full, but this time the pitch wasn’t even close to the strike zone. The fourth ball sent the batter to first base, filling the bases and bringing up the go-ahead run.

Cole looked over in the on-deck circle and sat the next hitter was Warren Slate, who he disliked almost as much as his father. Warren had been the pitcher when Petros pounded the Tigers the week before and in a fit had thrown at and hit several Panthers.

This would make it even sweeter, getting him out for the final out. Warren had struck out in both previous at bats today, not even getting close to any of the pitches.

With Jamison’s fans standing and cheering, Cole called time to go talk with Steve. Kenneth was warmed up and ready, waiting for the call. Cole intended to replace Steve when he got to the mound.

His senior pitcher was on his last legs, the sweat pouring off his face, his white jersey drenched in sweat. Steve stood on the mound, glaring at his coach.

“Great game, Steve,” Cole complimented. “We’re gonna bring in Kenneth and finish this thing.”

Steve dropped his head, stood like that for a second then looked back at his coach, a look of determination that Cole would never forget.

“I’m gonna finish this,” Steve responded. “I can get him.”

Cole respected Steve probably more than any player he ever coached. Steve came from a poor family, living alone with a mother who worked two jobs to support herself and her children. Steve also worked whenever he was not at school or playing ball.

“Okay,” was all Cole could think of to say.

Steve walked off the mound, looked toward centerfield and stared in that direction. He paused for an instant, trying to get his breath.

As Cole walked off the field, he wondered if this was a mistake. The players in the dugout stood again and hollered encouragement. They had seen Steve come through so many times before over the last three years and expected to see it again.

The first pitch was pure heat, thrown on the black part of the inside of the plate. Warren could do nothing but watch the ball explode past him. The second pitch was just like the first, a fastball low and away, catching the outside of the plate. The count was 0-2 and the roar from the crowd grew even louder, everybody on Petros’ side ready to rush the field and celebrate.

Steve took another deep breath and stepped on the rubber. He brought the heat again, a fastball on the inside. As soon as the pitch hit the catcher’s glove, the Panthers started celebrating again, but the umpire never called it a strike.

Warren’s knees had buckled on the pitch. Seeing that he got a second life, he smiled at Steve and started mouthing again.

Steve took a second to regain his composure. That was the second time the umpire’s calls had kept the game from ending. But now all he had to do was fire one more pitch past the batter and the Panthers would hoist the gold ball.

He paused another second to get his breath. Steve toed the rubber, went into his windup and fired the pitch, a blazing fastball that was almost as fast as his pitches during the first inning.

Warren Slate was not your average punch-and-Judy hitter. With him, it was either feast or famine. Sixteen baseballs had left the yard after meeting his aluminum bat that year.

He swung with everything he had, leaving nothing in the bag. Usually when a person swung like that, the batter touched nothing but air.

But this time, the bat connected with the ball, making a noise like nobody had heard before. Steve’s pitch was thrown hard and came back even harder.

The ball simply exploded off the bat. Steve lowered his head instantly, praying for some kind of miracle. Cole slumped forward, nearly losing his balance. As the rocket soared to the left-field fence, Petros’ fans hoped the ball would somehow stay in the park.

Cole refused to watch. He knew where the ball was headed and that there wasn’t enough room in any baseball stadium to keep that ball in the park.

Warren stood at the plate, celebrating with his arms held high over his head. He turned and mouthed the Petros bench then began a slow jog while watching the ball disappear into the distance, clearing the outfield fence by at least fifty yards.

He circled the bases, going at a pace that seemed to be in slow motion. Warren stopped before stepping on the home plate, looked over at the Petros dugout and made an obscene gesture toward the Panthers.

Cole was more concerned with his players than an immature act by a spoiled brat. Steve was down on his knees on the mound, his head buried in his hands. The other players were reacting the same way, not believing their state championship had been ripped away.

The memory haunted Cole to this day. He wished somehow to go back in time and put Kenneth in to get the final out, but also knew Steve’s last pitch had been better than anything he ever threw.

Cole seldom dreamed, but this dream was a frequent visitor, one he wished could be erased.

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Of the ten teams on Petros’ schedule, the Panthers played nine the previous year, and usually played most of these teams every year.

The lone exception was this week’s opponent, Forrester. Petros had not played the Grizzlies since Cole had been coach because of the distance between the two schools and Forrester was a Class 3A school until this year.

This was a game that bothered Cole ever since it was announced Forrester was dropping down a class and joining the Panthers’ district. Forrester was replacing Walker Creek, a school that had struggled for years. The Grizzlies were loaded with athletes, a school that had been successful in 3A and was now ranked ninth in 2A.

Forrester was unbeaten and won both its district games in blowouts.

The Grizzlies were always good in football, but even better in basketball. Forrester had won a state championship in basketball two years ago and expected to be one of the better teams in 2A this season.

Not many teams had the athletes and speed of Forrester. Petros had good speed this year, but looked slow compared to the Grizzlies.

He and his two sons were watching film of Forrester’s blowout of Loving. They were in the family room of their house, the lights turned down low. Cole was sitting in his chair, remote in his hand. Lloyd had taken over the couch after returning home so Lucky was lying on the floor close to his father.

A ceiling fan was going full speed overhead but it was still a little stuffy in the room. They all wore shorts and tee-shirts, except for Lloyd, who didn’t bother with a shirt.

“We’ve got our work cut out for us,” Cole proclaimed, no surprise to his sons, who had watched the same film and come to the same conclusion.

“They’ve got some studs,” said Lloyd. “I’m not real impressed with the line, though.”

“Neither am I,” Cole agreed.

“We can move the ball on their defense,” Lucky added. “Our backs aren’t as fast but we aren’t slow, either.”

Cole and Lloyd looked at each other and smiled.

“No, but I wouldn’t wanna race those guys,” Lloyd stated.

“We’ll have to contain the big plays,” Cole pointed out. “If we keep the ball away from them and keep them from getting big plays, they'll get frustrated."

“I wish they were still in 3A,” Lloyd said.

“Well, they aren’t,” Lucky mentioned. “If we play good, we’ll beat them.”

“You know, they’re a good team with lots of speed,” Cole continued, “but you have to remember that Forrester hasn’t played anybody.”

“Yeah, but they’re averaging over 40 points a game,” Lloyd reminded his father. “I don’t care if you play the School of the Blind, that’s pretty good.”

“The key is not letting them get outside,” Cole advised. “We need to keep them inside and swarm all over them.”

“We might not break the long runs on them but our line will be able to whip their line,” Lucky mentioned.

“Forrester’s defense is fast, but small,” Lloyd added.

They continued watching film, seeing other teams seem to bottle up the Grizzlies, then give up a big play. It was repeated several times, a fact not lost on anybody watching the film.

All the opponents moved the ball and scored some points, but could not keep Forrester’s speed contained.

The Panthers spent the week working extra hard on defense and special teams, two areas Cole knew would be important to win this game, even more so than usual. For the Blackshirts, Ichabod stressed the importance of stretching the plays out and not letting Forrester’s backs get outside.

For the two defensive ends, Sam Roberts and Stewart Andrews, this would be their biggest game of the year so far, easily their biggest challenge. Petros’ ends were not all that big, smaller than most, but they were good athletes and quick, smart and did exactly as they were coached.

Cole was also worried about giving up the big plays on special teams, which made Jeremy’s kicks and the coverage even more important. He had not seen many teams with this much speed and Cole worried about giving the Grizzlies the ball in a wide-open field.

On the kickoffs and punts, Cole was going to use his best players, trying everything to keep the Grizzlies from coming up with big plays on special teams.

While he was concerned with Forrester’s return teams, he noticed some areas on the special teams Petros could take advantage of.

The main one was Forrester’s punting team. The Grizzlies had not punted much, which made sense because they averaged over 40 points a game, and they trouble getting punts off. While nobody had blocked a punt against Forrester, the opportunity was definitely there.

Cole also noticed the Grizzlies made a lot of other mental mistakes and tended to get careless, turning the ball over at least twice a game.

All this made Cole wonder how well the Grizzlies were coached, or if they just would not take coaching.

He talked to several coaches in 3A about Forrester and all the coaches said the same thing. If the Grizzlies could not break the big plays, they got frustrated. Forrester also had trouble stopping a good offense that ran right at them.

Cole liked what he saw out of the offense the previous week running the wishbone. The Panthers spent a lot of time practicing that formation as Cole expected to use it against the Grizzlies.

He felt like Happy or Derwin could have success running up the middle. D.J., Skip and Lucky would have some opportunities to pick up good yardage also, but would have trouble getting outside against the Grizzlies.

Chapter 29