Sparkplug

“So next Sunday, you want me and Ryan to pitch?” I asked in disbelief.  Apparently, Matt and Kid exchanged a few words after the Stalls and Crusaders game.  Kid made a bet, and Matt, who can’t back down from a bet for his life, accepted it.  The gang had piled onto the porch to talk everything over.

          “Yeah, I was tired of him thinking that you guys were bad, because you’re not.  We play for fun, and they play for popularity.  Who do you think plays the best? Us. So I agreed,” Matt said, shrugging his shoulders.  He looked around at us, and we were all staring at him in disbelief.

          “What if they beat us?” Adam asked, being the scapegoat for all of us wondering the same thing.

          “Matt, face the facts.  You guys practice every single day as a team.  We can’t beat that amount of practice, no matter how hard we try now.” Drew said uncertainly.

          “Guys, have you seen Stalls baseball lately? They don’t play as a team.  Until they know how to be a team together, which they will not by Sunday, we will have a huge chance of beating them!” Matt exclaimed.

          Joey had been sitting back from the conversation, looking distant.  He finally put his word in, “Guys, it’s terrible.  You don’t see how they have fistfights at practice, and how they ask people to take sides.  That’s not what a team is about. I wouldn’t know any better if it wasn’t for you guys. Ditto for Matt.”

          It had grown dark, and the porch lights finally turned on.  I could see the look in Matt’s face; he had confidence in us.  It wasn’t because of the bet; it was because he wanted to give us a chance to prove ourselves.

          “I’m in,” Ryan said simply, and walked back into my house.

          Matt faced the rest of us; Mike, Drew, Adam, Zac, and I.

          He looked to me first.  His green eyes shone in the dim lights, begging me to play.  I broke finally.

          “I’m in, too. Then rest of you have less to lose than I do, so I expect you guys to join,” I quickly said, and I walked into the house.

          Ryan sat at the table, eating my bag of Oreos. My prized Oreos.

          “RYAN!” I yelled, and wrestled him for my bag of Oreos.

          “I’ll give them to you,” he exclaimed with a half-eaten Oreo in his mouth.  He threw the bag at me.

          I snatched them back, and turned to see the others watching us.  They gave me looks of mild horror.

          “What, he took my Oreos,” I said nonchalantly, as if nothing happened.  I sat on the counter, and nibbled on one innocently.

          “Is everyone in on the whole Stalls verse Sandlot game?” Ryan said, making the whole situation slightly less awkward.