Tagged Out by Joyce Grant

Author:Joyce Grant
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lorimer
Published: 2016-07-24T16:00:00+00:00

10

Mudball

When Gnash woke up the next morning it was pouring rain. He looked at his phone and saw that the weather forecast was calling for heavy rain for the whole day.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gnash’s grandfather asked him as he headed out the door, his baseball bag slung over one shoulder.

Gnash lived with his grandparents, and he couldn’t recall the last time his grandfather had said anything nice to him — unless Gnash hit a home run. Then his grandfather was all smiles and all, “That’s my boy!” Gnash had only hit two home runs since he’d started playing baseball. It was a long time to wait between pats on the back.

Gnash stopped in his tracks. He looked down. “To the Pits,” he said quietly.

“Nice. Gonna go practice with your new boyfriends?” his grandfather sneered.

Gnash tried to sidle past his grandfather. But, although he was much older, the man was still imposing. His grandfather stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Are you gonna play baseball . . . or something else with your pals?” He smirked.

Gnash was never sure if he was meant to laugh along with his grandfather’s mean jokes.

“Baseball,” he mumbled, and made another attempt to get by.

“Naaa-aaash,” his grandmother called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, Gramma?” Gnash moved away from his grandfather and ducked into the small kitchen.

His grandmother was a petite woman. Her back was hunched from years of washing dishes at the small apartment’s low sink. “It’s raining out. Are you going to be warm enough?” She held a cereal bowl in one hand and a dish towel in the other.

Gnash walked over to the tiny woman and hugged her. He kissed the top of her wiry, grey top-knot. “I’ll be fine, Gramma, thanks. If it rains any harder, I’ll come home.”

He tucked a stray wisp of grey hair behind her ear and she smiled at him. “Say something nice to your grandfather,” she said. “He worries about you.”

“I know he does, Gramma,” said Gnash, giving her a squeeze.

Fortunately, his grandfather was nowhere to be seen as Gnash left the apartment. He took the stairs two at a time down to the rainy sidewalk.

Even if the rain stopped before the afternoon, Gnash knew, there would be no way the team could practice. The diamonds at Christie Pits were notorious for flooding. The water would collect on the infield and form puddles that no amount of sand could soak up. At the Pits, rainouts were a regular occurrence.

Even so, by the time Gnash reached the park, most of the team was huddled around Jock. He was smiling and laughing in the streaming rain.

“And whoever’s left standing is up next,” Jock was saying.

“Wait, wait, what are we talking about?” interrupted Gnash as he reached them.

“Mudball!” said Sebastian, his face framed by rain-soaked tendrils of hair. “Jock’s teaching us how to play.”

“Gee, that sounds like a fun baby-game,” said Gnash. The rain was drizzling uncomfortably down his back.

“We used to play it whenever we got rained out back home,” said Jock.

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