I was only a few steps behind him, also eager to leave the dugout for a chance to hit.
Garret's name was announced. He knocked his bat against his cleats and headed for the batter's box. He got ready as did the pitcher. I was more than a little jealous that he was getting pitched to but I wasn't. I didn't think there was that much of a difference between him and me. Too bad our averages said otherwise.
Garret was late on the first pitch, fouling it back. The second pitch, he made solid contact, pulling the ball to right field. The outfielder chased it back to the warning track, made a jump, and came down with the ball, causing the crowd to groan.
I gave Garret a look of sympathy as he came back, but he didn't look bothered. He just smiled and gave me a pat on the top of my helmet.
