Full Count

Spring 2009

 

Full Count (extended excerpt)

By Emily Cook

Chapter 9:

Brandon stomped on the white, rubber plate a few times to mark the dirt with size nine cleat imprints. He felt the worn leather in his left hand and adjusted his hat with the glove on his right. He stared at Kevin’s face behind his dark catcher mask. The baseball made contact with the worn leather glove. Brandon looked over at Danny covering first who gave him a nod of confidence and a wink. Brandon then turned his neck to face the eyes of the husky Brown batter who was in a crouched position swinging the bat over his head. Brandon furrowed his eyebrows as he progressed into a full windup. He took a small rocker step back and made a small turn to pivot his cleat parallel with the rubber. He took his time in lifting his left leg into the balance position, being careful not to swing his leg, with his toe pointing down. When his knee almost touched his chin, he unleashed the fury upon the Brown batter. As he glided outward in Kevin’s direction with his toes pointed to his target he gripped the laced sphere harder between his knuckles. In one fast whipping motion he released the baseball with the weight of his entire body behind the motion.

The only sounds that were heard by the crowd and players was the whoosh of the throw followed by the hard clap from Kevin’s glove on the leather ball. Applause rose from the crowd as Yale pennants waved in the air.

Brandon looked up to the section of the bleachers his mom and dad occupied every season. He saw his mom’s blonde bob bounce as she applauded her son’s strike. Brandon didn’t know if the dirt had gotten in his eyes or if he was starting to tear up. He closed his eyes briefly and then opened to the sound of his brother’s praise. Andrew and Tyler were standing on either side of his mom wearing matching Yale baseball caps contributing to the applause.

“Why the hell did I look over there,” Brandon muttered to himself as he raised his glove to his nose and sniffled. “He’s not here.”

Trying to clear his thoughts he heard Jenn’s voice yelling, “Come on Brandon! Two more just like that one.” She was over by the dugout but he didn’t turn in her direction.

“Hey batter, batter, batter,” said the husky ball player. He’d assumed the crouched position in the batter’s box. A determined looked pressed upon his face indicated to Brandon he wasn’t about to let another strike go by.

“Let’s go Brandon,” Danny called from first base. “He’s not running anywhere.”

With a half smile on his face Brandon’s glove and ball locked in position above his head as he launched into full windup position again. While his hands were in the raised position, he gripped the ball with his middle and index fingers together, with the fingers across the seams of the ball at the widest part. He knew if he let the ball touch the palm of his hand he wouldn’t generate enough topspin behind the curveball to reach home plate. One again he winded up his knee and threw his right arm behind him with glove outstretched pointing in the direction of Kevin’s glove. He ripped the ball over home plate as the Brown batter over swung his Louisville bat.

“Swing and a miss. Swing and f—ing miss,” Mike laughed. “You got it Mitchell.”

Brandon smiled underneath the navy blue bill of his hat. The batter was now frustrated as he hocked a large loogie and spat it towards the pitcher’s mound. Brandon could see the blood boiling from the popping veins in his meaty neck.

“Whittington, throw it back. Let’s keep this game going so I can get home for dinner,” Coach Cox yelled at the catcher.

Kevin returned the baseball with a hard throw to Brandon’s glove.

“Come on Son, one more strike,” Coach Cox said to Brandon from his locked position against the metal dugout fence. He clapped a few times and then took the play clipboard out from its secure location underneath his armpit.

Brandon shook his head when the word Son reached his ears. He wound up again, but this time not a full windup and threw the husky batter a high ball. Two more identical pitches followed with identical results.

“FULL COUNT,” the umpired bellowed as he raised two fingers on his right hand and his middle three on the left.

“Mitchell, what are you doing? Get your f—ing head back in the game!” Mike called from second.

“Shut up, Mike,” Danny called back from first. “He’ll get it done.” Danny eased up from the ready position and took a few steps toward the pitcher’s mound. “Brandon, do it for your old man.”

Brandon kept his eyes locked on the batter and breathed heavily. He felt a familiar lump rise in his throat and he coughed to release it. With the retrieved ball in his right hand for the sixth time in one batting series he decided to throw the curve ball again, his dad’s favorite pitch. Deciding on a full windup once more, he raised his arms in exact position. Upon thick release of the ball he let out a groan of frustration and his neck darted from Kevin’s glove to where his mom was sitting in the bleachers. A split second of unfocused attention he release the ball trying to recover looking at his target.

Crack.

As the sound of leather making solid contact with metal broke the silence in Yale Field, Brandon unleashed a blood-curdling scream from the mound. The intended, hard, line-drive by the husky batter ricocheted off the side of Brandon’s face. The ball was halted by the fleshy skin between Brandon’s temple and ear. Both fell to the ground with a thud.

The audience gasped as the infield stood in position with shock written across their faces. All the players were immobile as if they were standing in hardened cement.

“BRANDON!” yelled Mary Mitchell from her standing position in the bleachers. Her hands flung up to cover her ghastly white face. “BRANDON”

Danny was the first to move and reached Brandon before Coach Cox and the athletic trainers could make it halfway across the field. Red blood was pouring out of Brandon’s ear. Brandon lay screaming in pain with both arms covering his head.

“Brandon! Brandon, where did it hit you?” Danny said as his voice cracked from uneasy nerves.

Brandon’s hat lay three feet from his body. The direct hit to the face caused Brandon to blackout. His uncovered brown hair mixed with the shed blood and brown dirt from the mound. Danny noticed the right side of Brandon’s face swell with purple blotches the size of plums. His veins around his eye engorged with a rush of blood to the head. Brandon’s right eyelid tripled in size and was paper white.

“Coach, he’s unconscious!” Danny cried across the field.

Brandon’s body lay motionless on the ground. Danny could see the thin bones in which formed Brandon’s pterion were crushed underneath the deep green and purple bruising that rapidly began masking his face.

The Yale athletic trainers reached the scene with medical first aid kit in hand and turned Brandon over on his back. “Someone call 911,” one of the trainers yelled to the team. The Brown trainer made it to mid-field to help in a comradely effort but vomited on the spot when he saw the amount of blood that coated the field and the bloody ball laying seven feet away.

“We need to get him to the hospital right away. If the impact caused a meningeal artery hemorrhage, he needs to be evaluated right away by a medical doctor. We need an ambulance,” the other Yale trainer urged. “Brandon, Brandon wake up.” The trainer checked for a pulse to confirm Brandon was still alive and only suffering a brief concussion. He shook Brandon’s shoulders and then firmly tapped his left cheek repeatedly.

Brandon moaned softly as he stretched his legs out. “My head hurts,” Brandon said clearly.

“It only hurts? What’s your pain level?” Coach Cox questioned hastily

“What happened? What’s going on?” Brandon questioned, still in a stupor. “My face feels weird. My head. I’m so dizzy.”

“His nervous system hasn’t allowed him to feel the pain yet. This is serious coach. A blow to the head by any projectile object, especially a baseball would cause a loss of consciousness and hopefully a lucid interval anytime now. If he sits here much longer, the internal bleeding that isn’t visible in its entirety will compress the brain. If the blood mass increases occlusion of those blood vessels will occur resulting in a meningeal artery hemorrhage.”

“What the hell does that mean? I’m a baseball coach not a doctor,” Coach Cox shot back hastily.

“It means that if your pitcher lays here on the ground much longer he could die in a few hours.” the trainer said. “It will only be another minute or two until he resumes consciousness. I need everyone out of the way. Make room for the paramedics!”

The muscles in Brandon’s face contorted to restricted blood flow to the bruises. He lifted one palm up to touch the icy hot feeling flowing through his temple when the pain registered. “Ahhhhhhh, I can’t see. I can’t open my eye!” Brandon cried aloud. “DAD! SOMEBODY! MY HEAD!” Brandon continued to rock back and forth on the field with the trainers trying to restrain him and his teammates looking at their captain. From the physical impact his body underwent in a short time and the vocal exertion, Brandon passed out again in the fetal position on the infield grass.

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