ISIAH

ISIAH

The two high school chums sat on the steps of a modest home in a blue-collar neighborhood of a big city devouring a huge fully loaded supreme pizza. The gooey feast was disappearing fast when Marshall noticed a young boy standing quietly in the shadows of the doorway. “Hey, Isiah! Get over here quick before this pizza disappears.”, Marshall said.

The youngster moved slowly across the porch toward his brother, Andre, and Marshall. He was tall for a ten-year-old but also carried a lot of excess weight. Despite the summer heat, he wore jeans and an R2D2 tee shirt that fit snugly around his middle and arms. His black curls were neatly trimmed, and dark eyes beamed through his oval mocha face. When he reached the boys, he stood quietly until Marshall held out the pizza box to him. “Here, grab a slice or two. Andre has scoffed up almost all of it!” The comment brought raised eyebrows from Andre, whose mouth was too full to respond in kind.

Isiah reached over and took a piece. He smiled, looked up at Marshall and said, “Thank you, sir.” Without another word, he disappeared back into the house.

After Isiah had gone, Marshall said, “I love that kid. How’s he doing?”

“Great, He’s terrific. I couldn’t ask for a better little, well, not so little, brother. He’s well mannered, polite, behaves, never speaks out of turn, stays out of trouble, gets good grades in school, and never complains. He’s darn near perfect, just as I was at his age.”

Marshall nearly choked on an anchovy with the last remark.

“How much do you think losing your folks in that auto crash affected him?”

“Oh, a bunch. Neither of us will ever get over it. My aunt and uncle were great to take us in, but they can barely get by themselves. I’m old enough so I can blow off much of my hurt by screaming at guys like you, but poor Isiah has no one. He keeps it all inside.”

“Does he have any friends? School activities? Play sports?”

“Nope. He just stays in his room on his iPad playing video games. I love sports and would like to get him involved, but he refuses to let me sign him up for anything.”

“And, of course, he knows he is overweight and clumsy and would surely be picked on by other kids,” Marshall added.

“Yup. fraid so. I just don’t know what to do. I’m really worried about him. He is getting so far behind in developing social skills. He has zero self-confidence. He just assumes he is the underdog and expects to fail in any situation, so he avoids interpersonal relationships.” Andre said, “Have any ideas?”

Marshall was silent for a moment. “Maybe. I think this would be worth a try.” And then he explained it to Andre.

“Heck, yeah! Let’s go for it.”

A week later, Marshall drove out to the little league baseball field where the Colts were having their first practice. Eddie Shore. the manager of the team was a good friend of Marshall’s and eager to have him help as an assistant coach. It was not a coincidence that Isiah Owens had been selected as a member of the Colts. Marshall was happy to see Andre’s car in the parking lot and found Isiah sitting alone on the end of a bench, looking forlorn. He sat down next to the kid.

“Hey, Isiah! What’s doing, dude?”

“Oh, hi, Marshall. My brother made me come out here today under penalty of taking away my iPad, but I won’t be here long. I hate baseball and really suck at it.”

“Wow! Wait a minute. How do you know you aren’t very good and that you don’t like it? You’ve never played it, have you?”

“No, but just look at me. I’m fat, clumsy, and can’t get out of my own way. My teammates will let me have it just as soon as they see how terrible I am. I just want outta here.”

“Look, Isiah, I do not know how good or bad you think you are. Do you really think any of these kids will ever get to the majors? No way. Some are better than others, but none are great. I’ll just bet with a little work, you’ll fit right in. Plus, I am the assistant coach of the Colts and will be here with you all the time.”

Isiah responded with a shrug. His mind was made up and no one, even Marshall, whom he liked and admired, was going to change it. This was to be his one and only practice.

When Marshall concocted his plan to get ten-year-old Isiah out for baseball, he knew there would be some rough spots, but, frankly, it proved to be worse than he expected. Isiah knew which end of the bat to hold in his hands, but little else about batting. He swung and missed at every pitch that came his way, usually flailing by a foot or more. A foul ball would have been cause for a rousing cheer. Didn’t happen.

At the little league level, there seems to be a protocol that the weakest players are stuck in right field where fewest balls are likely to be hit. Sure enough, Isiah was sent out there where he looked totally bored and seemed to ignore what was happening with the batter and pitcher. He stood idly by when two ground balls bounced by him and turned into home runs. Marshall went out and spoke to him. He listened politely but the next time a grounder came his way, once again he ignored it. Another ground ball homer.

Marshall and Eddie Shore had had a long conversation about putting Isiah on the Colts. After the third ground ball home run, Eddie gave Marshall a quizzical look. “What tha?”

Marshall decided it was time to change tactics with the obstinate young man. Marshall went out there a second time, but this time he was not sympathetic and conciliatory.

“You know, Isiah, you told me you suck at baseball and the other kids will make fun of you. Well, pal, you are doing a great job of proving yourself right. Without zero effort on your part, of course you suck. So would Mickey Mantle, by the way! And if you want the other kids to come down on you, just keep this up. No one ever gets picked on if they put forth an honest effort. You have not done that. I am really disappointed in you.”

Isiah listened and, with his lips quivering and struggling to hold back the tears, said, “Sorry. I’ll try harder. I promise.”

“Okay. Make sure you do.” Marshall said. He turned and jogged off the field with a lump in his throat. He loved that kid and absolutely hated upsetting him.

Sure enough, Isiah charged the next ball hit his way like a hound dog after a rabbit. The ball bounced up and hit him in the chest. It must have hurt, but he showed no reaction. At least he stopped it, and ground ball home run became a paltry single. Marshall smiled and flashed a big thumbs up to his protégé.

Marshall was standing chatting with Andre, who arrived to drive Isiah home. Marshall’s report was mixed, but basically optimistic. Progress had been made. As they watched, another ball was hit out to Isiah, who knew his brother was there. This time Isiah actually corralled the grounder in his glove and bobbled it only briefly before rifling the ball on a frozen rope all the way to the catcher on one hop. Marshall and Andre looked at each other in disbelief.

Practice was over and as Andre and Isiah walked to their car, Marshall noticed two other boys on the team laughing and pointing over at Isiah. Isiah didn’t seem to notice, but Marshall was certain he had. Just as Eddie and Marshall finished bagging up all the team’s equipment and all the kids had left, Eddie asked, “Got a minute?”

Marshall had a good idea what was coming. “Sure. What’s up?”

“Isiah. I know we had a long discussion about getting him on the Colts, and I expected he was new to baseball and would be pretty green, which would not in itself be a problem for me or the team. Every team has a few new kids that have played little before. I am not a coach that must win. Far from it, but I want the Colts to be competitive and will do whatever I can to see that each player performs as close to his ability as possible. Once that has been achieved, then we might look at the scoreboard.”, Eddie said.

“That’s good to hear because there are many little league coaches who don’t see it that way. It is win at all costs, but I knew that about you when I agreed to help you coach. What’s the problem with Isiah?”, Marshall asked.

“Here’s the problem. Watching him out there today it was pretty clear he did not want any part of baseball or our team. He had no interest and put forth no effort. I don’t care how green he is. The kid just did not want to be here. I have a problem with a child like that. It isn’t fair to him or the rest of the team to make him do something he clearly does not want to do. Surely, you noticed.”

“Yes, I did, and it concerns me a great deal. Isiah has gone through some genuine tragedy in his life and has withdrawn into a shell that he needs to get out of. Let’s give the boy more of a chance. I know he will come around. By the end of the season, you will thank me for getting him on your team. Okay?”

“Nothing would please me more. Just understand that under league rules, every team member must bat and play a minimum number of innings in the field. Isiah will get his chance to play the minimum, but no more, unless his attitude changes a lot. See you at our next practice on Thursday.”      

Marshall felt good about his conversation with Eddie Shore. He knew where he was coming from. He’d have to work with Isiah more than he expected, but was sure the wonderful kid would be fine once he stopped fighting the situation. A half hour after the start of the Thursday night practice, Marshall was hitting ground balls to the infielders. Isiah had not shown up. Immediately after practice, Marshall made a beeline to the Owens’ home. Andre was at work at the pizza restaurant, but he knew exactly where to find Isiah.

Isiah was lying on his stomach on his neatly made bed, dabbing away on his iPad. He barely noticed when Marshall burst in. The room was adorned with posters of Star Wars characters, superheroes, and other intergalactic creations. Isiah finally nodded to Marshall but kept right on clicking away on whatever universe he had entered. Marshall had enough and grabbed the iPad from his hands.

“Hey! I was just about to reach super phalanx level. Now I’ll have to start all over again,” Isiah screamed.

“Too bad. I guess so.” Marshall said. “Why weren’t you at practice this afternoon?”

Isiah’s face clouded. “I told you, Marshall, and I told my brother. I hate baseball. I’m bad at it. I don’t want to be on that team, even if you are the coach. The other kids will make fun of me. They already started,” he whimpered.

“You never gave it a chance. Nobody likes a quitter. If you give baseball a fair chance, which is more than one lousy practice and don’t like it, then fine go back to your computer, but you just walked way from a practice where the manager and I, were pleased at what we saw you do.” Marshall let that sink in for a minute.

Isiah looked through reddened eyes. “What do you mean? I was terrible out there. All those balls got past me. Can you imagine if that had been an actual game?”

“It wasn’t an actual game. That’s why they call it practice, so everyone can improve. After I talked to you, you did much better, which proved to Mr. Shore that you are coachable. Many kids aren’t. You listened, adjusted, and improved. He was impressed.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. And then there was the biggest surprise we noticed that maybe not even you know about.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Isiah, you are blessed with a powerful throwing arm, one of the strongest we have ever seen at your age. Surely the best on the team.”

“I am?”

“You need to get your butt back out there and we can work on that. We have practice tomorrow at 3:30. Be ready. I will pick you up. Got it?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

Marshall spun on his heel and left before the boy could change his mind.

And he was ready. He and Marshall spent a lot of time off on their own playing catch. Marshall had not exaggerated. Isiah could really whip a baseball. While he was hardly yet comfortable as a team member, he no longer openly rebelled. The start of the season was just a few days away, and the coaches agreed to give Isiah a chance in practice at pitching, a dubious experiment at best. Isiah took the mound and stood there, as Marshall had taught him. All eyes, including Andre, were glued to him. He rocked into a herky-jerky wind up and let fly. The ball rocketed three feet over the backstop. The next pitch hit the turf five feet in front of home plate, scattering the batter and catcher. By some miracle, the batter was able to avoid being hit by the next pitch which passed behind his back. Ball four was so far outside the catcher had no chance to snare it. Marshall walked out to the pitcher’s mound to consol his protégé, only to find Isiah was determined to do better. No tears or whimpering.

Unfortunately, while his control improved, he still walked the next batter, but almost struck out the next one before hitting him and loading the bases. At that point, Coach Shore decided to end practice for that day, before any of his players got hit and injured by Isiah’s erratic lasers. He hadn’t done so badly. No batter came close to hitting one of his pitches. Marshall clapped him on the shoulder and told him how well he had done as they walked off. It didn’t help that one of his teammates teased another one about getting hit by one of captain blubber’s pizza balls.

Despite having the baggage of a brand-new player, the Colts had a surprisingly good season. While as a batter, Isiah stuck out at least two or three times a game, he figured out that a walk is as good as a hit and got free rides to first several times. The playoffs came, and the Colts found themselves in the championship game against the mighty Ravens, who were undefeated in their bracket.

 Marshall stopped by the Owens house the night before the big game and walked into Isiah’s room. He couldn’t believe the change. Instead of Star Wars and dystopian regalia, the walls were covered with baseball pennants and pictures. Isiah, who had been watching a game on TV with a friend, rushed up to him and said, “Marshall, did you know that Willie Mays lost his parents at a young age and still became one of the best ballplayers of all time?” No, he hadn’t. What a change in the young guy.!

The final big game was at hand. The Colts were desperately clinging to a 5 to 4 lead in the bottom of the 7^th inning, which was the last at bat for the Ravens. They would be champions if they held on for one more inning. Things did not start well when the Ravens first batter lined a ball right off the shins of the Colts’ pitcher, who was in so much pain he could not continue. Eddie had used up all his other pitchers. There was no one else. He motioned Isiah in from right field, who at first could not believe he was being summoned. Eddie handed him the ball and told him he knew he could do it.

If he’d thought about it, Isiah would have been as nervous as a cat on griddle, but it all happened so fast, he just stepped right up and pitched. Ball one, ball two, ball three, walk. Two men on. Another four pitch walk. Bases loaded. No outs Things looked grim for the Colts, but then somehow, Isiah found his stride. His pitches thudded into the catcher’s mitt. The Ravens flailed and couldn’t touch his rifle shots. Two quick strike outs. Could the kid do it? Two strikes on the next batter. One more pitch and the Colts would be champs. Isiah peered in, rocked and fired a bullet at the catcher’s glove. The batter swung.

A week later, at the postseason team party, everyone was in great spirits. Isiah had gone from isolated outcast to one of the guys who got ice cream poured down his neck like everyone else. The kids barely noticed there were any adults in the room and had forgotten about the mammoth home run the Ravens batter had hit to win the game. They were back again as kids being kids, and now there was a new one among them. Isiah wasn’t even sure where he left his iPad.