My novels have often included softball scenes (naturally), but I find that my latest, “Billy Saddle,” has a story that is pretty much fueled by our game, and might have some illuminating things to say about the softball life. In the following excerpt, a mysterious homeless man known by the name Billy Redman (the last name inspired by his rust-colored hair and beard), has befriended a troubled high school teacher in Ocean Shores, Washington, David Falter and convinced him that his best therapy might be returning to a place where he had only to worry about tossing a ball over a plate. Following is the first practice for David’s reborn team, which now includes his two sons, 19-year-old Pablo and 16-year-old Derek.

Given that normal people work on Tuesday mornings, their practice roster is limited. The only regulars are Merzy, who works nighttime security at the casino, and Oscar, who cashed in on an early retirement at Microsoft. The situation has “batting practice” written all over it. Pablo goes first, conducting savage attacks on David’s pitches, all with the same result: long, soaring flies along the left-field line, half of them foul. Billy joins Merzy in center, while Derek runs himself ragged.

A few pitches later, Billy jogs toward the infield. The historian/detective notes the half-and-half of Billy’s outfit, a brand-new Cardinals cap and jersey matched with worn cleats and grass-stained pants.

“Time!”

“Can you call time in a batting practice?”

“Like to have a word with your eldest,” says Billy, and proceeds to the batter’s box.

“Greetings, young Falter,” he says, and offers the trendy knuckle-bump. “I’d like to propose an idea, one which may save you a lot of trouble. In ancient days, I came to my first slow-pitch teams with great ambition and a swing just like yours. Problem is, suddenly the ball is floating in like a free steak dinner and that baseball swing will only get you long, impressive outs to left. I hit .250 that season. I want you and those youthful legs to be on base much more often.

“So here’s the idea. I want you to wait for a pitch on the outside corner and drive it to right. This will force you to hold back for a split second longer, will keep your shoulders and hips from flying out, will keep your eyes focused on the ball, and will help you to hit line drives instead of fly balls. Tell you what: just try it out for today, for the rest of your at-bat, and see what you think.”
David watches the weather fronts drifting over Pablo’s face: an initial annoyance (who is this guy?) followed by increasing levels of interest and acceptance. The capper is Billy’s final note: it’s perfectly optional.

Billy returns to right, David targets his pitches for the outside corner, and Pablo produces five garbage swings: a weak fly to Oscar at second, two pathetic grounders, a foul ball and one complete miss. But number six is a low drive down the line, and seven is a hard grounder up the middle. And so it continues, as Billy greets each success with cries of “Yes!” and “Awesome!”
David is paying equal attention to Derek, who was actually doing a pretty good job tracking Pablo’s deep drives. His style falls into a distinct type: a fielder who looks extremely shaky but who manages nonetheless to catch most everything hit his way. (One of these cases, in fact, was his late friend, whose early nickname was “Scary Larry.”)

With a bat, Derek is as raw as a plate of sushi. He’s got a solid approach – even stance, bat cocked over his shoulder – and he makes consistent contact, but the results are profoundly mediocre: weak rollers, pop-ups to the pitcher, foul balls. Still, he seems happy, so David keeps pitching. Oscar keeps gathering the refuse, and the outfielders stay in their spots, since crowding the infield would make him feel self-conscious.

Days later, on his first attendance at the mini-bottle break, Billy is asked why he offered no advice to Derek.

“A good coach sticks to adjustments. Derek has nothing to adjust; he hasn’t developed a batting style. Screwing with a swing this early in the process can just ruin things. Hey, and don’t think he can’t become a good player. One of the best teammates I ever had started playing at age forty.”

And who was this forty-year-old? thinks David. And where did this team play? Writing the Billy Redman biography was going to be a long process.

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of ten novels, including his most recent, “The Monkey Tribe,” available at amazon.com. “Billy Saddle” is inspired by a short story, “The Redemption of Billy Saddle,” which may be found at the online literary journal www.slowtrains.com. 48-year-old Vaughn lives in San Jose, CA, where he plays left field for the Bums.