Following is an excerpt from the novel-in-progress “Billy Saddle,” in which a mysterious homeless man joins a softball team after the loss of their left fielder to a heart attack.
Billy in the bleachers is not the same as Billy in the field. The team has lost its fire; they’re not doing the small things, they’re not playing smart. Batting in Billy’s number-six spot, Pablo comes up with bases loaded and two outs and can’t resist the big jackpot. He yanks the ball to left, a deep fly that accomplishes nothing. Maintaining a life-long pledge to not become his father, David says nothing.

Their opponents begin the next inning with a grounder to second and a fly to short. The next batter lifts a fly to right and Scary Derek reveals the dark side of his nickname, clanking the ball off his glove for a double.

It starts to rain. On the Rain Coast, in the sixth inning, this changes nothing. Down by eight runs, facing a cleanup hitter who looks like Paul Bunyan, David is tempted to serve up a gopher ball and send everybody to their nice dry homes. Mr. Bunyan has the same idea. He coils like a python and unleashes a windmill swing. The ball goes straight up. The spin carries it behind the backstop, where it smacks the cement and takes a high hop. It’s about to clear the bleachers when Billy, seated at the top left-hand corner, reaches up for a barehanded grab.
David expects a quick throw-back but Billy’s frozen in place, staring at the ball as if he’s expecting secret messages.

“Yo, Billy!”

“Last ball,” says the ump. “Need that one.”

Oh well, thinks David. Homeless ballplayers – gotta expect the occasional flashback. He jogs to the bleachers and slaps his glove on Billy’s shoe. Billy looks down like he’s seen a ghost.
“Billster! Can I get the ball back?”

Billy looks at the ball as if it has just appeared in his hand.

“Oh. Sure.”

He drops it into David’s glove, then stares toward right field, his eyes glossed over. David’s relieved to see Abbey returning from the truck.

David takes the mound and finds that now he’s distracted. Something about the high hop, the barehanded catch, looping through his head like an instant replay. He shakes it out, taps the rubber and delivers the pitch. This time, Paul Bunyan doesn’t miss. He crushes the ball, a majestic drive toward the spruce trees in left. It’s the drive that killed Larry. David summons his superpowers and blows the ball safely into the woods. A name pops into his head.

Abigail.

Although the ball is forest-bound, so is Pablo. Merzy shouts a warning, but Pablo seems to know what he’s doing. He finds a treeless gap and bounds into a patch of ferns. He’s a freakin’ explorer.

Meriwether.

Twenty feet along, his eye still on the ball, Pablo comes up against a broad spruce. He’s out of room. He takes hold of a low branch, digs his cleats into the rough bark and launches himself. At the apex of his leap, he pockets the ball, slams against the tree, and lands with his armpit firmly wrapped around the branch. Dangling there, he discovers that his glove is pregnant, and holds up his trophy.

On a night when nothing else is going well, Run Like Hell goes nuts. For that matter, so do their opponents. People will talk about this play; no one’s seen anything like it. Kirk Gibson’s home run, Willie Mays’s catch. Pablo jumps to the fern patch and takes a theatrical bow. Paul Bunyan makes a comic show of slamming his bat to the ground. Bobby Thomson’s Shot Heard ‘Round the World. Don Larsen’s perfect game. Babe Ruth’s called shot.

Saddle.

The Curse of the Bambino. Bucky Effing Dent. Bill Buckner. The Curse of the Billy Goat. Moises Alou. Alex Gonzalez. Steve Bartman. The Memphis Blues. Big John’s Curse. Duffy’s Drop. The Grand Fool Double.

Billy.

Billy Saddle.

David’s spell is broken by Pablo, who slaps him in the arm.

“Geez, Dad. What’d I do? Put you in shock?”

“Oh, um. Yeah. Great catch, Pablo. Wow.”

They jog to the dugout, where Run Like Hell has vowed a comeback that will not materialize. David looks to the bleachers, where Abbey and Billy are huddling beneath an umbrella.
Michael J. Vaughn is the author of ten novels, including the recent “The Monkey Tribe,” available at amazon.com.