The batboy

Mike Lupica

Book - 2010

Even though his mother feels baseball ruined her marriage to his father, she allows fourteen-year-old Brian to become a bat boy for the Detroit Tigers, who have just drafted his favorite player back onto the team.

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Children's Room jFICTION/Lupica, Mike Due Apr 13, 2024
Subjects
Published
New York, NY, U.S.A. : Philomel Books c2010.
Language
English
Main Author
Mike Lupica (-)
Physical Description
247 p. ; 24 cm
ISBN
9780142417829
9780399250002
Contents unavailable.
Review by Booklist Review

After Brian Dudley lands his dream job as a batboy for the Detroit Tigers, he is disappointed when his hero, Hank Bishop, who has been given a final chance by the Tigers after a steroid scandal, proves to be uncommunicative and even hostile. Brian's parents are divorced, and communication with his dad, an ex-major league pitcher who is working as a coach in Japan, is also difficult. Despite Brian's efforts to reach out, his father doesn't respond to e-mails or letters. Eventually, though, Brian does find a way to talk with Hank, who proves to be a softy. Lupica has hit upon an effective formula for his novels, giving his readers a behind-the-scenes look at major league sports. In this novel, he adds genuine insights into family dynamics and the emotional state of his hero. Pair this with Wes Tooke's Lucky: Maris, Mantle, and My Best Summer Ever (2010), which also describes the life of a major league batboy.--Morning, Todd Copyright 2010 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by School Library Journal Review

Gr 5-10-Brian's dad, a former big league pitcher, left Brian and his mom years earlier, and the boy still longs for his return. This summer, Brian has won a coveted spot as a batboy for the Detroit Tigers during home games at Comerica Park. He relishes his dream come true: hustling to complete tasks, enjoying a sleepover at the ballpark, and his front-row seat for the on-field action. On his days off, he plays on a travel team with his best friend, Kenny. Then his favorite player, Hank Bishop, returns to the Tigers following a suspension for steroid use. Bishop is stumbling at the end of his career: this is his last chance to reach a milestone 500 home runs. Brian shyly attempts to befriend his hero, but Bishop treats Brian and his teammates with frosty disdain. Lupica is at the top of his game, crafting a crisp, fast-paced novel teeming with edge-of-the-seat baseball drama. He limns his characters with well-observed detail and dialogue. Brian is a recognizable, multilayered teen; he's close to his mom, though they struggle to communicate and understand one another. Meanwhile, he learns the hard truth: "no matter how much Brian loved baseball, it was never going to make his father love him more." Though this novel will undoubtedly appeal to those who equate summer with baseball, it should also win over readers who appreciate finely crafted storytelling and engaging characters.-Marilyn Taniguchi, Beverly Hills Public Library, CA (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review

Fourteen-year-old Brian, the son of a washed-up major-league pitcher, watches every home-game up-close: he's a batboy for the Detroit Tigers. Divorced parents, a disgruntled player, and Brian's own batting slump complicate his life. Lupica's engaging narrative, full of vivid baseball action, teaches readers about the games people play on and off the field. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. All rights reserved.

(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review

Brian loves baseball. But baseball has not always been a positive influence in his emotional life. His parents are divorced due in large part to the fact that his father's devotion to his own baseball career far exceeded his feelings for his family. In addition, Brian's all-time favorite player was deeply involved in the steroid scandals that affected an entire era of baseball achievements and statistics. Now in one dream summer as batboy for the Detroit Tigers he learns some truths about second chances and letting go. When his absentee father briefly returns, Brian realizes that their relationship will never be more than a common interest in the game. But he does develop a tentative connection with his hero, who is making a comeback with the Tigers. Lupica takes on these touchy subjects and deftly fleshes them out with sympathetic characters, crisp dialogue and enough dramatic baseball action to satisfy the most diehard fan. Although there's an upbeat ending, not all problems are neatly solved, allowing readers to form their own opinions. A pennant winner. (Fiction. 10-14) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

1 It was one of those moments when Brian felt as if baseball was close enough for him to reach out and touch. Like his hands were around the handle of a bat. Or like he was on the mound, his fingers making sure the seams of the ball felt just right. One of those moments when he could close his eyes and imagine he was a big-leaguer himself. One of those moments, really, when he realized why his dad loved the game the way he did. Loved it too much, according to his mom. Loved it more than anything or anybody. Bottom of the ninth inning at Comerica Park, the Tigers having just scored to tie the game, Willie Vazquez, their short-stop, standing on third and representing the winning run. One out. And now came the fun part for Brian Dudley, not just because the Tigers had this kind of shot at a walk-off win, but because Brian got to think right along with Davey Schofield, the Tigers' manager, who was perched on the top step of the dugout near the bat rack, on the home side, the third-base side, of Comerica. This was when baseball felt like the great¬est reality show in the world. Willie, the fastest guy on the team and one of the fastest in the American League, was on third because the Tigers' third baseman, Matt Holmes, had just singled him there, bringing home the tying run with the same swing of the bat. Curtis Keller, the Tigers' center fielder, was at the plate. Curtis could fly, too. And he had some major pop in his bat for a little guy--a good thing, because now all his team needed was a fly ball deep enough to score Willie to win it. The scary part? For all of Curtis' talent, and his ability to hit the ball hard from the right side against any kind of pitching, lefty or righty, he struck out a lot. Willie Vazquez liked to joke that Curtis Keller's strike zone had its own area code. "Sometimes Curtis swings and misses when I'm at the plate." If Curtis were to strike out here, then the Tigers would have two outs, the winning run still on third, a sacrifice fly no longer a possibility. And that would leave things up to Mike Parilli, the Tigers' catcher, who was working on a seriously ugly 0-for-4 day. So what would Davey do? Brian knew all the stats on Curtis, inside and out, the way he knew the stats on all the Tigers players. Not because anybody had made him learn them. Not because it was some kind of course at school. Brian knew stats because he wanted to know. Because his head was full of the numbers of baseball, all the numbers that not only held the sport together, but connected one season to another, one era to another. Kenny Griffin, Brian's best bud, liked to say that if you could ever crack Brian's head open like a walnut, decimal points would come spilling out. Now, sitting here at Comerica, feeling like he had the best seat in the house, Brian tried to put those numbers to use the way he knew Davey Schofield would. They should squeeze, Brian decided. All Tigers fans knew how much Davey liked to play "small ball," liked to bunt and move runners and steal bases, especially because this year's Tigers didn't have the kind of home-run power they'd had in the past. The only problem with playing small ball right now--and it was a big problem, actually--was that Brian knew that even he was a better bunter than Curtis Keller. More than two months into the season Curtis still didn't have a single sacrifice bunt, even though he'd been batting number two in the order pretty much since Opening Day. He'd tried a few times. Six times to be exact, Brian knew, and he'd failed to advance the runner each time. Twice he'd even managed to strike out, which wasn't easy when you were bunting. Yet Brian was sure the bunt was still the right play, especially against the Indians' big right-handed closer, Rafael Fuentes. Because the other stat bouncing around inside Brian's head like a pinball was that Curtis had never gotten a hit off Rafael Fuentes, was 0-for-14 lifetime. And Mike Parilli, kneeling there in the on-deck circle? He was 1-for-20 against the guy. If Curtis didn't get the run home, and get it right now, they were as good as in extra innings already. "Lay one down," Brian said out loud, almost like he couldn't help himself. From where he sat he had a perfect view of Davey going through all his signals. Those signals went to the Tigers' third-base coach, Nate Vinton, who then flashed them to Curtis. Willie didn't need the middleman; he was staring into the dugout at Davey the same as Nate was. More baseball stuff that Brian loved, the play having this kind of drama even before Rafael Fuentes delivered the ball to the plate. Brian was never bored by any of it, whether he was at the ballpark or watching on television. He realized he wasn't just thinking along with Davey, he was thinking along with the Indians' manager at the same time as he brought his corner infielders in and left his shortstop and second baseman in their regular spots, knowing a ground-ball double play would get them out of the inning, provided they could double up a speed guy like Curtis. It was the first midweek afternoon game since school had let out, and for Brian, this felt like the real start of summer, no matter what the calendar said. Summer was something you could hear and feel all around you at Comerica, filled with all this noise and all these possibilities and all this baseball. Yeah, this was summer. Curtis got into the batter's box. Rafael Fuentes was ready to pitch. This close to the field, Fuentes, at 6 foot 4 and 245 pounds, looked as big to Brian as Shaquille O'Neal. Fuentes liked to pitch from the stretch and was doing so now, eyeballing Willie Vazquez as he juked around off third base. One more drama, Brian knew, this one between pitcher and base runner. Fuentes stood there so long, as if frozen, that Curtis stepped out of the batter's box and went through his whole routine of getting ready again--loosening and refastening his batting gloves, then taking a practice swing. Brian knew that some people hated all the starts and stops of baseball, all the breaks in the action. Not Brian Dudley. He wasn't ever going to be somebody who came to the ballpark and as soon as he got there acted as if he had somewhere else to be. When he was at the ballpark, Brian was always where he wanted to be. Sometimes he felt more at home at Comerica than he did at his own home. Curtis dug back in. Fuentes began his pitching motion, checked quickly one more time on Willie, then blew strike one right past Curtis, high heat, pure cheese, Curtis swinging right through it. The pitch measured 97 mph on the huge scoreboard towering over left field at Comerica. Lay one down, Brian thought again. The first and third basemen were still in at the corners, had to be, just to make sure. But they had seen Curtis swing from his heels the way everybody in the ballpark had, like he was trying to hit one all the way to Canada. Fuentes' right arm came forward again. Another fastball. But Curtis Keller had dropped the head of the bat. Bunt. Not the kind of bunt they taught you in Little League, where you squared for a straight sacrifice and practically made an announcement to the infielders that you were bunting. No, this was the way you bunted, even with the third baseman charging in, when you were bunting for a base hit, when you deadened the ball and came racing out of the batter's box like a sprinter in track coming out of the blocks. Curtis actually laid down a beauty, the ball dying like a toy car that had run out of batteries as Willie Vazquez, coming the other way, blew right past it. Gus Howell, the Indians' third baseman, made a great play on the ball, flung it sidearm, nearly underhanded, toward home plate. If the runner had been a slow one, the throw might have had a chance. But it was Willie who slid across home plate with the winning run and then bounced right up, clapping his hands, yelling, "Yeah! Yeah, baby!" You had to be close to the field to hear him because all around, from every corner of the ballpark, came the happy roar of Comerica, the sound baseball made when your team won. The Indians were already walking off the field. Game over. The Tigers in the dugout were pouring out onto the field. Even though it was only June, everybody already knew it was going to come down to the Tigers and the Indians in the American League Central this year. The Tigers had just swept the first series of the season between the two teams--their biggest wins of the young season. Brian was on his feet now. He saw Davey Schofield grinning at him from the other end of the dugout. "Lay one down?" Davey said. Brian said, "You heard?" Davey said, "Man, I think the peanut vendors heard. Now I even got a kid knowing all my brilliant moves before I make 'em. Must be because your father played." "Must be," Brian said, the sense of celebration suddenly leaving. "Where's he now?" "Japan," Brian said. Davey motioned to Brian, letting him know that it was all right for him to join the celebration on the field. "You wear the uniform, you're part of the team now," Davey said, putting an arm around Brian's shoulders. Brian walked that way with the Tigers' manager toward home plate, picking up Curtis Keller's bat when he got there. Doing his job. As far as he was concerned, the best summer job ever in¬vented by mortal minds. Batboy for the Detroit Tigers. He was part of the team now. Excerpted from The Batboy by Mike Lupica All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.