Baseball Great Read Online Free Page B

of Rocky? Your friends talk about him? His team?”
    â€œI think, maybe,” Josh said, “I heard someone mention his name and the Titans or something.”
    â€œYeah,” his father said, tossing him a quick glance. “Guy’s amazing. Three years and he’s got one of the premier youth baseball teams in the entire country. I’d heard his name but had no idea how good he really was. Did you know they won the East Cobb tournament down in Atlanta last year?”
    â€œWow,” Josh said, doing his best to sound knowledgeable, “no.”
    â€œAnd this year, he says, the Titans’ goal is to get to the Junior Olympics Tournament down in Fort Myers,” his father said. “And if Rocky says it’s their goal, you better believe they’ll get there.”
    â€œGreat,” Josh said.
    As the giant bubble came closer into view, Josh read the sign that said “Mount Olympus Sports.” He knew from English class that Mount Olympus was the place where all the Greek gods lived and where the word Olympics came from. Titans were half men, half gods, and Josh wondered if Rocky had a reason for all the Greek references.
    They came to a stop in front of the facility, pulling up behind a shiny black Porsche. The license plate said DOIT2IT.
    â€œGuy’s a businessman, too,” Josh’s father said, nodding at the expensive car. “He’s got a DVD out hosted by Bruce Jenner on how to make money. Owns two vitamin stores, a travel agency, a car wash, and a nightclub.
    â€œGuy’s a good guy, too,” his father said. “The minute he heard about them letting me go, he’s on the phone, asking me if I want to be his VP of sales.”
    â€œWhat do you sell?” Josh asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” his father said with a shrug. “Memberships. Supplements. DVDs. Time-shares. He’s into everything.”
    â€œOh,” Josh said.
    His father got out and said, “Come on. Bring your glove. Wait till you see this.”
    Josh clutched his glove and followed his dad in through the double glass doors and past an empty reception desk. They passed by locker rooms on either side, one for men and one where the letters spelling “women” had been stripped away, leaving a clean outline in the grain of the blond wood. His father swung open one of two wide wooden doors in front of them, and they stepped out onto a concrete gallery with small metal bench seats rising up on either side and, out in front of them, an ocean of green plastic grass under a sky of black wires and stained white canvas.
    Rocky, a muscular man with tan, oily skin, a black flattop haircut, and a stubble beard like Josh’s dad,stood in loose red sweatpants and a skintight black T-shirt. He had folded his massive arms across his barrel chest; and while his team ran through agilities from one side of the field to the other, Rocky blasted them with his whistle. Josh and his father watched for twenty minutes while the team went from agilities to push-ups, rotating in sequences of sit-ups, up-downs, and leg raises.
    â€œThey’re big,” Josh said.
    â€œIt’s an under-fourteen team, so most of them are ninth graders,” his dad said.
    â€œI meant big muscles, too,” Josh said.
    â€œThere’s a fitness center here. They come right from school every day and spend the first hour in the weight room,” his father said, wearing a painful smile. “Something I never did, never knew about.”
    After another couple minutes, Josh quietly asked, “Do they play baseball?”
    â€œOh yeah,” his father said. “They play. Come on.”
    Josh followed his father down the concrete steps and out onto the field. Rocky twittered his whistle, cutting short a set of push-ups and bringing his team in to a perfectly formed semicircle, the players sweating and gasping for air but keeping their heads held high even though they all got down