Trickster Helps the Nats

Washington at Atlanta. Tomahawks 8, Nationals 3.

Da Kine was alone on the mound, ready to throw his first pitch.

"Hey, Jerome," a voice said behind him. "You need a hand out here?"

Da Kine looked back over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the rosin bag behind the mound. Not wanting to look crazy, he kept his lips still as he whispered, "Who is there?"

"It's me, Coyote. I like to play tricks on these so-called Braves from the start of the Trail of Tears. And brah, you look like you could use some help."

Glancing around him, Da Kine saw no one else reacting to any loud, scratchy voice. Officer Schneider patted his glove and put his signals down.

"Go with the breaking ball, brah, and nibble the edges. Trust coyote on this," the voice said.

"You're just a voice in my head. Why should I trust you?"

"Didn't I pull your island home up from the sea with my bone hook Manaiakalani? Didn't I use a rope made from my sister's hair to lasso the sun to make the days long and the winters short in Hawaii? I see the shells around your neck and I see that you believe."

"Maui-a-kalena did those things, not Coyote," Jerome said as he prepared to throw.

"Maui, Coyote, Raven, call me Loki if you want. But trust me, and I'll give you the chance to beat these false Braves. Now throw your breaking pitches around the plate."

It's easy to dismiss ancient mythology as so many foolish old stories. Until you're standing all alone at the center of a stadium with your struggling team's hopes riding on your shoulders and you hear a loud, scratching voice that makes your nerves shiver. So Jerome tried to work the edges of the strike zone.

Ball one.

"Trust me. Just do as I say and you'll have the chance to win the game," Coyote said.

So Jerome tried again. Ball two. And again. Ball three. And again. Ball four. A leadoff walk to Kelly Johnson.

"No offense, Coyote, but I've followed your advice and now the leadoff man is on first."

"Ha ha ha!" Coyote laughed. "And he's gonna score, too. But don't worry. I like you, kid, and I'm gonna look after you. You just stick with me and you'll have a chance to win the game. Come on, you guys are gonna keep losing until May left to yourselves. What have you got to lose accepting help from a powerful demigod?"

Which made sense to Da Kine. So when Larry Wayne Jones Jr. homered to put the Tomahawks up 2-0, Da Kine didn't panic. He bore down, kept working his breaking balls around the edges and up in the zone and struck out the mighty Francoeur to end the first.

Then, in the second, the Nationals got two quick outs before Ryan Church singled and then advanced to third on Ronnie's single. Officer Schneider came up with a chance to tie the game with a hit. And, in true Nationals fashion, he worked the count with a beautiful at-bat and drew a walk.

Which brought the pitcher to bat with the bases loaded and two outs. "Well done Nationals," BallWonk said 650 miles north.

"OK, brah, here's your chance to win the game," Coyote said.

"What? No can, brah! I'm a pitcher, not a hitter!"

"You're a ballplayer. I can't do everything myself, you know. I don't even have a body here. You've gotta hold up your end and use the chances I give you. Any child in America would kill to come up to bat with the bases loaded, two outs, and the game in his hands like this. Now go up there and win this game!"

What choice did Da Kine have? So he went up and swung his cute little JV swing until he'd missed three balls and the Nationals ended the inning with three runners stranded and still down two runs.

"Maybe that wasn't fair," Coyote said.

"No, it wasn't," Da Kine replied.

"You didn't know what you were agreeing to. So to make things even, I'll give you one more chance to win the game. You start throwing your offspeed pitch down here and I'll make sure these false Braves don't score any more."

So Da Kine was not fazed when he walked Thorman, the number six batter, gave up a single, and then walked the opposing pitcher to load the bases with no outs in the second.

"Perfect," said Coyote. "This is what I do best. Watch this, brah. Just keep the ball down."

Which Da Kine did, leading Kelly Johnson to slap the ball hard up the line, where Dmitri Lawrencovich stood perfectly positioned to field the ball, step on first, and throw home to Office Schneider for a clean tag up the line for a double play to stop the run.

"Stick with me, kid," Coyote said. "No one gets out of a jam like Coyote."

And so it went, until the fourth. Again, the Nationals batted into two quick outs. Then Ronnie singled, and Officer Schneider worked a beautiful at-bat for another perfectly ill-timed walk.

"Here it is, Brah, your second chance. Just hit a home run here and you'll win the game," Coyote said. "Guaranteed."

"What?!" Da Kine asked.

Felopez was coming up from the dugout to the on-deck circle. "You OK there, man?" he asked Da Kine.

"Ah!" The startled pitcher jumped. "Nah, I'm fine. Gonna go hit me a home run," he said.

"You go get 'em, man!" Felopez laughed.

But again, Da Kine's adorable little JV swings availed him nothing, and he struck out swinging. Again.

"I've had about enough of your trickster help, Coyote," Da Kine said.

But there was no answer. Suddenly, the southern night air was cold on Da Kine's face, and goosebumps raced down his arms. The shadows looked darker, too, Officer Schneider's fingers nearly invisible behind the plate. Da Kine felt suddenly very alone, and very far from home. But he had a job to do, a job he loved, and the truth is you don't become a pitcher unless you get a rush from standing alone in the center of a crowd, sixty feet from any teammate, with the weight of thousands on your shoulders. He hit three home runs in a game once, the same day he threw a no-hitter, and like any of the best young athletes he could have gone either way, one of nine men with a bat or one man alone on a hill. He chose the hill, and here he was, and he certainly didn't need the help of some half-forgotten demigod.

Basides. Da Kine didn't know abut Coyote, but he knew how things ended for Maui-a-kalena: grasping beyond his reach to steal the fruit of immortality from the gods, he was caught and his brains bashed out with a rock on the beach. Stick with what you can do, Jerome thought, and trust your batters to score some runs. You do your part, and you go home happy.

Which he did, pitching the fifth skillfully, not letting his own mental and throwing errors get to him, and giving his bullpen a winnable game after five, which was the plan for the Nationals rotation all along.