Roberto & Me by Dan Gutman Page A

Series. I tried to remember my baseball history. Oh, yeah. That was a famous one.
    â€œThe Miracle Mets,” I told him. “They’re gonna beat Baltimore in five games.”
    â€œThe Mets ?” Peter said, bursting out in laughter. “You gotta be kidding me! I mean, I can believe Nixon resigning. I can believe there will be a black president. But the Mets winning the World Series? You must be joking! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! ”
    I could still hear him cackling as the van pulled away.

10
Who’s on First?
    SUNRISE AND I WALKED AROUND THE PERIMETER OF CROSLEY Field, looking for an open ticket booth. It occurred to me that this was sort of like a date. I was going on my first real date with a girl!
    There was crowd noise coming from inside the ballpark. The game must have already begun. The first few ticket booths we walked past were already closed.
    â€œWhat’s the future like?” Sunrise suddenly asked me. “Do you have, like, a jet pack and stuff?”
    â€œA jet pack ?” I said. “What’s a jet pack?”
    â€œYou know, one of those things you strap to your back,” Sunrise said. “It’s like a backpack with a jet engine in it, and flames shoot out the bottom so you can go flying around. I saw one in a science-fiction movie.”
    â€œNo, I don’t have one of those,” I said.
    I told Sunrise about some of the cool stuff that we do have in the twenty-first century, like big-screen, high-definition plasma TVs, DVDs, IMAX movies, iPods, cell phones, Google, Facebook, texting, and IMing. None of them seemed to impress her very much.
    â€œHow about a flying car?” she asked. “Does your family have one of those?”
    â€œUh, no,” I admitted.
    We finally found an open ticket window. A sign said box seats were $3.50 and general admission was $1.50. Man, stuff was cheap in 1969! Sunrise pulled out a few bills and asked for two general admission tickets. The guy in the ticket booth sneered at us, I guess because of our headbands and love beads.
    â€œThey’re already in the third inning, y’know,” he grumbled.
    â€œWhat’s the score?” I asked him.
    â€œNothin’ nothin’.”
    â€œWell, then, we didn’t miss anything,” said Sunrise cheerfully.
    Clearly, this girl did not know much about baseball. As soon as we were inside the ballpark, my nose was assaulted by the smell of hot dogs and roasted peanuts. It had been hours since I ate anything, and I wished I had taken my mom up on her offer to pack me a lunch. When Sunrise asked if I wanted a hot dog, I quickly accepted.
    â€œHippies,” the vendor muttered as he handed us the dogs.
    We found some decent seats in the upper level, about halfway down the first base line. I scanned the field as I always do when I visit a ballpark for the first time. Crosley looked small to me, even smaller than Fenway Park in Boston. I doubted that it could hold even 30,000 people. It looked a little different from most stadiums too. Instead of a warning track around the outfield, there was a steep incline in front of the fence. I’d never seen anything like that before.
    â€œNow batting for Pittsburgh…” said the public address announcer, “…the centerfielder…Matty Alou!”
    Matty Alou came out of the dugout. He was wearing an orange helmet and a black sweatshirt under his uniform.
    â€œBooooooooooooo!” yelled the Cincinnati fans.
    â€œWhy are they booing that guy?” asked Sunrise.
    â€œBecause he plays for Pittsburgh,” I told her.
    â€œThat’s not very nice,” she said.
    Matty Alou took strike one. He was a short guy, a left-handed batter.
    â€œYou really don’t know a lot about baseball, do you?” I asked Sunrise.
    â€œSure I do!” she insisted. “The guy who hits the ball is the hitter, and the guy who throws the ball is the…thrower. Right?”
    I slapped my