Say It Ain't So by Josh Berk

hand.Ah, multiplication jokes. We shook on it. “When do I start?”
    â€œToday, if you’re up for it,” Coach said. “Game starts in a few minutes. I have the lineups here so you’ll know who is who on both squads.” He handed me a couple of printouts with names and numbers and positions for the Schwenkfelder Mustangs and the Griffith Griffins. “Just keep it simple—announce the name of the batter as he comes up to the plate. If there’s a pitching change, announce the new guy. Nothing fancy.”
    â€œGot it,” I said. “Simple. Nothing fancy is my middle name.”
    â€œUh, thanks,” he said, giving me an odd look.
    â€œOh, thank you,” I said. “And thanks to you too, Newts.”
    Before it got too sappy of a manly moment in that little announcer’s shed (it really was more of a shed than a booth), Other Mike came in.
    â€œYou’re just like the hobbit in here!” he said to me. “Sweet hobbit-hole. Invite me in for elevenses sometime.”
    â€œUm, thanks?” I asked.
    â€œYou are welcome,” he said. Apparently, being the hobbit is a good thing?
    Mike and Coach Zo squeezed past him. They had pregame prep to do. I had my own work to do! I had to learn how to operate the microphone, first of all! Well, okay, it wasn’t that hard. It basically just had one button that you pressed to talk. It was a cool mike, though—kind of old-fashioned-looking. I thought about my old friend Buck Foltz, the great Phillies announcer. Maybe he got his start like this? Probably not, because he was so old that he probably got his start shouting through one of those cone things. But anyway, this was an extremely cool chance to be back in the announcer’s seat. It was really nice of Mike.
    I had some other work to do too, mainly figuring out how to pronounce the names of the guys on the teams! I knew everyone from Schwenkfelder, and even knew how to say relief pitcher Henry Hrab. Hint: The
H
is silent. I mean in
Hrab
. You do say the
H
in
Henry
. What did you think, his name was Enry? I scanned the list. There were some tough ones for Griffith, including a pitcher named Jagdish Sheth. No offense, J-dog, but I sort of hoped you didn’t get into the game.
    But something was still bothering me from before.
    â€œHey, Other Mike,” I said. “What on earth wereyou talking about with our dear friend Davis Gannett over there?”
    Other Mike was tapping on the Plexiglas window of the booth, muttering, “Precious … My precious …”
    â€œOther Mike!” I said louder, to snap him out of it.
    â€œHuh, what?” he said.
    â€œWhat were you talking about with Davis?”
    â€œNothing. He was saying that he was mad he got kicked off the team, stuff like that. Oh, and he said his dad was in jail. Or is in jail. Not really sure. Not really surprised either.”
    â€œNo,” I said. “I heard that part. I meant the other part. Right before Coach Zo started talking into the microphone.” This reminded me to quickly check to make sure that the microphone was off. That kind of thing was always happening to politicians and celebrities. They’d forget that a mike was live and they’d start talking about which countries they were going to bomb or which of their friends they hated. I
had
to make sure that never happened to me. Not that I secretly hated any of my friends. And not that I had any countries I wanted to bomb. Though, to be honest, Kyrgyzstan was kind of getting on my nerves. Only because we had to learnhow to spell it for social studies. Ridiculous. Stupid Kyrgyzstan, why can’t you be more like Chad?
    But anyway, I did
not
want the microphone on while I secretly talked about Davis Gannett. The last thing I needed was to give him a reason to beat me up. I double-checked, then triple-checked. The mike was off.
    â€œOh,” Other Mike said. “Davis was just saying