The Diamond Champs by Matt Christopher Page B

had made the cake and the statue.
    Kim's pulse tingled as he saw the coach look at the cake.
    “Hey, what a surprise!” exclaimed the coach. “Whose idea was it?”
    “Kim's,” said Cathy.
    The coach glanced at Kim. “I had a hunch,” he said.
    Kim grinned. “We all wondered why you picked up a team from all over the city,including me, who never played on a team before,” he confessed. “And we wondered very much why you worked so hard to make
     us a championship team, so Eric and I did some detective work. We found out that the fathers of all us kids had played on
     the same team over twenty years ago.”
    “Well!” said the coach. “Smart deduction! Go on.”
    “We also found out that each of us played the same positions as our fathers had, too. And the reason you asked Cathy and Jo
     to play with us was because there weren't any boys in their families.”
    “Clever.” The coach's smile broadened.
    “But we still couldn't figure out who
you
were, or why you wanted to win the championship so badly,” Kim went on, “until Professor Reese gave me a hint.”
    “Oh? What was that?” asked the coach.
    The team stood still as statues, listening attentively to Kim's every word.
    “He said that you were never given a chance to play baseball when you were a kid because of your poor eyesight,” explained
     Kim. “When I asked my dad if he knew of a kid like that, he told me. Gates Morgan!”
    “But my name is Stag,” said the coach. “Gorman E. Stag.”
    Kim laughed. “An anagram of your real name—Gates Morgan!”
    “Gates Morgan?” Doug echoed. “You mean he's Don's father?”
    “Right!” said Kim.
    “I can't believe it!” Brad cried.
    Simultaneously, cries of disbelief sprang from the other Steelheads' players as the coach removed his sunglasses, lifted off
     a red wig, then slowly removed a film of makeup from his face, and dabs of cotton out of his mouth.
    “Mr. Morgan!” exclaimed A. J. dumb-foundedly. “It is you! Why in the world did you disguise yourself?”
    Gates Morgan smiled cheerfully. “Well, I—” He shrugged. “It's hard to explain.”
    “I'll do it for him,” intervened Professor Reese. “Gates Morgan is basically an actor. He's in the new play I'm directing,
     and it was his being in it that gave him the idea to play his role of Gorman E. Stag in a real-life drama. It also gave him
     a chance to prove to himself, and to your fathers who had played on the team on which he was only allowed to be an equipment
     handler, that he was very capable of coaching a team to a championship. Disguising himself was just a pleasurable opportunity
     for him to see if he was able to fool his audience. He almost succeeded too, except for a few of you who got very nosy.” He
     chuckled, adding, “I told Gates that some of you even went as far as to think that he was a criminal!”
    Gates Morgan, and the Steelheads team, broke out in laughter.
    “Hardly that,” mused the actor-coach.“I'd like to add one more thing to what Bernie said, though. I coached, but you all played like champs—and you never thought
     you could.” Then he turned to Kim. “By the way, Kim, there's a role open for a young tennis player in the next play that Bernie
     will direct. I'd like you to consider playing the part.”
    Kim's eyebrows shot skyward. “But I've never played tennis, Mr. Morgan!” he said.
    Gates Morgan smiled. “So? You had never played baseball before, either, had you?”