works if the springs aren’t too stiff. We will need…”
It was his turn to interrupt, “Penske shocks! I plan on running very stiff shocks with super soft springs. This is the best scenario to keep those qualifying tires working for a whole race. I ran it by Shail, and he is in full agreement.”
“Very cool, Mick,” I replied and tossed an entire cheese cracker into my mouth.
“And guess what, John? You get to do the math!” Mickey said with a smile then paused to take a drink from his Diet Mountain Dew.
I sat up and ran brief calculations in my mind. Math, in general, came easily to me. My mother scored a 100% on the National Board Exam in mathematics, and, fortunately, I had a mild dose of her inherent brilliance. My Dad, who had been Dean of Florida Atlantic University would joke that we got our brains from our mother and our looks from him. Many a truth is said in jest.
“I can do that, Mick, and it may be easier than you think. We just need to make sure we can lower the car until it touches the ground, then have enough room on the shock and spring adjustments to raise it back up to our desired ride height. But that will require having the shocks in hand.”
He nodded and said, “Do you see why we needed them yesterday?”
“Yep. When is Jim’s next race?”
“It will be at Topeka in six weeks. Then we go back to Hallett for the July 4th weekend. We should have enough time to complete the work before the Topeka race, depending on when you hand me the shocks.”
“I understand. I will talk with Jim tonight. Is that all you need from me? I have to pick up a few things for Nigel.”
“Yes, that’s all I need. Just keep sending money!” Mickey said with a smile. The rest of the crew expressed his sentiments with double thumbs-up and laughter.
When I pulled into our garage, I could see Nigel standing at the door to the kitchen. He had his glove in hand and approached the car as I got out. He had been invited last weekend to join the Coatney family at the lake. He spent Saturday night and all-day Sunday with them, enjoying time with Eric. No baseball was involved, which was probably a good thing. It gave him time to process his situation and, boy, was he ready! I looked down at his face. His brown eyes no longer held the look of defeat but burned with fiery determination. It was obvious he had set a new goal, and it was primary in his entire being.
Nigel had always been a bit of an On/Off switch. Whenever he established a goal, he went full tilt, flat out, wide open, until it was attained. Once accomplished, it was quickly forgotten with a new mission occupying his mental spotlight. Baseball was no different.
“We are going to the batting cages tonight, right Dad?” This seemed more of a command than a question.
“Listen, man, I don’t know if we will make it tonight. We need to pick up some equipment before we go back. I’ve been doing a lot of reading, and there is a video I want you to watch. Let me change my clothes and we’ll go over to the sporting goods store”.
“Can I go too?” Hans’s voice came from the kitchen.
I picked him up saying, “Absolutely, Buddy!”
I looked straight into my oldest son’s eyes and said, “Nigel, believe me, I have a plan. If we don’t make it to the batting cages tonight, it won’t be long before we get there.”
He smiled with his reply, “Okay Dad, let’s go. I want to get back soon because Mom made spaghetti!”
When we walked into the store, Hans dropped my hand and ran over to the row of bicycles. The baseball section was adjacent to the bikes, so I could keep an eye on him as we shopped. We quickly found what we needed. Nigel had a problem with the sting of the bat in his hands when he made contact with the ball. I had him try on a few different sizes of batting gloves until he found a pair that fit. Our first item was checked off the list and Hans joined our search when his curiosity prevailed.
One of the books I had read explained that young hitters need light-weight bats, to create fast bat head speed. I recalled how force equals mass times acceleration. Therefore, acceleration or speed, increases the force of the bat counteracting the force of the approaching ball. This was a much better solution than increasing mass, which meant a heavier bat for young arms. No bat is lighter than a T-ball bat, so I picked one up and handed it to Nigel.
“Dad, this is like the one I used in T-ball. I don’t think this is right for baseball. It’s for kids.”
I had to smile at my eight-year-old’s definition of ‘a kid.’
“Trust me, man. Now go to the home plate they have set up over at the temporary indoor backstop.”
After a few swings, I could see that the bat was the proper size for what we were trying to accomplish.
When I turned to leave, Hans stood directly in front of me with another T-ball bat for himself. Although he was almost two years younger than Nigel, he was big for his age and they were often confused as being twins. The bat’s size fit him well.
“Can I get one too, Dad?”
“Definitely, Hansy boy, let’s get going.”
He smiled and walked next to his big brother carrying his new bat all the way to the cashier.
After dinner, Nigel and I watched a film on batting techniques. We talked about our approach to improving his game and agreed on a plan.
Hans had been asleep for quite a while by the time I finished reading to his brother in bed.
“We can do this, right Dad?” My oldest son looked at me with hope in his eyes.
“There is no doubt in my mind, Nigel, you just have to believe it.”
CHAPTER 7
The Number 100
I climbed out of the car to begin my day at the office on Tuesday morning. I noticed dark clouds on the horizon and considered how a hard rain would probably lead to the cancellation of Nigel’s evening baseball practice. By noon, my suspicion developed into reality. He met me at the door with bat and glove in hand when I arrived at the house after work.
“Practice is canceled, Dad.”
“I know, Buddy. Let’s see what we can do.”
Hans sat at the dinner table dunking an Oreo cookie in his half-empty glass of milk.
“No practice for Nigel tonight, Dad,” he said between bites of his dripping delight.
“Yes, he told me, Hansy boy. Have you had dinner yet? Is that dessert?”
Mary Lynn answered for him when she entered from the laundry room. She gave me a kiss saying, “I fed them early in case you had any plans. I guess the fields are soaked, and they don’t want to damage them. We ate already and your food is staying warm in the oven.”
“Thanks, Babe. I thought I would take the boys over to the batting cages and see if they are open tonight. “Nigel, why don’t you grab your gear bag and we will head out in a few minutes.”
Hans finished his last cookie as Nigel disappeared down the hall. Mary Lynn sat with me, and we discussed our day’s activities.
It was not long before the boys and I were pulling into the gravel parking lot for the outdoor batting cages. The lights were on, but no one was hitting balls. We were the sole car in the parking lot.
“Are you guys open?” I inquired of the attendant.
“Not really,” he responded. “The pitching machines have problems with wet balls and are not consistent with the pitches. I’m sorry. You can try again tomorrow night.”
I turned around to see Nigel staring at me from the front seat of the car. His eyes were trying to be optimistic. His brother was tapping his