Conor Bell was their starting pitcher this time, and even though Nick thought Conor had solid stuff, it wasn’t close to Gary Watson’s. Conor couldn’t throw as hard and didn’t have the same control. It meant more hits, more walks, more base runners. More chances to steal. And the Thayer runners were stealing. At will. Conor wasn’t helping, because he had so much motion in his windup that he seemed to take twice as much time as Gary delivering the ball to the plate. Even with that, Nick knew in his heart that even if Conor had one of those slide steps that big-league pitchers used when there were runners on base, even if he were following it up with a hundred-mile-per-hour fastball, Thayer’s guys would have still looked as happy as kids running around a playground at recess. They stole two bases on him in the first, three in the second, three more in the third. The only time Nick got an out on any of them was when a Thayer runner overslid second base, and Joey—who’d had to jump to keep another one of Nick’s throws from going over his head—came down with this sweet move and put the tag on the kid before he could scramble back.
