Right next to the dugout was a little building made out of wood and painted Schwenkfelder maroon. A Plexiglas window faced the field. And inside the Plexiglas was Coach Zo. Speaking into a microphone. I knew immediately what it was, and I knew immediately who was behind it. Mike’s dad had built an announcer’s booth for the middle school! I ran over, forgetting immediately about the conversation Other Mike was having with his new BFF Davis Gannett. Mike was in the booth too, wearing his uniform and smiling. There wasn’t much room for anyone else. “So what do you think?” Mike asked. “Well, you know,” I said, teasing. “It’s not quite as luxurious as what I’m used to, but it ain’t bad.” It really was a tiny little room, basically the dimensions of a shed. Coach Zo couldn’t stand up straight or he’d whack his head. He was very tall. Coach Zo was just a big guy. Even though he was over the hill, he had the height and build of a ballplayer. He looked like he could grab a bat and go out there and hit one four hundred feet.
