Chapter 15

The team's manager pulled Brock aside as the team bus left the hotel in Phoenix.

"Keep your head out there tonight," he urged. "They're going to go up and in a couple of times. They brought up a kid from Triple-A to start tonight's game. His whole purpose is to plunk you until he gets tossed. We need you on the field and you're looking at a 10-game suspension if there is another incident."

Brock bit his lip but nodded. The manager smiled. Jim LaCross was a former major leaguer who he made it to the bigs not on talent but on grit. He saw the same sort of fire in Brock Miller. That, however, didn't change the fact that going 10 games without their shortstop would cause the Dodgers a lot of problems.

"Let me handle things," the manager reiterated. "That's all I'm asking. We're not going to let them get away with it. If they hit you, we'll drill Carter Repling. I'm going to let Wiley know that before we ever take the field."

"If they go for my head, I'm not going to be happy," Brock said.

"If they go for your head, get out of the way," LaCross replied. "Someone will be on their pitcher before you can even get to your feet. I promise you that much. Wiley Bennett is old school but he's not an idiot. He'll make sure the pitcher stays below your shoulders, just like he did in L.A."

Brock nodded his agreement.

He got the same advice from Al Perez before they left the locker room. Again, Brock smiled and paid attention.

The boos started as soon as Brock and Al cleared the dugout steps. There were only a few hundred fans in the stadium but all of them seemed to stop whatever they were doing and show Brock their displeasure at his presence on their field.

Brock tipped his hat toward the fans and executed a slight theatrical bow. The boos increased in their intensity.

"It's so nice to be appreciated," he joked. "I thought fans reserved their ire for superstars like you."

Al rolled his eyes at Brock's antics but steered him toward the batting cage.

"Don't work on anything to the opposite field," Al told him. "I want you to swing for the fences on every pitch. Let's shut these jerks up before they get a full head of steam."

Brock shot a grin at his friend and mentor.

"Of course, that might lead me to pop up 25 straight times," he joked. The Dodgers' batting practice pitcher was a master. He had somehow memorized where every player on the team wanted his pitches in order to drive them.

Sure enough, seven of the first eight pitches landed over the outfield wall – the one Brock missed hitting out of the yard caromed off the top of the wall. In all, 22 of the 25 pitches Brock saw were lashed for either home runs or extra base hits.

The crowd was almost silent when Al and Brock went to short centerfield to shag flies. Jim LaCross had told Al to keep Brock away from the fans before the game. The fight the last time the teams played had sent the D'backs plummeting down the standings and the media had been sure to point out that the team had shown a resounding lack of heart.

LaCross didn't want some irate ticketholder to say something incendiary – or worse, to try to injure Brock or Al with an object thrown while their backs were turned. Security was tight at MLB stadiums but there was always someone willing to risk it.

So Al and Brock stood in the middle of the field and chatted amiably as the other hitters took batting practice. They headed toward their clubhouse when the Diamondbacks started to show up in the outfield for pregame stretches.

"Check the lineup, Rook," Al advised as he ran his finger down the scorecard on the dugout wall.

"I'm playing," Brock answered.

Al laughed.

"You're batting No. 2," Al told him. "Nice going."

Brock glanced at the paper on the wall and turned with a smile. He had batted seventh or eighth in the lineup all season – except for interleague play when he had batted in the pitcher's traditional spot (last).

"Davis has been scuffling a bit so I'm moving him down," LaCross said when Brock turned back to face Al. The manager had been watching for Brock to return to the dugout. "You're seeing the ball well."

He gave a crooked smile toward his players.

"Besides, Milton has been getting on base like he was born there and they're going to plunk you every time you get to bat," he continued. "I figured Perez here and Watson will be batting with a runner in scoring position every time they're up."

LaCross played it off as though he were joking but it made sense in a fundamental sort of way. Getting your two best run producers to the plate with men on base was what the game was all about.

"I won't do anything dumb," Brock promised.

He hoped beyond hope that he could keep that promise when the game got started.

Arizona's pitcher was unknown to every member of the Dodgers team except for Brock Miller. The guy was in his late 20s but had only a handful of Major League appearances, none of them noteworthy.

Brock had faced the guy a dozen times in the minors – and had worn him out each time. He was 6-for-10 with three homers and two walks during his minor league appearances against the guy. That was spread out over three seasons but it was impressive.

"The last I saw of this guy he had a below-average heater and a rinky-dink curve," Brock related. "His only decent pitch was a change and even that wasn't anything near what I've seen in the Majors."

"He's only going to pitch two or three innings," Al told him. "Since you're batting second, I'll bet the Diamondbacks have someone up in the bullpen when the game starts. He's here for one reason and that is to make you do something to get suspended again."

"Yeah, Skip told me pretty much the same thing," Brock said. "How pissed off do you think he'll be if I just catch the ball barehanded and roll it back to him?"

"Not as pissed as the skipper will be," Al said. "Look, let them have their fun. You said he can't throw hard enough to hurt you. Just turn your back and take it on the rump or the shoulder. But you have to make an attempt to get out the way – or at least look like you are."

"If he goes for my head... ," Brock began but Al cut him off.

"You know why we called Cardozo up after the break?" he asked.

"Left-handed pinch hitter," Brock answered. "And a defensive replacement at third or first."

"Partly," Al said. "He's earned a shot for those reasons. You know what he does in the offseason?"

Brock shook his head and Al smiled menacingly.

"He dabbles in mixed martial arts," he said. "From what I understand, he's pretty good. If they throw at your head, Cardozo is going to track down Repling and put him in a world of hurt."

Brock glanced down the bench toward the hulking rookie infielder. Cardozo barely spoke English but still he smiled at Brock and gave him a thumb's up.

Brock couldn't help but laugh.

"OK, I give up," he said. "I'll get drilled in the back and trot to first like a good little boy."

"They got a guy up in the pen," Al said as the Dodgers leadoff hitter stood in the on-deck circle.

LaCross had returned from exchanging lineup cards with the D'backs manager and the umpires with a red face.

"Wiley said it was out of his hands, whatever that means," LaCross related. "So just keep your temper."

"Sure thing, Skip," Brock replied.

John Milton, the team's left fielder, drew a leadoff walk, bringing Brock to the plate. The cascade of boos started when his name was announced and didn't stop as he dug in at the plate. Brock batted left-handed so he had to cross behind the umpire to get to the plate.

"Behave yourself," the ump said in a soft voice. "I got this."

Brock didn't give any indication that he'd heard the man. He wasn't sure if the umpire had violated some code of ethics by speaking to him. After he dug into the batter's box he glanced out to the pitcher and sighed.

He had considered winking at the guy or maybe blowing him a kiss but he decided that would be classless. The third base coach had given Brock the "take" sign to give Milton a chance to steal second. He had guessed, correctly, that the pitcher would be too focused on the batter to pay attention to the base runner.

Brock didn't have any choice but to take the first pitch. It was behind his back. Milton was off on the pitch and would have made it clear to third base if the catcher hadn't made a diving stop.

The umpire stepped out from behind home plate and pointed to the Diamondback dugout and then toward the pitcher.

"That's your one shot," he said loudly. "The next one that's even close, the pitcher and the manager are gone."

He gazed sternly toward the rookie pitcher and then toward the veteran manager. Neither seemed fazed by the news.

The second pitch hit Brock in the ass when he turned to avoid it. In reality, it was only a bit inside but it was close enough that Brock could take it off his right butt cheek without any problem.

The umpire moved quickly to step in front of the batter. He didn't want a bench-clearing brawl on his watch. Brock simply headed toward first, stopping only to hand his bat to the batboy who had come to retrieve it.

That was one problem solved. The ump pointed toward the pitcher and gave the time-honored heave-ho gesture. He did the same to the Diamondbacks' manager who had come out to protest that the pitch had simply gotten away from his hurler.

Wiley Bennett might have been right. The pitch had the spin of a curveball that simply didn't break. Still, it gave Wade Watson, the Dodgers first baseman and No. 3 hitter, a chance to bat with no one out and two runners on.

Brock was halfway to first base when he saw the sign along the stands on that side: "Carter's Cuties," it read.

He broke out in a loud laugh and shook his head. The tension draining away had made the laughter a little too loud and he didn't help matters by pointing the sign out to the first base coach.

Carter Repling stood midway between first and second with a scowl and crossed arms while the new pitcher was warming up. Because the starting pitcher had been ejected, the reliever was given as much time as he needed to get ready.

Wade Watson and John Milton had come over to give Brock a pat on the rump for keeping his head, then Watson delivered a run-scoring single to right that chased Brock all the way to third. Al followed with a booming three-run homer to straightaway center field – the deepest part of the ballpark. The Dodgers batted around in the first inning (every batter in the lineup coming to the plate) and entered the bottom of the first with a 5-0 lead.

Of course, sending nine men to the plate meant that the leadoff hitter for the Dodgers would open up the second inning. He grounded out and Brock stepped to the plate.

The Diamondbacks' second hurler of the day had better aim than the first. He hit Brock in the back with his first pitch. This one was hard enough to hurt. Brock took a single step toward the mound before taking a deep breath and moving off to first base, again giving the batboy his bat and a pat on the shoulder on the way.

Just as the inning before, the Diamondbacks pitcher was ejected. This time it was the bench coach who got tossed for the team.