US Ballers: DC Bound

By Foddy Hastings

Tired of hearing how messed up their generation is and wanting to make their world a better place, Duke Bingham and his North Carolina buddies start the US Ballers, a club of young student-athletes who not only love to compete but also stand up for others and do noble things. These cool kids are proud of their country and their heritage and, oh, still like being a little mischievous along the way. Theyre kids, for crying out loud!
In DC Bound, Duke and the Ballers have the summer of a lifetime that culminates with a rowdy yet organized trip to Washington, DC, thatll prove to make them better kids, better people, and better Ballers.
DC Bound is the first in the new US Ballers seriesentertaining, educational, and challenging. These kids will leave their mark on you, and you might just laugh a little too.
The Ballers broaden their horizons in DC Bound by introducing the first female member of the club, track speedster Abby. But will this turn out to be a good decision for the Ballers or one that they and Abby will both regret?

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Aug 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9781512797367

Foddy Hastings

Foddy Hastings writes from his inside experience representing professional athletes as an agent and advisor. From basketball to baseball, golf, auto racing and the Olympics, Foddy writes from all that he has seen, heard and experienced, including his own highs and lows. As a writer, Foddy has written for countless news outlets and magazines and has also made more than forty international trips which have taught him how fortunate we are to live in the United States of America. He writes to inspire young people to live extraordinary lives in extraordinary times. Foddy and his wife have four children and reside in North Carolina.

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Copyright © 2018 Foddy Hastings.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations are from the ESV® Bible (The Holy Bible, English Standard Version®), copyright © 2001 by Crossway, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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ISBN: 978-1-5127-9737-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9738-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5127-9736-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017911660

WestBow Press rev. date: 08/07/2018

To my parents, who raised me to enjoy the beauty

found in people, sports, America, and,

most importantly, the Lord.

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1—Meet the Crew

Chapter 2—State Road Baseball

Chapter 3—Tryouts

Chapter 4—Mighty Cesar

Chapter 5—Life of Duke

Chapter 6—Mr Hupp

Chapter 7—Field Day

Chapter 8—Decision Day

Chapter 9—The Invitation

Chapter 10—Let’s Get Out of Here

Chapter 11—Eagle Has Landed

Chapter 12—Gadsby’s Tavern

Chapter 13—Foggy Bottom

Chapter 14—Mount Vernon

Chapter 15—Wait, Where’s Abby?

Chapter 16—One-Yard Surge

Chapter 17—The Holocaust Memorial Museum

Chapter 18—Ford’s Theatre

Chapter 19—The Hill

Chapter 20—The White House

Chapter 21—Setting Our Aims

Chapter 22—Battle on the Beach Tournament

Chapter 23—Orlando Marlins

Chapter 24—Ft. Worth Longhorns

Chapter 25—Hopefest: Part One

Chapter 26—Hopefest: Part Two

Chapter 27—Back to School

Author Bio

Prologue

N o, Mark, don’t do it! I yelled.

Dude, what are you thinking? Cesar shouted. It’s just a stupid ball!

The cars were racing by like it was the Daytona 500. Three lines of solid traffic flow—all at sixty-five miles per hour. The noise was deafening. The sheer speed of the cars created a rush of wind that blew dust and debris in our eyes. We were shaking in our cleats.

But Mark didn’t seem to care. He was on a mission. Mark was going to get our Rawlings baseball back, no matter what the cost.

Moments earlier, DJ had jacked the longest homerun our field had ever seen. He took a first-pitch fastball from Big Mike and sent it flying. The ball not only cleared the Grey Monster, but it also flew over the embankment and into the highway below, Route 8.

When the ball finally returned to earth it landed smack in the middle of a brand new Mercedes SUV’s windshield and careened toward the concrete median barrier. It wasn’t finished yet. From there it rolled and rolled and rolled along the median, farther and farther from us.

The only good news was that the driver maintained control and weathered the storm like Dale Earnhardt Jr.. It was the craziest thing I’d ever seen.

We watched the Mercedes until it left our view—wondering what might happen next. Was the Mercedes somehow going to come back toward us? Seconds seemed like hours. This was not my definition of fun. I had that knotty feeling in my stomach.

Nice one, DJ, you just ruined our day, his brother TJ, or Tommy, charged. Why did you have to hit it so far? You’re so selfish.

Don’t blame me, DJ fired back. It’s not my fault I am such a powerful force of nature, he said while flexing his right arm and kissing his bicep.

Besides, Big Mike is the one who gave me the hundred mile-an-hour fastball to hit. Blame him! DJ argued.

Whatever! Big Mike said in his own defense. Maybe the next fastball will end up in your ribcage, if you don’t zip it!

Up and over the high fence went Mark. His brother, Chase, implored him to stop. Mark, I swear if you go over that fence I am telling dad. We all knew he was bluffing. If there was one thing we didn’t do, it was snitch. We were loyal to a fault.

In no time, Mark was making his way down to the highway. Cars were screaming by. Our hearts were in our throats as we watched. Would this be the end of Mark? It’s just a baseball! A two dollar baseball!

As huge as Mark was when he was standing next to you or in the batter’s box, he looked pretty tiny next to those cars, trucks and buses that were whizzing past. Yet, they didn’t seem to concern him in the least.

We continued shouting at Mark, begging him to abort his mission and come back. Come on, man! Cho Ming Lang yelled. Let’s just go to my house and play XBox.

It was clear that Mark couldn’t hear a thing we were saying. The cars were too loud and the distance between us too much.

Mark studied the traffic flow, trying to get his timing down. He had three full lanes to cross just to get to the ball. Then, another three to get back.

If he makes it back in one piece, no one is to know about this. Do I make myself clear? DJ warned. There was a collective nodding of heads.

We probably agreed with DJ for two reasons. First, whatever happened amongst us stayed amongst us. That’s how we rolled.

And, secondly, DJ was one guy that you didn’t want to get into a fight with. He was big, strong, fast and seemingly immune to pain. Plus, we all had witnessed his MMA skills when he and brother Tommy got mixed-up. Tommy always got the worst of it and even he was known for being one tough, nasty hombre. So, the transitive property of toughness tells you not to mess with DJ. Case closed.

I could sense DJ’s guilt and leaned over to quietly tell him that no matter what happened, this wasn’t in any way his fault. He may have hit the ball but Mark scaled the wall in pursuit of it.

Then suddenly, Mark made his move and dashed into the traffic…As he shot out into the first lane, car horns started blaring. The noise startled Mark and he stumbled. He was a goner, for sure.

We could hardly stand to watch; I had only one eye opened at this point.

Somehow, Mark made it to his feet and scurried back to the safety of the shoulder. Holy cow.

I assumed Mark had had his fill of playing human Frogger. I was wrong. Instead, Mark seemed to be calmed by the close call and was gearing up for his second attempt. Not often do you get two chances to meet your Maker in such short order. I think we all just wanted to go home at this point.

By now, some of the guys had run over to the walking bridge that crossed over into Silver Lake where half our classmates live. High on the bridge they took their perch. Nobody yelled at Mark. The last thing we wanted to do was distract him further when he was literally running for his life.

I could see from where I was that Cho was now filming Mark’s attempt to cross the interstate with his iPhone. On one hand, I thought it was a good idea. I mean, how sick would it be to watch this mad dash in the event that Mark did indeed come back with all four limbs still intact?

But, on the other hand, how awful would it be for his family if he gets bounced around like a ping pong ball and it’s all on video. Worse, what if it went viral through social media? No way. With that thought, I hollered at him. Cho!

He looked my way and I gave him the universal signal to cut filming. He nodded in agreement and put his phone back in his pocket.

Cho was Mr. Cool. For all of our short lives, he was a magnet for the ladies. Our Chinese buddy is kind, smart, and witty. Not to mention, he’s our star running back.

Mark waited for a lull in the traffic. Finally, he thought he had one. Just like that, he went for it.

One lane…two lanes…three lanes! He dove to the ground and rolled up against the concrete divider as a semi truck blared its giant air horn in disgust.

That horn did more than just scare Mark, it sent a message to me that it was just a matter of minutes before the police would be arriving. Trouble was one thing we didn’t need or want. We weren’t those kinds of kids. Pranksters? Maybe. Criminals? Never.

Woo hoo! we all yelled as Mark hunkered down against the median, catching his breath. Three down, three to go.

Mark began walking along the median until he came to the ball. The poor kid looked exhausted.

He leaned over and picked up the dusty, scuffed ball. Well-worth Mark’s effort. Well, worth it as long as he made it back across safely.

For some reason, the traffic count had diminished now and Mark was able to make it back in one piece. What a relief! We were finally off that emotional roller coaster!

We all gathered near the base of the Grey Monster as Mark flipped back over.

You’re a beast, Marko. I muttered. Mark methodically went from guy to guy, a high five for each. Not a single word was spoken. It didn’t need to be.

And with that we were back in action. Give me the ball, Big Mike shouted as he made his way to the mound.

Chapter 1

Meet the Crew

T hunk!…Thunk!…Thunk!

Ugh. I know that sound. That pounding on the window is essentially my alarm clock during the best days of the year…summer! Every morning, without fail, my pals come knocking on my window. After all, the day is wasting away! It is already seven thirty!

You see, we have things to accomplish. Big things.

I hear ya, I hear ya, I reply as I peek out my window. There they are…the Jacobson brothers—Tommy and DJ. Man, I love these guys.

I roll out of bed, brush my teeth, and head to the front door where I let them inside. They always chit-chat with my mom while I scarf down some chocolate milk and toast, the breakfast of champions! I am a big proponent of dunking, by the way. Just don’t do it when you’re wearing a white shirt. Live and learn.

Down the hatch goes breakfast, and out through the garage I go. I grab the essentials for the day. Bat, ball, batting helmet and glove.

This isn’t just our routine this summer. We do this every summer. And we love it.

We make our way next door and pick up another mate, Big Mike. Big Mike never needs us to wake him. Not by a long shot. His dad is the most demanding dad around. I mean, by seven thirty