Ten-year-old Theo inherits a dusty radio that picks up a baseball game his grandfather listened to as a boy — and the game isn't over yet.
The radio was the size of a toaster and the color of old butter, and Grandpa had left it to Theo in his will along with forty dollars and a note that said Listen to the ninth inning. You'll know what to do.
Theo plugged it in. It hummed. It glowed. And then, through a hiss like frying bacon, a man's voice said: "—and that brings us to the bottom of the ninth here at County Stadium, Braves down by one, two out, and stepping up to the plate is—"
"Mom!" Theo yelled. "The radio's broken! It's playing old baseball!"
His mom came in, listened for a minute, and sat down very suddenly on the bed.
"That's the game," she said. "Dad talked about this game his whole life. He was ten. He was listening under the covers. The batteries died right at the end and he never found out who won."
"Can't we just look it up?"
"We did. Lots of times." His mom wiped her eyes. "It was rained out. They never finished it."
On the radio, the crowd was roaring. "Full count," said the announcer. "Here's the pitch—"
Theo didn't know what made him do it. He leaned close to the speaker and said, "Come on, Grandpa's team. Hit it."
The crack of the bat came through so loud the radio jumped.
"IT'S GOING — IT'S GOING — IT IS GONE! The Braves win it! The Braves win it! I don't believe it, folks, and somewhere out there a kid under the covers doesn't believe it either!"
The radio hissed, and clicked, and went quiet.
Theo and his mom sat there in the glow for a long time. Then she laughed, and hugged him, and said, "He'd have loved that." And Theo, who was pretty sure he'd heard someone laugh on the radio right before it went off, said, "I think he did."
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