Outside The Foul Lines
Book 3
Captain John
Editor: Gardner Rust
For David
Junior Season
Andy spent two weeks at my house the summer between my sophomore and junior years. He seemed totally comfortable and we settled in there almost as easily as we did at school. My parents had never crowded me as long as I didn’t require attention by acting like a fool.
By the time I was in high school I knew how to keep my space free of parents. I took care of my chores, worked hard, and spent a respectable amount of time in activities my parents enjoyed with me. Once I was on the baseball team they, and especially my father, were delighted I was part of a team. As I grew older they were even less likely to pry or ask questions they knew they didn’t want answered.
Andy invited me to his house, with much prodding from me, before we reported for summer practice at State. The thing that still sticks out in my mind was the back screen door, the one with no screen in it. With it being summer, the backdoor stayed open. Each time we went in or out it banged.
There were three other kids, close copies of Andy, long, lanky and light haired. His mother was well rounded and the skin under the back of her upper arms flapped while she dished food out of the pots on her stove. Andy’s father was tall and thin and was mostly gone, although he was there for Sunday dinner before I left, but he disappeared soon after and I didn’t see him again. Andy told me he sold used cars and business was bad so he worked all day every day.
There was a big change in Andy, when we were at his house. We did find private time, which was important because I was always stiff around Andy. I think his smell excited me and there was no doubt looking at him did. We had to wait until late, but he thought that would be best, and except for once in the woods behind his house, this was how we satisfied ourselves.
Andy was more talkative on his own turf. There was always a tension in him at school. If he wasn’t worried about his grades, his performance, or our teammates, he was worried about his mental health and each ache or pain he thought he felt. At home his brothers and sister seemed happy to have him around and he was always adjusting this, fixing that, or showing his brothers how to reach the next level in the latest video game.
It was while at his house that Andy told me of his dream to make it to the Bigs and buy his parents a new house. He knew his brothers and sister would probably be gone by then but at least he could take care of his parents. I’d never taken baseball that seriously and there was never any thought of buying my parents a house. We had a great house in a good neighborhood and my parents were happy together.
Trying to give them things never entered my mind. They’d seen their duty as raising me the best way possible. I felt they had done a fine job. There weren’t great volumes of cash for each of the latest gadgets that came down the pike, but the house was paid for and so was the car by my junior year at State.
I’d managed to keep them from borrowing money on the house to send me to school and I put my mother’s appliances in good working order each time I was home. I’m not sure what they’d say if I came home with the idea of buying them a ‘better’ house or anything else, but we had screens in our screen doors and glass replaced the screens when the cold weather came.
It took three days for Andy and me to get around to talking baseball. It was then that Andy realized he was a senior and this would be his final season at State. It wasn’t that he’d never thought about it before but it was here and after this season his life was going to change. He worried he’d lose his hitting ability and he wondered if he could go back to being a lousy fielder, even though he knew we’d solved that problem.
It wasn’t something I’d given a lot of time to either. I was going to be a junior. I had plenty of time left, except the time I had left with Andy suddenly seemed short. That meant looking at my junior year as a turning point. Even when Andy proposed he’d flunk out on purpose so he could stay with me, it was poorly thought out.
We didn’t want to face the fact we were going to be separated at season’s end. Andy was going to have offers from minor league clubs and perhaps an incentive from the major leagues. He’d come out high in the college draft and would have a team before graduation.
Even if there was a way for us to stay together, it would cost him dearly. There were too many ball players to waste much time waiting for one to respond to an offer. Andy was good but he wasn’t the kind of player you built your team around. He was a nice power hitting addition to any lineup but you could say the same for a couple of dozen other guys who’d be graduating at the same time Andy did.
He’d been looked at during his junior season but didn’t file a declaration of intent to make him available in the draft. After a certain point in the season the scouts and recruiters moved on to watch someone who was declaring for the draft. They’d be keeping an eye on Andy all season.
It was hot by the time we got to State. The practice uniform was shorts and T-shirts. We spent much of our time near the water fountain and drinking energy drinks. The infield was a dustbowl from too little rain and the grass was more brown than green. The first weeks were mostly spent indoors, exercising to readjust our bodies to the conditioning Coach Bell insisted we achieve.
The past season was frequently a topic of conversation, even when we all agreed what was past was past. Having built a full head of steam by the end of the season, we were everyone’s favorite to make it to the NCAA championships. Our sudden demise left us unfulfilled as a team. I was aware of Coach Bell’s disappointment, but he wasn’t given to discussing previous seasons, once we were engaged in this one.
Coach Briscoe didn’t seem to hold my lapse from the previous season against me. As we scrimmaged, I found myself hopelessly taking control of the infield, even before I was told to do so. Old habits were difficult to break. The other players accepted it as routinely as I did.
Chance would have been the only one who had the right to challenge my authority, but he didn’t. Chance was playing a larger game our junior season. If he batted as well as he had his sophomore season, he’d be almost certain to be taken in the baseball draft if he signed a letter of intent to come out early.
His goals were to hit over .350 and go error free for the season. While the error free ambition was impossible, he’d likely hit between .350 and .400 if he stayed healthy. Having me as the shortstop assured him there would be no surprises thrown his way. We knew each other’s every move and we worked together smoothly.
By the time classes started we were back to meeting three days a week for exercise and this allowed us the time to regain the weight the summer heat melted away. Coach Bell’s team meetings were routine. He advised us that graduating seniors only cost us at two starting positions and two starting pitchers. The team was almost all juniors with the exception of Andy and a few sophomores, including Al Kane.
The assumption was that Andy should be one of the two captains, which suited me fine. When Chance put my name into the mix, I felt awkward. When Coach Bell stood directly behind me during the show of hands, my election was secured. Wertz was also elected. Because of the high number of juniors on the team, we ruled. Andy was disappointed and this created tension with us living in the same room and with me tutoring him.
The larger issue didn’t make it any easier. Andy was our cleanup hitter but angry and disappointment about his team’s rejection. I tried to explain that the numbers were against him. Saying I didn’t want to be captain would have only made matters worse, but in some strange way I did want the post. Coach Bell’s endorsement excited me. I didn’t like that it upset Andy, but I couldn’t find a way to reason with him.
We were a few weeks from the start of the regular season and all was not well in paradise. I kept a low profile but I found myself in a position of needing to talk up the team each day. Wertz spent a lot of time nodding when I spoke. The idea that we were going to pick up where we left off the year before was popular, but we’d lost pitching strength and relievers. We were easily out-batting the competition and this made up for our pitching shortcomings.
Coach Bell was as taciturn as ever. He seemed to be deep in thought most of the time. His shouts of encouragement still came at the appropriate times but when he scolded us for dogging it, his past intensity was missing. I waited for him to call me aside for a fatherly talk about how he wanted me to captain his team, but we were ready for the regular season and Coach Briscoe was the one most often offering opinions on who needed what in the way of work.
For some reason Jim Bale was tagged to pitch our first regular season game. He was agonizing to watch. Each time you thought he had to be ready to pitch this time, he stepped back, dug, paced, rubbed up the ball, stared into space, and only then did the batter get a pitch. Perhaps he thought he’d catch them off guard or after they had gone to sleep.
In the first game I hit two singles, walked once, and scored two runs. We won 6-0 and Bale one-hit the Bolton Indians. He also gave up four walks and hit a batter with a pitch. The game was so long I’d been starved by the fifth inning and I’d lost my appetite by the time the game was over. It had been a coolish afternoon with brilliant sunlight and at least we weren’t roasting or freezing while he toiled on the mound.
Andy went hitless. He repeated this feat in each of the first four games. He’d been walked any number of times but his tailspin had infected his play. I wasn’t certain he wasn’t sabotaging himself consciously or subconsciously. Coach Briscoe benched Andy in the fifth game, putting Al Kane in the cleanup spot.
I bristled, even with Kane in right field. I didn’t like him. Putting him in to substitute for our biggest power hitter was an insult. When I expressed myself, Coach Briscoe suggested I might keep my mouth shut if I didn’t want to ride the bench. Coach Bell said nothing and that was the first clue that Coach Briscoe was now the coach.
The night after our fifth win in a row, and with Jim Bale slated to pitch our next game, I decided to give Andy a piece of my mind.
“When do you plan to get with the program?” I asked.
“What program? I’m passing,” he answered without answering the question.
“Why? It makes no difference if you throw your career away. When I met you, you were all baseball and now you’ve got your head up your ass.”
“Look, Do, you don’t know everything. I’ll be fine.”
“With Kane batting in your place? He’s hitting .400. He can’t carry your jock.”
“Leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”
“The scouts are going to start looking for prospects. You aren’t going to appear all that impressive sitting on the bench.”
“Oh, shut up,” he objected, standing up and starting out the door.
“Andy, you need to get busy,” I said, following as he walked down the hall.
“What’s a matter, your daddy going to spank you,” Al Kane said sarcastically as he happened upon the scene.
It was only one punch but Kane went down hard. Two other guys in the hall applauded the knockdown. Andy stood over him with his fists clenched.
“Get up,” Andy ordered, and Kane squirted away from him, realizing this wasn’t the time to poke his adversary.
“All right,” Chance said. “I’ve been wanting to hit that sucker forever.”
Andy walked away. Wertz stood at his door shaking his head after the fisticuffs were done. We knew it would be a topic of conversation that would definitely get back to the coaches. Kane wasn’t one to let loose of something that he could use for his advantage.
Andy came in long after I was in bed and he climbed up into his own bunk for the first time that school year. I don’t think he’d ever put sheets on under the blanket that was always nicely made up, since its only action was storage of books or jackets. I didn’t let him know I’d lain awake until he returned to our room.
Chapter 2
Clean Up
With me up and ready to hit my first class, Andy climbed out of bed and threw his arms around me and planted a big fat sloppy kiss on me. I was ready to forego the class and drag him into my bed, but I really needed to stay focused on keeping my grade point average as high as possible.
“I love you, Do. I don’t know if I can live without you.”
“Andy, there’s no other way. I’ve got another year of school. You’ve got your family and your dreams to think about and you can’t give that up because we love each other. We’ll work it out but you’ve got to get yourself into the game or all your dreams are going to disappear. Then, for the rest of our lives you’re going to blame me for making you leave baseball. I’m not letting that happen. For one year we’ll be a part. I’ll visit you during the summer and after the season we’ll be able to see each other. Before the end of your first full season we’ll be back together.”
“I would never blame you if I can’t make it. I don’t want to leave you.”
“You’ll make it, Andy. The scouts are creaming their jeans over your bat and it hasn’t even shown up this season. You’ve got to show them what you got.”
“What if you go to another team?” Andy thought. “What do we do then? We’ll be away from each other even longer.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Yeah, I’m hitting a little better this season but I’m never going to get any attention with you, Chance, and Wertz around. The scouts can smell the talent on our squad. They’re in the stands every game now. They ain’t looking at a skinny shortstop batting barely .250.”
“You’ve seen them? The scouts? They’re watching me?”
“Coach Bell knows all of them. He points them out in the stands and calls them by their first names. He knows what each is looking for and you are at the top of their wish list.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“I’m saying it to make you feel better and because it’s true. You’ll go in the first or second round. Coach Bell says you’re a sure thing and I wouldn’t bet against him. You’ve got that long easy swing that generates so much power. Coach Bell says they can’t get enough of a sweet swing like yours.”
“Don’t leave. Let’s do something. I don’t want you to go,” he said soulfully, pulling me back toward the bed.
“You don’t know how tempting that offer is, my love, but I’ve got to keep my head in my studies. We’ve got all night tonight and neither of us have an early class tomorrow morning. We can stay in bed together.”
“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to leave you.”
“I don’t want you to blow the best chance you’re going to get. You need to put your head down and go for it, Andy. You’ll be in the Bigs in a couple of seasons and you won’t even remember any of this. You’ll leave your mark on the game, but not if you let things you have no control over get in your way. I love you and I won’t let you fuck this up.”
“You really think I’ll make it to the Majors?”
“Absolutely.”
“What about us, Do?”
“I’ll finish school, get my degree, and I can work somewhere close enough to you that we’ll be able to be together as much as possible. It’ll be hard during the season but the off-season gives us plenty of time together. For now you need to put baseball first.”
“How am I going to live without you? You’ve been there to back me up since your freshman season. Aren’t you going to miss me?”
“Every minute, but then I’m going to finish what I’m doing, Andy. I can’t stop living because you’re playing ball somewhere I’m not. We’ll figure out how to get back together but it’s time for you to show them what you’ve got. We’ll fit the rest of our lives in around your career.”
“I know you’re right. I’ve just never loved anyone this much before.”
He kissed me again like we were separating tomorrow. I was late for class but it was worth it. I’d finally put it all together at a time when I had his full attention. I didn’t like it either. It hurt to say the words out loud, but it made sense and I had to help Andy to see what he needed to do.
Getting him back into the lineup so he could shine wouldn’t be easy now that he’d gotten into it with Kane. Andy was the least likely person to get violent, but Kane was the kind of guy that could bring the worst out in anyone. Chance hated him and Wertz was just as vocal as Chance about the arrogant Kane.
To show how much I knew about baseball and the coaching of same. Andy was back in the lineup for the next game. No one ever asked me what went on between them in the dorm that led to Kane being decked but they’d asked someone and Kane was tagged with the loss. He sat solemnly at the end of the bench with no one sitting near him. The guy did have a way with people.
I guess Coach Bell knew better than to ask Andy’s roommate about what happened but whoever told the story cleared Andy of any guilt. With Andy being as mild mannered as he was, it wasn’t hard to believe that Kane asked for what he got.
Everyone liked Andy and someone must have told Coach Bell that Kane got what he was asking for. Kane was about as popular as a snake when we all needed to be playing together. If there were suspicions about my relationship with Andy, no one said anything to me. This renewed my belief in my team.
Jim Bale was taking his third start the game Andy took charge in his cleanup hitting role. Bale was 2-0 and had pitched a one hitter and a three hitter. At the time we were the only undefeated team in our division, although Bradfury and Greenwood had only lost once. While we didn’t have nearly the depth as the year before, especially in pitching, we were still a force to be reckoned with and we were all ready to play when the next game rolled around.
Bale struck out the side in the first inning in only fifteen minutes. By the time I came to bat I was yawning. They couldn’t hit the guy but he put me to sleep. I walked on five pitches. Pierce, a solid first baseman, hit a lazy fly to short centerfield for an easy out. Chance bunted me to second and nearly beat it out for a hit. With two outs Andy came to the plate.
I watched his practice swings and I knew he was back on his game. To prove it he parked the first pitch over our centerfield fence. I knew by his swing, he’d caught all of the ball. His first hit of the year was a keeper. The team greeted him with great enthusiasm, after I greeted him first. Andy was no longer out of sorts. He smiled widely and his team gave him high fives once he got back to the bench. He looked like a conquering hero.
I singled my second time at bat, Chance singled me to third, and Andy hit his second home run of the season and the game. He hit a solo homer in the fifth and Bale pitched his third complete game with a two hitter that took just short of three hours and twenty minutes. We did do a lot of hand shaking and back patting, so the long game wasn’t all his doing.
Coach Briscoe came down the third base line to greet Andy after his third homer of the game. Kane continued his isolation at the end of the bench, ignoring him. Coach Bell stood up and patted Andy’s back as he passed to take his place on the bench. Coach Bell kept standing uncharacteristic for him, applauding Andy’s powerful bat. He’d later point out two mid-western scouts who were there to look at Andy. It was good to see him back in form.
We were on a roll with six straight wins and leading our league. Without last years pitching we were going to get beat but being undefeated elevated all of us as Andy’s bat came to life.
At the end of the game there were some pictures and a reporter cornered Andy to ask him about his hitting. Andy posed with his bat as the photographer took pictures. The scouts stood off to one side listening. I’d recognized one as a scout Coach Bell pointed out to me the year before. He seemed to hang on each of Andy’s words. They nodded at Coach Bell as he headed for his office. We seemed to be destined, but I wasn’t sure for what.
“You hit seventeen homers last season, Andy, do you think you’ll match that output this year?”
“Sure,” Andy said with an ‘ah shucks’ innocence in what he saw as fact.
“You haven’t been hitting. What do you attribute that to?” the reporter asked, as I stood behind the backstop trying to hear.
“I had some personal issues to deal with. It’s all behind me now. I’ll be okay. I want my senior year to be memorable.”
Yes, he did. Andy was back and it gave the entire team a lift. He was our most important hitter and with us winning at home and on the road, we were being watched by the better teams we’d need to beat to make it to the NCAA Championships. The team was high spirited and confident and we were having fun.
Jim Bale wiped his runny nose, stared out through his thick lenses, and didn’t have much to say about three straight shutouts. He dug at the dirt with his toe as the reporter tried to pry answers out of him about his sudden success. I watched the scouts squeezing closer to take in each of his word.
The one thing scouts salivated over more than a power hitter was a good pitching prospect baffling batters. Pitchers were allowed to be eccentric and Bale’s antics on the mound were dismissed as part of his style, according to the article in the paper. They made Bale sound like an offbeat trophy found in the wild. We all passed around the article until the paper wore out.
Bale was an unlikely hero but he was our hero and we’d begun to gather around him to offer our praise. He didn’t know what to make of becoming the center of attention on the days he pitched, but he smiled and took it in stride.
We won two more games in a row before being beaten for the first time by the cellar dwellers. Andy still homered and he hit the ball well every time he came to the plate, bringing his batting average back to respectability. This added confidence and he seemed to settle into the season without the worry that had stopped him in his tracks the first few games.
All of our starters were doing better than expected and the relief pitchers hadn’t been tested because of it. Then, after going 8-0, we lost our second in a row. Bishop State was a pushover who beat us 3-1 and Bridgefield College beat us 9-4. The only bright spot being Andy’s predictable home runs.
The opposition walked him when they could, but often there were two or three of us on base when Andy came to bat. With Wertz and Kane coming to bat after Andy, walking him wasn’t smart most of the time. Before long Andy led the team in homers, runs batted in, and runs scored.
By mid-season we’d gone to 10-4 and I was batting .262 after fourteen games. I’d never been more confident. Andy wasn’t the only one having a good season. He had hit ten homers in the nine games since he’d hit his first homer. The amount of attention he got increased with each game.
There were two homers in game fifteen, Andy walked twice, and batted in five runs. Both Andy and Jim Bale appeared on the front page of the school paper yet again. Bale was the winningest pitcher in the league and Andy had leaped into the home run and runs batted in lead, but as good as they were, Bale and Andy weren’t going to be the biggest baseball story my junior season at State.
As good as we were doing, we were in a tie with Greenwood for the division lead and Bradbury was close behind. Only one of us would make it to the NCAA tournament, but as closely as the school watched to see if we’d finally make it, that wasn’t to be the biggest story that ended up captivating the school for the final part of the school year.
I hadn’t seen it coming even though Coach Bell had given me a heads up on the possibility of trouble. Having complete faith in Coach Bell, it never occurred to me that he could be mistaken on something he did. He was well prepared, rarely changed his mind about a player or a game plan, but no one is infallible.
Going into the final quarter of the season, we were still in a dogfight and all our minds were on doing the best job possible on the field. With both Greenwood and Bradbury in the middle of the league championship battle we couldn’t afford to become distracted. At 18-6 we’d be untouchable most seasons but with 8 games left we couldn’t shake our competition.
It was Steve Phillips on the mound for game twenty-five. He was pitching in his first start as we went up against Bradbury, who had a shot at taking us out of the competition each time we played. We were on the stretch run and every loss made the road ahead that much more difficult. We’d led the league all season, but we’d failed to seal the deal.
Our pitching staff was thin to begin with and sore arms and tired pitchers had given their all in every game, keeping us in the lead, but the inevitable need to rest them had us pitching pitchers who weren’t starters. We had to go with what we had and Steve was our long relief pitcher who hadn’t lost a lead so far, but he’d never started a game before. He was good for three or four innings if needed, but we’d need that and more to keep Bradbury’s bats at bay. Like the starting rotation, our relief pitching was limited and we couldn’t afford to use them all up and get caught flatfooted in the next game.
Coach Bell wasn’t in the habit of getting caught flatfooted. He was always in control and never showed surprise, unless it was good surprise, and then a big smile would cover his face as he let you know you’d done okay, but mostly he stayed out of our way, letting us play our game, making moves only when necessary. He had a total grasp on who each of his players were and what he could expect from them.
Heaven help you if you let him or the team down.
As I recall, I was in a good spot. We weren’t in any trouble as of yet and my game was as good as it had ever been. My friendships and interactions with my team were solid, except for Kane, but he was just a guy who sat on our bench and took the field with us. Mostly I ignored him.
Andy and I had found the proper passion for baseball and each other. Everything seemed to be going in our favor and no one suspected the change.
The breaks in our routine came all at once. Phillips was taking his first start, but the fact Coach Briscoe was sitting in Coach Bell’s chair at game time wasn’t good. Coach Briscoe didn’t have much to say to me since I’d walked out on his practice session the day after Money broke his arm. I didn’t need to communicate with him, because I communicated with Coach Bell.
Coach Briscoe was someone I listened to and dismissed as a cranky want-a-be that was jealous of Coach Bell’s relationship with his team and the ease with which he did his job.
As we came back to the bench to let Bradbury warm up before the game, seeing Coach Briscoe still sitting in the Coach Bell’s chair was wrong.
“Where’s Coach Bell?” I asked, hesitating as I took my seat too close to where Coach Briscoe sat.
“Don’t worry about it,” he growled, dismissive of the inquiry as he watched the field.
I checked my gear, put my shin guards and batting helmet in their proper place so I could grab them as quick as we came off the field, once we got Bradbury out in the first inning. I liked having everything in place because I batted first and it took me a minute to get geared up. The umps didn’t like you to take too long getting out to the plate. You were expected to be ready by the time the pitcher finished his warm up throws.
Before long it was game time. There was no Coach Bell.
Phillips walked the first batter and he seemed uneasy, as he rubbed up the ball between pitches. When the second batter hit a grounder to my left, I was all over it, flipping it to Chance, who finished the easy double-play with a perfect throw to Pierce at first. We got out of the inning on a strikeout and Coach Briscoe was still sitting in Coach Bell’s place when I got back to the bench. I didn’t like it. Coach Bell had said nothing about being late. He should have been there.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it but as I put on my plastic shin protectors before batting, I was aware of it and how it unsettled me. Coach Bell addressed us as the head coach but he was often absent at practice. Even when he was there he seemed absent at times. He’d always been in his chair for games. He was always there when we needed him. Where was he?
I didn’t like it because Coach Bell was already so laid back it was almost like he wasn’t there, unless we screwed up. If you did something stupid or made a bonehead play, he was all over you. He took it behind closed doors and refused to embarrass you in front of your teammates, but he let you have it.
I’d noticed the Bradbury pitcher was new to me. Maybe they were resting some of their starters as well? I figured this guy was probably a sophomore and maybe a relief pitcher I’d never faced. My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the baseball hitting the chain link in the backstop. I watched as I tightened my shin guards. Another ball sailed over the catcher’s glove as he leaped to stop it, but it jangled the chain link a few feet behind the umpire and just above his head.
The umpire glared out at the mound after picking up the ball. He checked it for flaws before throwing a perfect strike at the pitcher. The ump had a pretty good fastball.
The catcher stood to give his pitcher a bigger target to aim at as he continued to warm up. The umpire spoke to the catcher. I selected a bat from the bat rack, concerned about the activities at the plate. Another pitch hit the backstop jangling more than the chain link as I moved toward the plate.
Where’d they pick this guy up, the parking lot?
The next ball bounced in front of the plate and rattled back around the wooden bottom of the backstop.
The umpire picked up the ball and threw another strike back to the pitcher, showing him how it was done.
This guy wasn’t going to last long, I thought, swinging the bat to stay warm, waiting for him to take all the warm up pitches he needed.
I was in no hurry.
Chapter 3
Bell Ringer
The catcher jogged out to the mound with the ball as I crossed behind the backstop to get to my side of the plate. The umpire stood staring at Bradbury’s bench as if he was expecting something from their coach.
I stood fast as the first two pitches were so far outside the catcher had to scramble to get to them. Both times his throw back to the pitcher was a rocket. When the ball collided with the pitcher’s glove, it created a popping sound. The next pitch forced the catcher to chase it down. The pitcher’s glove popped once more with the catcher’s angry throw. I walked on the next pitch and hadn’t seen a strike yet. If they left that guy in it was going to be a long inning. Their team had lost even more of its pitching staff the year before to graduation than we did, but, like us, most of their best hitters were back. They could break a game open in no time at all.
I was ready to steal second and then third on this guy, but the third base coach gave me the stop sign. Every time the pitcher threw the ball, the catcher had to scramble for it. When Pierce walked on five pitches, I understood that I got to second without the risk of being thrown out. With a wild pitcher you waited him out and didn’t give him any easy outs. We’d let him walk the entire lineup if he lasted that long.
I took a good size lead off second. The catcher was way busy and the pitcher was still searching for the plate. I really wanted to run. After two balls thrown well outside to Chance, the Bradbury coach came off the bench and the catcher met him at the pitcher’s mound. The idea of walking the bases loaded to start the game didn’t seem to be appealing to either of them.
After this meeting of the minds, the next pitch went over everyone’s head, hitting high up on the backstop. The chain link rattled and Chance followed the ball’s trajectory with amazement before he relaxed, stepping back out of the batter’s box. He glared out at the pitcher, taking a couple more practice swings before he was ready to step back in to the batter’s box.
The pitcher glanced at his bench as if he expected company. The catcher walked out in front of the plate, firing the ball back at the pitcher. Chance crowded the plate. This guy hadn’t thrown anything inside yet and this way he could possibly get his bat on the ball. I moved a few strides toward third. Chance took a few more practice swings, the catcher eased back down into his croch, and the sequence of events began again.
The next pitch came in on Chance, forcing him to stumble backwards. As he twisted to get away from the ball, his bat found the ball and instead of a walk, it was a foul, strike one. I had been off and running and only a step from third base when I was forced to retreat back to second base. I hadn’t lost my anxiousness to run.
I waited for the coach to reappear, taking the long walk back to the mound, signaling for another pitcher and yanking this yahoo once and for all, but he didn’t move from the bench.
I looked back at the plate to see Chance taking more practice swings. He was no worse for wear. I could see by the color of his face, he was pissed. To prove it he pointed his bat at the pitcher twice, holding it the second time so the barrel was aimed directly at the wild man, pulling the bat back down before he could be warned by the umpire to play nice.
I think even the umpire had had enough of this guy. There were more Chance practice swings taken as he stared in the pitcher’s direction, and he eased himself back into the batter’s box, digging his cleats firmly into the dirt, showing no fear. Two more practice swings, still glaring at the pitcher.
Then, the pitcher was ready. Chance grew still. As soon as the pitcher started his motion, I was off and determined to get to third no matter what happened at the plate. I’d waited long enough. It was time to run and I ran.
Call it a hunch or whatever you want, but I felt no danger of being thrown out. The odds were it was going to be ball four anyway and I got to stretch my legs as the walk would send me to third and put Pierce on second.
When I heard the bat crack, I was only a couple of steps from third base, I lengthened my stride. Rounding third as the ball hit directly in front of the pitcher’s mound, forcing him into an impromptu little dance as the ball squirted between his legs and it bounded over second and out into short centerfield.
I was on home plate waiting for Pierce as Chance made a wide turn at first, dashing for second base as the second baseman and centerfielder ran down the ball. Pierce joined me at the plate before Chance pulled up at second, beating the throw in to the shortstop by a step.
My coaching skills still needed work or the Bradbury coach needed a refresher course on when to pull a pitcher. They left the guy in to pitch to Andy when I was sure he was done for the day. They had to know Andy was on a tear with nearly half his hits being homers in the past nine games.
Why let this guy feed Andy a fat pitch? Of course they could walk him with first base open. Maybe they’d let him do the dirty, walk Andy, and then call on a relief pitcher to take over. It was still the first inning with no outs. Bringing in a relief pitcher meant calling on another starter. If they had a well rested starter would they be pitching this guy?
Bradbury, not being very deep in pitchers, might be leaving him in as a strategic move. We hit everyone equally well and maybe they were giving up a game to keep their better pitchers fresher to pitch against weaker teams. A loss to us put Bradbury two games behind us in the standings. With Wertz and Kane following Andy in the lineup, walking Andy was risky. Maybe coaching wasn’t my cup of tea. I’d have pulled this guy a long time ago.
Where in the hell was Coach Bell?
It’s easy to speculate when you’re flying high. My junior season was going far better than the beginning of the previous season. I was established as a key member of the team. I didn’t need to prove myself or fight for any recognition. I was batting respectably. It might not be major league hitting but it was better than before, which allowed me to become more comfortable at the plate.
I could tell a ball from a strike. I was willing to take a walk every time I came to bat, because it put me on base and with the lineup behind me, I scored often when I walked on my first turn at bat. It was key to our offense. If I walked and scored the pitcher wasn’t likely to establish dominance in the game, which isn’t always the cse, but starting off with a couple of runs in our first inning was instrumental in our winning season. Our competition was often playing catch up and that kept them off balance, giving State the advantage.
We’d come close the year before and this year we were playing together as a team and getting a good result. How losing Monty made such a difference baffled me. We were on our way to the tournament. We’d played well all season and his bat was dependable. Losing him upset our chemistry and we were soon sitting on the sidelines. While we all knew one man couldn’t make that much difference, at that strategic time it did. We were unable to regroup and in a couple of games we were toast.
Sports were funny that way. It’s why you kept wearing the same socks in every game. I was more of an objective observer. My future in baseball was limited. I could not be objective when thinking about Andy and Chance. They were likely to be climbing the baseball chain, once the season ended. Andy was playing his best ball of his career, after a slow start. Chance was hitting a ton and his fielding was close to perfect. Waiting meant risking injury and the possibility of having a bad season his senior year. His value would never be higher, but Chance hadn’t announced his intentions.
If this was Andy’s dream it was hard to tell. He sulked a lot and he was moody. He hadn’t started hitting right away but that was behind him. While we were in the homestretch of our season, our three years together were about to end with less than a month of ball left to play. He’d graduate and a whole new world would open before him.
I wanted a championship season for Andy. It would be the perfect sendoff and he’d have something great to look back on. Andy didn’t like change, I realized he wasn’t very happy knowing change was coming. Unhappiness over leaving me behind, even for baseball, meant he cared a lot. Once he was gone, I was sure he’d have so much to do to adjust to his minor league team, he wouldn’t have time to miss me all that much. It was only a year until I graduated and then we’d plan our future together.
I had no history in playoffs or championships, which made me no different from most athletes. For each player who reached the championship heights in their sport there are a hundred who never get beyond taking pride in achieving a personal best or a school or county record. For us it was, ‘how we played the game.’
We played with championship caliber players, Andy and Chance, but there is never the depth behind them to propel their team to the championship level. I worried this would be true of State again. We’d come close and we’d played well enough to play in the championship rounds, except fate steps in to stop us.
There was no talk of this team being the equal of our last team, even though our record was the equal of that team. The idea of reaching the championships was enticing for me, but my future didn’t depend on it. I worried I’d fuck up and cost us a crucial game. My talent was as a fielder and I wasn’t likely to blow a big play. My bat was adequate but my abity to get a walk was a definite plus, but I still worried I wasn’t good enough.
No one talked up our record or our tenuous standing at the top of our league. There was such a thing as a junx and that was the sure way of bringing one on. We all knew where we stood and we all knew Greenwood and Bradbury were breathing down our necks. We wouldn’t win our league until the next to last or last game if we won at all and then we were in the Division Championships. It wasn’t something you needed to talk about. You played the best ball you knew how to play and the rest was out of your control.
I never thought much about playing on a winning team. There was never any idea of a championship season while I was in high school. The buoyancy of winning that accompanied our team last year was eye opening. Once you catch the fever, it changes everything. You fly high with every win and you crash and burn with each loss. Superstition and routine become a supernatural force that you can’t afford to ignore.
I don’t know what makes a winner, but on the off chance it’s wearing that same pair of socks you were wearing when you started a winning streak, you took no chances. You always approached the plate the same way. You never disregarded anything under your control, because there was so much you couldn’t control. The more you win the more careful you become. I never understood until we won the year before.
I liked baseball. I never considered it as a career opportunity but it was my ticket to being college educated. Doing well assured the status quo wasn’t likely to change and that made for comfort for this shortstop. I liked consistency. I liked predictability. I couldn’t ask for more as we reached the homestretch of my junior season. The only thing I’d change was to make Andy a junior so we’d graduate together.
We were winning 2-0 with Chance on second with no outs. Andy was coming to the plate with Wertz and Kane followed him. Our power hitters were coming up against a pitcher who couldn’t find the plate. I couldn’t take my eyes off the field. This was what made baseball exciting. My knees jumped as I watched Andy take practice swings. God he was beautiful.
Chance eased off second base four or five steps, realizing there was little chance of tempting a throw. Andy took a few more casual swings as he stepped in to the batter’s box. Talking about someone being in charge, he owned the plate.
Sitting in the catbird seat, I watched in disbelief as Andy took two straight balls before he stretched out across the plate with his bat to swat at what would have been a certain ball three, but instead it was a line drive right at the second baseman. Chance was a dead duck. A double play and that quick we felt the letdown that comes with disappointment. No one was more critical than Andy. He knew when he did it, it wasn’t smart, but he couldn’t stop himself.
It was a shocker that excited the Bradbury team. Wertz came up and struck out on three straight pitches, after the first two pitches were balls. Bradbury’s pitcher had finally found the plate and we’d let them off the hook. The team was growling as we took our 2-0 lead to the field.
Coach Briscoe let us hear about it. We’d let a golden opportunity slip away. We could have buried them in the first inning and instead we let them stay in the game. Bradbury hit two singles in the second but the runners were stranded as Phillips pitched his way out of it.
Bradbury’s pitcher settled down enough to keep us off balance. Every third or fourth pitch was wild, but in-between he managed to frustrate us with his curve and sinkerball cutting the corners of the plate. We couldn’t stand there waiting for a walk, although he did walk me my second at bat. There were already two outs and I died on first base.
It was easy for me to wait him out and take the walk but our biggest hitters, Andy, Wertz, and Kane, all struck out on bad pitches or topped balls that didn’t get out of the infield. On Chances second at bat he pitched four straight pitches well outside for a walk.
We were still nursing the 2-0 lead and Bradbury could break open a game just as fast as we could. A two-run lead wasn’t enough against a team with so many good hitters, but Phillips was pitching his best game at State.
When I came up in the fifth inning, I was staring out at the same unpredictable pitcher for the third time. It wasn’t what I expected. I’d written him off in the first inning, but he was still out there. How we were only leading 2-0 was even a bigger mystery. I’d do my best to work him for a walk and if I was lucky I’d get a pitch I could tag for a hit.
I knew better than to try to force anything. It wasn’t for me to break a game open. I was the guy that got in position for someone else to break the game open.
I got on my shin guards and the batting helmet and picked out my bat. Jogging out behind the backstop, I heard a familiar clang as the warm up pitch rattled the chain link. I shook my head, reached for a handful of good old State dirt, wiping it through my hands. I took my place in the batting box, looking out at the disorganized pitcher. He didn’t look at me until he pitched a pitch high and outside. The catcher stretched to knock the ball down. I shook my head again, having seen that pitch every time I came to bat that day. This guy was too predictable; ‘next pitch outside and low,’ I thought.
The second pitch bounced just over the plate and the catcher scrambled around, trying to find it between his legs and under his butt. I chuckled, remembering my previous at bats. The next pitch would be high and a little closer to the plate. I could see his pattern in my head. All I had to do is stand there and not swing at a bad pitch and I’d be on first base. He could be getting tired and our big hitters were right behind me.
I moved back up to the plate, took a couple of practice swings, after the catcher had fired the ball back to the pitcher. I waited for ball three. I was comfortable. Maybe I’d swing if the ball really looked good, marbe I’d wait for the walk.
I was too comfortable. I knew too much. I let myself believe I knew something I couldn’t know. Getting ahead of the game and especially getting out ahead of the pitcher was never a good idea, but I wanted to win and it seemed so safe, because this guy had been pitching me outside all day.
I watched the pitch all the way to the plate. It broke late. It broke inside and seemed to pick up speed. I got my feet tangled trying to move back out of the way of the pitch, but I was too slow, or the pitch was too fast, and a gigantic thump rang my bell as the ball smashed into the side of my batting helmet.
I felt the dirt under my back and I could feel the confusion whirling around me. I was there but not really. Faces came and went from my vision in that awkward position. Then, I took a nap.
Chapter 4
Final Bell
Someone was talking to me but his voice seemed so far away I couldn¹t understand the words. There were more people and more faces but I couldn¹t
tell who was who. I felt like a television must feel once it loses the signal. I knew I was picking something up but it was blurred and the picture kept rolling up and down and from side to side.
I didn¹t know where I was and I didn¹t know where they were. There were too many of them and I wasn¹t too clear on what was going on. I should have been going to first base. I did know that much, but this had become a strange game.
That¹s the way it seemed for a while. There were more faces, different faces, and then I was in a cool dark room, where I began connecting all the pieces. It was like waking up from a bad dream and not knowing what was real and what was part of the dream. I was pretty sure this fog had something to do with the baseball I was unable to escape at home plate.
Man, it felt more like the pitcher had hit me with the bat. I winced when I remembered the sound the ball made before checking to see if all my body parts worked. They all moved accordingly. Except for my headache, there was nothing unusual but a sliver of light that forced me to squint once I became aware of it. When I turned my head, I saw Coach Bell with two fat fingers holding a single slat in the window blinds open so he could gaze outside.
“It hurts my eyes,” I said.
“Ah, had enough sleep?” he asked. “I had them bring you in here to get you out of the traffic.”
“Jesus, my head hurts,” I revealed, rubbing my temples. “Did we win?”
“John, you just got beaned with a pitch. Don¹t you want to know about that?” Coach Bell quizzed.
“Yeah. Sure. Did we win?”
“Yeah, 5-0. They never got their bats going. They finally pulled that damn pitcher and we scored three in the sixth.”
“Good,” I said satisfied. “Where were you,” I objected, realizing I¹d spent the game checking the bench to see if he¹d finally shown up. “Coach Briscoe doesn¹t inspire us the way you can. When we check the bench we want you to be there.”
“That¹s why I¹m here. I wanted to talk to you before I left, John. How do you feel?”
“I¹ve got a headache. What did he hit me with, a brick?”
Coach Bell reached for something on my bed stand. He handed me my batting helmet. Just in front of where my ear would have been was a neat baseball sized splintered indentation.
“Will they make me pay for a new one?” I asked, tracing the indentation with my finger.
“Very funny, John. You must feel okay?”
“I have a killer headache. How long have I been here?”
“An hour. I had them give you a room so you weren¹t in all that confusion downstairs. I wanted to talk to you in private.”
“College Hospital?” I asked. “What about?”
“Yeah, you may have a concussion but the x-rays didn¹t show anything. They¹ll give you more tests to be sure, but they said they didn¹t see anything. You got your bell rung.”
“So, when can I get out of here?” I asked.
“They¹ll probably want to do the tests tonight if they can. If you feel like going back to the dorm after that it should be okay. You¹ve got Andy, Chance, and Wertz downstairs waiting to find out how you are. They¹re still in their uniforms. They came right from the game. I told them to go get a shower but you kids are all hardheaded as hell. I guess they¹ll be there to escort you back to the dorm.”
“My parents?” I asked. “Do they know?”
“No, I¹ll call them if you want me to. It might get to the news. It¹ll be a big story in the school paper, after they did that spread on ‘Dooley to Chance¹ last week. It¹ll be a follow up they can¹t resist, but it has a happy ending.”
“Let me call them. That way they¹ll know I¹m okay. Can I get up?”
“Let me check, John,” Coach Bell said, going out into the hall.
“Turn on the light,” I said as he came back in the room.
“Yeah, there¹s nothing to keep you in bed.”
“Ah, Mr. Dooley,” a nurse said as she came in the room. “We can do the MRI right away and have you out of here in no time at all. How do you feel?”
“I have a headache. I feel like I¹ve been hit in the head,” I explained to her as she looked at me curiously.
“Oh, of course, I¹ll have a prescription to help the pain once they¹ve cleared you to go home. I¹ll send someone up with a chair to get you to where you need to be. I¹ll tell your friends you¹ll be along shortly. Are all your players this cute, Coach Bell? I might become a baseball fan if they are.”
“I¹m afraid all I look at is how they play baseball. You¹ll need to draw those conclusions yourself, Maryanne.”
“So, where were you?” I asked, realizing the only shoes I had were my cleats.
“It¹s why I¹m here, John. I¹m not in any official capacity with State, but I was hoping to find a way to talk to you. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m here out of concern for one of my players.”
“You¹re still my coach. What¹s with the subterfuge?”
“No, I¹m not, John. I¹m leaving State. You¹ll read about it in tomorrow¹s school paper. Look right beside the story about you being knocked out of today¹s game. I made an agreement so the school isn¹t forced to forfeit any post-season opportunities you boys earn or scholarships and I agreed to slip away quietly.”
“I just got hit in the head, Coach. You¹ve got to go a little slower. What are we talking about?”
“They¹ve been looking at my association with the team that signed Monty so he got the rehab he needed last season. We talked about it being a bit over the line because I called people on a minor league team on Monty’s behalf. I went to school with their General Manager. It has the look of impropriety. We all knew Monty was leaving after last season one way or another. I merely sped up the process but what I did broke the rules. No harm, no foul if I walk away without comment.”
“Coach, we¹re winners because of you,” I argued. “Coach Briscoe doesn¹t have any appreciation for who we are beyond the baseball field. He can¹t handle us the way you do.”
“No, John, you¹re wrong. You¹re winners because of you, and Chance and Andy. I don¹t do anything. I apply motivation when it¹s needed, but you boys are as good a team as I¹ve ever coached. I never got to a championship with you, but you men were as close to champions last season as I can ever hope to be.
“What happened to end it was beyond anyone’s imagination. If we¹d had a few games to adjust to Monty’s leaving, we may have been able to recover and make it into the NCAA Championships. It wasn’t meant to be. There was no time to regroup and that¹s so much history.
“That wasn¹t me. That was all you men. You put your heads down and pushed yourselves to the limit. I stood back amazed at how you performed under pressure. You played each game to the best of your ability. You were champions to me. You showed them how it was done. It¹s how champions play. It¹s how I expect you to play the rest of the season.”
“ “I never felt any different, Coach. I play it one game at a time because it¹s how I see it. You let us have the room to do that. You didn¹t put pressure on us or ask for anything we weren¹t ready to give you.”
“You and Chance are two of the finest infielders I¹ve ever coached. Watching you grow has been a pleasure for me. That¹s why I¹ve spent so much time keeping you in the game, John. You both need more seasoning, experience under pressure, but you¹ve got everything you need.
“Your bat presents a challenge, but you’re improving. With how the game is played today, a team might want you for your glove work. I¹m just sorry I¹ve got to leave before the job is done.
“It¹s not easy leaving State, but things are the way they are. Life is what it is. I knew the rules and I got caught doing something for one of my players that broke one. I did it for all the right reasons, but opposing coaches don¹t care about good intention. Monty needed to be in a first-class facility to make sure his arm healed properly. I couldn¹t standby hoping he¹d get it right on his own. I knew the General Manager. I called to ask him to offer Monty a contract. I knew better and I’m not sorry. It was the right thing to do, but like you must follow the rules, I’m even more responsible for setting an example.”
“Didn¹t you tell the school that?” I asked, concerned for him and our team.
“No, John, that isn¹t the issue. The issue was I did what I was accused of doing. That’s what I told them I did. It’s best I take the hit rather than have my team take it. I didn’t ask you what I should do. What kind of coach would I be if I put myself ahead of my team? I was allowed to secure certain concessions for my agreement to leave quietly. It is the main reason we needed to talk.
“I¹ve signed your letters and it guarantees your scholarship and room and board through your senior year. It¹s a little early but I wanted to do it to bind the school no matter what happens. Coach Briscoe is not your biggest fan, John. He¹s going to make it hard on you. You know why. He holds a grudge and he thinks I¹ve been protecting you. Keep your head down and don¹t let him get under your skin.”
“That¹s what makes you a good coach. You don¹t hold grudges or base your decisions on your personal feelings. You¹re about what’s best for the team and Coach Briscoe isn¹t. You can’t convince me he doesn’t have a hand in this somewhere?”
“As far as I¹m concerned, he can¹t afford to take you out of the infield. Chance and you are a well oiled machine. You¹re too important to the team and he knows that. Whether or not he is behind how I was asked to leave, we’ll just say it doesn’t matter now. I can¹t do anything about him. He¹s the boss but he can¹t undo your scholarship if you keep your grades up and show up to play every day and every practice. “He can¹t take your spot away, but I want you to give him your best. And remember, I¹ll be keeping my eye on all of you, even though I¹m not going to be with you. I still have connections to the program, even if I¹m not here with you. Don’t let me catch you boys dogging it or you’ll hear from me.”
“Where will you go?” I asked.
“I¹m not without offers. Last season didn¹t hurt me at all. I¹ll land on my feet and you¹ll hear about me one day. I¹m really not able to tell you any more than that. I¹m not even supposed to be talking to you now. My official duties have been terminated. I was watching the game. As captain I was looking for an opportunity to talk to you. This wasn¹t what I had in mind but it will do. They don¹t want me talking to the team so you can pass the word. You don’t need to tell them how you feel about the change. You’re still in a battle in our league.”
“You mean Briscoe doesn¹t want you talking to us?”
“Coach Briscoe! Don¹t go making it hard on yourself, John. It’s his team now.”
“I don¹t want to play for another Coach,” I complained.
“You’re a baseball player, John. You don¹t get to pick the coach. Just do what you do and don¹t worry about who sits in the coaches seat. You¹ve got nothing to worry about. Coach Briscoe knows you¹re the shortstop. You might miss a couple of games with a headache, but who is going to replace you?”
There was a handshake as the chair came in the door to take me for an MRI. Coach Bell smiled at me as I looked back over my shoulder while the nurse talked to him. I felt like a child who was seeing a friend for the final time. Everything was happening too fast for me to process it all. I still wasn¹t feeling any too hot from my introduction to the beanball. Coach Bell¹s visit had certainly gotten my mind off my headache. I didn¹t like it. I didn¹t like Briscoe. I didn¹t like how it made me feel. Baseball is relatively predictable. You may never know who will win or lose when you take the field, but the pitcher would pitch, the hitter would try to hit him, and the fielders were there if he did.
This news had changed everything I knew and trusted about the game. It’s predictable
aspects had been turned upside down. With a handful of games left in our season it was like we were starting over. It was like spring practice was just around the corner. The unknown was far greater than the known.
I did want my final year at State and Coach Bell made sure it was going to happen. I¹d bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. We¹d be well into the second semester next season before Coach Briscoe would become a serious issue. I¹d do what Coach Bell suggested for the remainder of this season. It wasn’t going to be easy.
It took another hour for me to be poked and prodded and have my brain examined.
I felt like shit and what was on my mind made me uncomfortable, but I was ready to get out of there by the time they wheeled me toward the door.
My three teammates were waiting for me as I came into view. They all stood at the same time, looking a little like road kill. I couldn¹t help but wonder how I looked.
“Can you walk?” Andy wanted to know, as he held out my tennis shoes from my locker.
“Don¹t be silly,” Chance answered. “They wouldn¹t be releasing him to us if there was anything wrong with him. Besides, he got hit in the head. Nothing to worry about there.”
“Thanks, Chance. I love you too. I have a fond attachment to my head.”
“Hey, Do, can you play the next game?” Wertz asked, getting right down to his main concern.
“I¹ve got a headache and I¹m hungry. They¹re trying to starve me in this place,” I complained as I pushed myself out of the chair, once I tied my Shoes. I handed over my cleats for Andy to take.
We headed for the door.
They told me who else had been there.
I reminded them I was hungry and immediately got a pain in my gut.
Coach Bell was gone.
Chapter 5
One Big Headache
Baseball wasn’t in my blood. It was part of my game plan in becoming educated. With Andy and Chance, and even Wertz, baseball was in their blood. It was who they were not just what they did, but I couldn’t tell them my feelings, because what I did impacted each game and had an influence on how they were seen. Becoming champions required an entire team effort. You couldn’t be a champion without all the pieces playing together on that level. I was sure I gave each game all I had and it didn’t need to be in my blood the way it was in theirs.
Championships might be won with consistent play throughout the season but they were lost in an instant. A bad throw, a muffed grounder, a poor pitching performance in a key game and a championship skips just beyond your grasp. Woe it be to the player who costs his team a championship, but every year someone does.
I didn’t see Coach Bell’s departure in baseball terms. He’d done something I don’t think coaches do all that often. He took me, a player, into his confidence. He spoke to me man to man, not coach to player.
Oh, he did speak to me as coach to player, but when he did, it wasn’t the kind of attention I wanted. Coach Bell could separate Do the ballplayer from John the person. Sitting in his office long after practice or a game wrapped up, he spoke to me of a larger picture, even reflecting on my future.
It wasn’t the way I saw most coaches treating their players. It now became unclear why he confided in me and not Chance or some other more complete ballplayer. Coach Bell was an instinctive coach and I’d probably never know what motivated him to tell me about the inner workings of the process of coaching.
In this way I saw my loss as greater. Coach Bell brought me along from the earliest days of my baseball career at State as of I belonged there, when I wasn’t sure I did. He’d treated me like someone special, when I didn’t feel special or even think I’d get much beyond the role as a mop up shortstop who came in to protect leads in the later innings of big games.
Coach Bell changed who I was as a person as well as altering my life as a player. I saw baseball in far broader terms than before. I no longer viewed my hitting first when thinking about my role. It had always been the first thing on my mind before. I wasn’t a good hitter. I still wasn’t a good hitter, but I was a smart one.
I carried a pride I didn’t have before. I felt important to the team. My role as leader and hard worker was bolstered by my mention in the school paper. There was something nice about the words Captain John Dooley. Then, there were articles about Dooley to Chance, State’s ‘golden infield combination.’
It had all happened without much notice for me. I was too busy playing to notice my progress. There was too much to do to worry about where I was at any given time. It wasn’t until Coach Bell was gone that I found myself concerned about my future in baseball as well as my scholastic future.
There wasn’t any drama in Coach Bell’s coaching style. What he did took place within the confines of the baseball diamond, but his actions resulted in an extended appreciation for the game, at least in my case. He was a focused man of few words. It was easy to forget he was coaching if all went well. Everything had gone very well over the last two seasons. His pride in us was obvious. Our loyalty to him was automatic.
Coach Bell stopped to speak to the guys that came to the hospital after I was hit by the pitch. Coach Briscoe had called them together after the win and told them Coach Bell had resigned. He offered no details and didn’t state the obvious. He was coach now and he didn’t feel it was necessary to explain anything to his players.
As we went to eat they told me what Coach Bell had said. I didn’t add anything to the conversation. Hearing Coach Briscoe had taken charge left me without hope it was all a dream, or nightmare, induced by being beaned.
We got burgers and fries and I carried half of mine back to the room. My stomach said I was hungry but my headache told me my stomach didn’t want all that grease and fat in it. I wasn’t all that certain it was merely the headache putting a crimp in my appetite.
I would reveal some of the details Coach Bell gave me over time, but only when it seemed appropriate. Coach Bell hadn’t told me to straighten it out with the team and I took it to mean the things he told me were for my consumption to be used only as I deemed appropriate. I didn’t want to dwell on it with his departure being so new.
I did want my final year at State and Coach Bell made sure I’d get it. I’d bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. We’d be well into the second semester next season before Coach Briscoe would become a serious issue.
For the remainder of this season I’d do what Coach Bell suggested and not make any waves. It was another piece of information I wouldn’t share with my teammates. I was happy to have the guarantee of a senior season but not so much I wished to brag about it. That would be something I never told any of my teammates.
I felt like shit once we were back in the privacy of our room. I had more on my mind than was comfortable. The headache stayed constant. I was not to sleep soundly and the medication to help with the pain went to Andy with the instructions that I couldn’t have any until the following day and then only as instructed. There was no point in arguing with Andy about it. He took such instructions seriously and not even I could persuade him that the instructions didn’t apply.
As soon as we got inside the dorm room door, he threw a lip lock on me like there was no tomorrow, which revealed there were certain advantages to getting hit in the head. I may not need those pain killers after all.
It was passionate and reassuring, since Andy wasn’t always amorous. That’s not to say sex wasn’t centermost on his mind much of the time. Once he let me know how glad he was to get me back in relatively good shape, he backed off, explaining I wasn’t supposed to get too excited or go to sleep.
“That’s one way to keep me awake,” I assured him. “I’m not supposed to sleep soundly. That doesn’t mean I can’t sleep.”
What was typically an invitation to at least a half hour of passion ended abruptly.
“Was it something I said,” I said.
“You didn’t say anything,” Andy responded.
“No, it’s difficult to talk with your tongue in my throat. That’s not to say I didn’t like it there.”
“That’s not funny,” Andy rejoined unsympathetically.
“What’s not funny is your going over there to sit. Your tongue isn’t that long,” I said.
“Do, I’ve got my orders. We’ve got all day tomorrow and all tomorrow night to make out. You need to rest.”
“No, we don’t. I have classes all day tomorrow.”
“See, it’s always about classes and you’ve got to study. You just want to aggravate me because we can’t do it.”
“No, I’m trying to get you to bring your tongue and your other most exciting body parts over here.”
“You have to rest and not get all worked up.”
“No one said anything to me about not making love to you. Who were you talking to?”
There was a knock on the door and Andy stood to rearrange himself in his pants, sitting down as I got up to open the door.
“How you feeling, Do?” Chance asked, looking around at me standing behind the half-open door.
“Oh fine, I guess. You haven’t asked me that for… maybe five minutes.”
“When Andy gets tired he can come get me, and Wertz will take a shift. That way if Andy falls asleep you don’t go into a coma or anything weird like that.”
“Oh, why not,” I said, realizing the idea of having a fabulous fuck with Andy was going out the window.
”Okay, Andy?” Chance asked, looking toward Andy.
“Yeah, I’ll take the first watch. I’ll get one of you around mid-night.”
“We’re playing cards in Wertz’s room. Just come in when you need us. We’re going to stay up all night anyway.”
“Beer?” Andy asked.
“Shhh!” Chance said.
“We don’t have much time,” I said, as soon as Chance closed the door.
“The doctor told me you should rest,” Andy said. “You’ve got to go back over to the hospital tomorrow morning. They want to check for anything unusual.”
“Don’t remind me. Besides, I’ve got a headache.”
“Yeah, right,” Andy said with a smirk.
“You’ve got a headache and I’ve got a pain in my ass.”
“Fine way to talk and us still dressed.”
Our worlds were about to divide. Being beaned by a pitch served as a reminder we weren’t going to be together much longer. This made Andy protective as well as attentive, but time was passing. I can’t say I minded either, but that night we had to cool it with Chance and Wertz lurking.
It was nice to know they cared beyond baseball. Life was a peculiar mix of realizations and missed opportunities. I was glad I didn’t miss this one, but I wasn’t getting hit in the head again to see if anyone really cares.
The feeling that none of the teammates I’d been closest to would be there to see me through my senior season was never stronger. With Coach Bell gone Chance and Wertz would have even more incentive to forgo their final baseball season at State. I had no confidence Coach Briscoe could entice them into staying. Chance had cut way back on his classes as a junior and Andy and Wertz took the athlete-friendly courses meant to keep them eligible.
I’m not certain if I slept soundly or not with all the thinking I did. When I got up at seven to have the time to stop at the hospital on my way to my first class at nine, Andy was sleeping soundly in his bed. Chance slept in the chair beside the computer and Wertz was asleep in the corner. I didn’t wake any of them, slipping out a few minutes after my alarm went off next to my head.
I’d made it through the night with my headache still there. I took the bottle of pills out of Andy’s shirt pocket, popped one, and put the bottle in my shirt pocket. I knew he’d worry about having lost them but I didn’t want to disturb his sleep.
It didn’t take long for a nurse to escort me back to see one of the emergency room doctors. He flashed a light in my eyes, asked me about my headache, which hadn’t changed. He said I should return in the morning unless the headache got worse or there was anything unusual going on, then, I was to return immediately. Whatever he was looking for he didn’t share with me.
“Can I play?” I asked before heading for class.
“Are you taking the pills?”
“Yes, sir. I took one before leaving the dorm.”
“No, you can’t play. You keep taking the pills and maybe next week you’ll be well enough to play,” he said, writing something on the folder with my name on it.
“We’ve got two games before then,” I complained. “I’m the captain of the team,” I argued.
“You can travel. You can sit on the bench. You can’t do either in uniform. You’re a civilian until we say otherwise. I’ll call Coach Bell to let him know your status.”
Good luck on that one. I wasn’t sure how to handle my disability. I wouldn’t have played with my head pounding, because it was distracting, but I didn’t figure to have a headache for a solid week.
“Ho! Ho!” the nurse said as I headed for the door.
“Is it Christmas already?” I answered.
“Very funny. Pills?”
Reaching into my pocket I handed them to her.
“Don’t look so glum. You’ll be okay. One every four hours if the headache continues. No more than that. If they don’t help with the pain, you come back in. I’ll be here until eight tonight.”
“Every four hours,” I repeated.
“You’re a wicked bad shortstop, you know,” she said as I began to walk away.
“Yeah, who told you?” I asked without being convinced.
“I played baseball in college. I know a good shortstop from a slouch. You can play on my team any day.”
It was nice to be complimented away from the baseball field but I’d have rather she said, ‘play ball.’
I may as well have skipped my first class. It was all review for finals, but I continued thinking about baseball and Coach Bell. I needed my grades more than ever and slacking off wasn’t a good idea.
I was starved by lunch and decided to head for the cafeteria. Andy came over with his tray loaded down and dropped in the seat beside me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’ve got enough food there to feed the third army.”
“I do not. Maybe it’s a little too much. Too late now. You can have some.”
“So?”
“So what?” he snapped.
I glared at him.
“Oh, Briscoe had his panties all in a bunch because we went over to the hospital yesterday after the game.”
“You told him Coach Bell was there,” I said harshly.
“So what?”
“Coach Bell wasn’t supposed to talk to us, Andy.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“You don’t think Coach Briscoe is going to tell the Regents that he talked to us.”
“He didn’t talk to me. I talked to him, okay? He came to make sure you were okay. Okay! What would they expect our coach to do? He was worried about you.”
“It’s too late now. I don’t know what the agreement is. I only know what Coach Bell said. Don’t worry about it. Coach Bell is gone. It’s a whole new ballgame.”
Between bites Andy processed what I had to say.
“What did the doc say?”
“I’ll be out of action for a week.”
“A week?” Andy said.
“Two or three games,” I calculated without remembering the exact number of games.
“The season is almost over, Do. We need you in the infield.”
“Porter can play shortstop,” I realized. “He’s not bad.”
“Ike? He hits like a girl,” Andy protested.
“What do I hit like then? He’s better at the plate than I am.”
“Maybe he is, but he can’t cover the field you cover. He’d rather strike out than walk.”
“He can catch the ball and he knows where to throw it once he does. He’ll be okay. It’ll get him some game time, which will be good for him.”
“He’s a sophomore,” Andy complained. “We’re heading for a championship season and we don’t need any sophomores.”
“I was a freshman when Bell called me up. You didn’t seem to mind much then.”
“Yeah, but Ike isn’t as cute as you either,” he said casually as he ate on his chicken leg before looking around to make sure the comment hadn’t gone too far.
The chicken leg left a grease slick around his well-shaped lips and he smiled to himself as he chewed.
We left it at that. Jeff Henry was on the freshman team but I wasn’t sure he played shortstop. His brother trained me to play that position. If he taught Jeff I was in serious trouble, because if Jeff hit anything like Bobby hit, he’d be in our lineup next season.
I should have gone around to say hello and find out what kind of player he was before now but I didn’t know him and he didn’t know me and it was just another missed opportunities.
I suppose I was too wrapped up in what I was doing to check on him. The fact Bobby Henry taught me everything I knew didn’t mean I was responsible for his kid brother. It was one of those things that hadn’t entered my mind before the entire season was suddenly up for grabs and out of my hands.
I had no feeling for what Coach Briscoe might do. Our season was coming to a close one way or another. I figured I could make it for the rest of the season and simply stay clear of Briscoe. My senior year would be a piece of cake, even if Jeff Henry was as good as his brother. Except without Andy, Chance, and Wertz, it wouldn’t be as much fun.
Chapter 6
Bench Jockey
We were in the middle of a dogfight to be the team in our division to get to the NCAA Championships. If we didn’t I’d get the blame from some of the players. One of the wheels had come off of Coach Bell’s well oiled wagon.
I was probably being unnecessarily negative, but we had stumbled last year with a better team. It was all gravy the previous season. It was as if we were destined, but an injury to a key player finished us.
I’d never gone so far and my team had never come so close in my baseball days. I’d never felt the same about this years team. We were good. We played steady baseball but the memory of what happened one season before kept me from getting ahead of our next game. Now I didn’t know when my next game would come.
Being on the bench would be difficult. I didn’t often get to watch baseball, especially from that vantage point. I’d come up to the varsity on an injury to the shortstop and I never got sent back to the freshman team. I had never sat on the bench while my team was in the field, save once or twice when Coach Bell pinch hit for me in a game we had under control.
Now I knew how the shortstop I replaced felt. I didn’t even remember his name. I’d come up and took his position. Did he get drafted by a club? Did he quit playing after graduation? Details I’d never considered before I got hurt. For a brief period I entertained the idea I might get picked up by a minor league team. That prospect seemed remote now. I hadn’t spent much time considering playing ball after college. I was a realist.
My days would be spent studying and attending the reviews in classes where I needed little review. I could do it on my own if I wanted. I thought about dragging Andy back to the dorm with me where I’d help him work off some of the extra calories he’d consumed at each meal. He still hadn’t gotten around to telling me what was eating at him as he tried to eat the cafeteria out of business.
Andy’s funk about Coach Briscoe’s panties being in a wad had him deciding to take off his two classes of gym that afternoon, where it was more likely he’d run into the coach. I sat watching the pile of food in front of him diminished. I could see him at thirty weighing three hundred pounds, but I didn’t add to his depression by mentioning it. I’d seen him eat similar amounts at times and the boy never gained an ounce.
When I said I was retiring back to the dorm, he quickened his pace of consumption, and he was right behind me as I hit the exit. As quick as we were inside the room we were stripping out of our clothes and trying to make out simultaneously. I didn’t have any trouble with the maneuver and any thought of droping in on one of my classes was gone for that day.
This was also a wonderful solution to everything that was on my mind. Anytime Andy slowed down to talk, I threw a lip-lock on him. This being instant assurance he’d be too preoccupied with me to contemplate his problems. It did wonders for my frame of mind as well, and the pills I was taking made sure my headache never broke through our passion.
I delighted his every corpuscle and he furnished a similar amount of enthusiasm for my own. We didn’t talk about baseball, Coach Bell, or my injury, but they were the things that seeped into my mind when there was a lull in love making.
Andy started our impending breakup funk along about this period. It was in his sad eyes. He’d push himself up and look down at my face, looking a bit like a puppy you’d just scolded. As quick as I went back to kissing on him, the mood would pass and the passion returned but he held me tighter than ever before.
His solid warm body felt wonderfully in tune with my own. We rolled, moved, and reached new peaks as our lust for one another kept us bound together. Even when it was time to think about something besides the love we shared, we didn’t. It just wasn’t going to happen on this day, and we didn’t even get out of bed for dinner, which was a major statement about how deeply he loved me as the room grew darker and darker.
The next morning I trekked back to the hospital and I sat waiting in the dimly lit room listening to the sounds of a busy hospital emergency room. I wondered if I might find Andy still in bed if I went back to the dorm instead of to class. I thought he’d need to get up for breakfast as we’d played dinner time away the night before.
The doctor kept flashing a light in my eyes. He’d flash it in one eye, quickly taking the light away, repeating this numerous times in each eye as the examination continued. Undecipherable sound affects went with this exam. The light he used did the same thing as the light from my monitor. Close up items blurred on the screen causing my eyes to water.
“How many fingers?” he asked, holding up three fingers with more sound affects.
More light flashing, followed by more finger counting. I was getting good at it. He seemed less than impressed, writing things as he went along but failing to share with me until we were almost done. This seemed way easier than my finals.
“How many fingers now?” he asked, with his hands in the pockets of his lab coat.
Hey, what kind of monkey business was he trying to pull?
“None,” I objected strenuously. “You’ve got your hands in your pockets,” I complained, seeking to make him aware of this oversight.
“Well, Mr. Dooley, I wanted you to get one right before I let you go. I can’t release you to play.”
“What’s that suppose to mean? How long is this going to go on?”
“You’re seeing multiple images. It’s not uncommon and I hope it will pass in a couple of days, but I can’t clear you to play until I’m sure you’re a hundred percent. You’ll need to come back Monday morning and we’ll see if it’s improved. I know you’re anxious to get back into the lineup but it’s too soon.
“I’ve looked at all your exam results and it’s a mild concussion, but even so, letting you risk getting hit in the head again isn’t a good idea. I’ll evaluate you again on Monday and make sure this has cleared up. It hasn’t been long enough for me to be alarmed.”
“I’m the starting shortstop. My coach has just bailed on me. I need to play,” I argued. “My team is counting on me.”
“Yes, you can travel with the team, sit on the bench, but it’s too much of a risk to let you play. I’ll call your coach and give him the update. Maybe on Monday it’ll be better.”
“That’s a week on the bench?” I objected without him reacting to my anguish.
“We’ll see you Monday,” he said, leaving the scene.
‘We’ll see you Monday.’ What, did he have a mouse in his pocket? Someone calling himself we bugged me. The result of the exam bugged me. I didn’t want to hear it, but I had. That was going to be three games. That was three games when Coach Briscoe had time to oust me at shortstop. How could Coach Bell do such a thing?
On my walk back to the dorm I pondered my conversation with Coach Bell in my hospital room. ‘I’ll land on my feet.’ He might land on his feet but we were leading our league by two and a half games, and he got us there. Coach Bell was non-intrusive and so laid back I had to check to see if he’d fallen asleep at times.
Coach Briscoe was brusk in an abrasive way that I didn’t like. He yelled his disapproval at someone in front of everyone. He sulked and charged around like a bull in a china shop.
*****
“What are you doing here?” Coach Briscoe asked when I showed up for practice that afternoon.
“You talked to the doctor?”
“I got a message. You’re out of commission. So, I’ll ask again, what are you doing here?”
My instincts told me to call him an asshole and tell him to fuck off, but I bit my tongue and spoke in a soft measured tone.
“I’m captain of the team. My coach… Coach Bell has left. I think I need to be here for continuity’s sake.”
“Continuity?” he questioned with a curt laugh. “Mr. Dooley, you’re a baseball player. Continuity? Your swallowing a dictionary doesn’t impress me. If you can’t play what the hell good are you to my team?”
His eyes sparked with the pent up venom he’d held in check for most of a year. I knew immediately what he was talking about. It had nothing to do with baseball. I’d disrespected him at a time he couldn’t retaliate, but Coach Briscoe came with a long memory.
I can’t say that I blamed him, although my actions the year before had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Monty’s injury. He’d taken personally my emotional reaction to Monty’s broken arm. I’d walked out on his practice on a day he was left in charge, and that wasn’t something he could forget.
“Yeah,” he said in a half-hearted endorsement. “Continuity indeed! You can sit on my bench, Dooley, but don’t cross me.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
I stood near the backstop as the team left the locker room for afternoon practice. I’d missed more classes but nothing important and I needed to be there the day before our next game. I was sure continuity was important.
“Hey, Do, you’re okay? You aren’t dressed? You going to play tomorrow?” were questions fired at me by each player.
It was what I wanted to get out of the way. Yes, I was fine. No I couldn’t play. It wasn’t much but making them wait until game day to hear it might unsettle my team and I wasn’t going to do anything to upset the guys I played ball with.
Coach Briscoe stood at one corner of the backstop and took it all in. He said nothing and didn’t step forward to take his team away from me. Once everyone was there, he made his position clear.
“Okay, girls, tea time is over. I’ve brought Jeff Henry over to play first. Pierce wants to give right field a try. Kane is the starting shortstop.”
“Kane!” Chance bellowed, saving me the energy. “He can’t play shortstop.”
“He said you trained him, Dooley. It’s my decision. I told you not to cross me.”
“I didn’t train him,” I explained. “I couldn’t train him. He doesn’t react fast enough. He isn’t sure where to throw the ball. Kane is a bad idea, Coach Briscoe,” I said with the word coach catching in my throat.
“I want his bat in the lineup and I’ve already made the changes. He might surprise you,” Coach Briscoe reasoned.
“No, he might surprise you,” I said without thinking.
“Dooley!” Coach Briscoe warned me.
I wasn’t the only one thrown off balance by these changes. Chance was so close to Briscoe he looked like he was arguing against an umpire who just called him out on a ball that wasn’t close to the strike zone. This allowed me to back off and let my emotions die down while Chance protested playing with the guy. I’d told Chance how addled Kane was as a shortstop, but that had been a ways back and maybe he’d matured enough to make better decisions.
I remembered how unhappy with me Kane was, while I coached him. He didn’t accept my opinion as being fact based. The idea that I told Coach Bell he would never be a shortstop further made Kane all the more eager to prove me wrong. His determination did not seem to fit his ability to me, but It was only a couple of games and how bad could he be? We had a two game lead with Greenwood winning on our day off.
“That’s my decision and it’s final. You want to sit on the bench with your boyfriend and hold his hand, Chance, or do you want to play ball?”
“What did you say,” Chance barked, and just then Wertz forced him out of his death spiral, backing him away from the confrontation.
“He’s the coach. What are you trying to do? Back off,” Wertz warned, sensing the possibility of losing another member in the starting lineup.
“What’s he trying to do,” Andy asked, making sure I was out of the line of fire.
“I’d say he’s decided to fuck up Coach Bell’s team.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He’s a lightweight compared to Coach Bell. The only way to discredit him is to let us lose,” I thought out loud. “He thinks we’ll be all his next season and he can take us as far as Coach Bell took us.”
“Nobody’s going to be here next year. These guys aren’t going to play for Briscoe,” Andy said. “Why go through the hassle? Most of the guys we run with can come out this year.”
“Most of them but me,” I said, knowing my value had dropped considerable on the open market after being injured.
Besides, it wasn’t about baseball it was about education. I had to keep that in mind. I didn’t have a dog in the fight any longer. I was assured a next season at State. I had an out for the rest of this season. I was injured. That got me a pass until next season if I decided not to play for Briscoe or at least to stay far enough away from him to secure my degree.
Somehow it didn’t make me feel light hearted. I didn’t know Chance or Wertz were leaving school after this season. I was a lot closer to believing they would now that Coach Bell was gone. They had no reason to stay and play for Coach Briscoe. Didn’t he understand that? Didn’t he know the team he expected to field next season, a lineup of experienced veterans, wasn’t going to stick around if he kept acting like an asshole?
Practice started with Kane at shortstop and with Coach Briscoe hitting easy grounders at him to prove he could play shortstop. Now if we could talk our competition into going easy on Kane, we had it made. I tried to look at all the angles in each situation but it was difficult to find the upside to this move.
I’d be counting the games as the season rolled on. Should I simply give the doc a bum count when he put up his fingers? Could I live with myself if I didn’t give my teammates everything I had so they went out winners? Could I live with myself if I let Andy’s shot at a championship slip away. Could I give less than the best I had for the guy I loved more than anyone else in the world? It was a no brainer in this situation.
I’d play for Briscoe as quick as I could get past the doctor’s exam, and I’d keep my mouth shut and give my guys all I had.
Chapter 7
Leadership
Chance was stoic in my absence at shortstop. Kane was unaware of Chance’s strong feelings about him replacing me. Kane was one of those guys who no one liked all that much but he wasn’t able to notice. He could be trusted to say precisely the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time and laugh spontaneously.
Most often his teammates met these inappropriate outbursts with astonishment. His antics made his ball-playing a secondary issue when considering him. He seemed certain we simply didn’t get the joke when it was him we didn’t get. I’m not saying someone didn’t like him. I didn’t know anyone who spoke up on his behalf. In right field he was relatively harmless, fielding at most a half dozen balls a game. His bat was a welcome addition to our lineup.
My desire to walk away from Coach Briscoe was overruled by good sense and a new found maturity. There was a responsibility that came with being captain. I didn’t want to adversely impact the team. My absence from the playing field was enough of a disruption in the final critical days of my junior season.
It was important for me to carry on in Coach Bell’s absence. This was my team and I was responsible to offer a voice of reason in the absence of good coaching. It wasn’t only a duty that came with the title but it was something I owed the team.
I’d disrespected Coach Briscoe once. It was a grudge that would be forgotten upon my departure. He seemed oblivious to the open rebellion that brewed among his charges. I became the voice of reason that Chance and some of the other players would heed. My closeness to Coach Bell was seen as his stamp of approval on me. In his absence they looked to me for leadership and I didn’t intend to let them down.
Chance followed my lead, exercising restraint, especially around Kane. Wertz followed Chance even when he didn’t agree with me. Andy would follow me anywhere, tailgating at times. Most of the team was loyal to one or all of us. An uneasy peace resulted with our first duty being to each other and the game.
Briscoe wasn’t seen as Coach Bell’s replacement. He was a secondary coach with limited duties. No one knew if he could step into the head coaching job and be affective. The initial lineup changes were cause for concern, but once the initial shock wore off, we had no evidence these moves would do damage. Kane had been in the lineup all season. It was only fair to let Coach Briscoe call the shots.
When the question came up, “Can he play shortstop, Do?” I replied, “We’ll need to wait and see.”
During practice on the day before our next game, Chance said nothing unpleasant as Coach Briscoe pampered his choice of shortstops. His gentle grounders to Kane drew easy throws, always to first base. It was enough to frost my balls but I kept smiling, trying not to look and compelled to at the same time. Can he play shortstop? Not yet.
It was like a slow motion dance and the rest of us didn’t know the steps. Chance took to turning his back and looking out at the empty outfield each time Coach Briscoe hit the ball. There was no chance Chance was going to receive the throw. Each one ended up in Jeff Henry’s glove.
Well, Jeff Henry wasn’t a first baseman either, so it was kind of poetic justice that the other man out of place in my infield would take all the throws. It would leave one to wonder, did they realize there was a second baseman, but maybe they calculated he needed no practice.
“Why’d he put me out at second?” Chance complained, coming in to get a drink as Kane continued his fielding display.
“You look damn good standing out there,” I said, not looking at him, knowing I’d bust out laughing if I did.
“You could do what I’m doing without going against doctor’s orders. You are allowed to stand aren’t you?”
Jeff Henry was the recipient of a batted ball from his coach. He charged the ball hard, gobbling it up into his capable glove. He tossed the ball back toward the coach and it rolled to a stop near his feet. With the rush coming from being called up to play with the big boys he did everything with enthusiasm.
Jeff seemed as anxious to please as I once was the first day I stood on the baseball diamond as starting shortstop. It was what all players waited for and he looked ready to me. I still worried he might decide he was a shortstop, but at the same time Kane wasn’t in my league and no threat to take my job.
This was an adjustment. We were doing a complete one eighty from what we knew, and some athletes were more temperamental than others when it came to change. I would be the bridge between Coach Bell and Coach Briscoe to make sure no one made any waves. We all knew our jobs.
By the time we got to the division playoffs we’d be better accustomed to the new coach and the only thing on our minds would be finally making it to the NCAA Championships. This was on all of our minds but we never spoke the words out loud. We’d been close last season, but we crashed and burned in a matter of a couple of games. This year would be different if we kept our heads.
There was no practice beyond the one held for the three infielders. Jeff Henry was already pumping Chance for advice. He was going to be okay. If he’d gone to Kane for advice I would have worried. Being a heads up player had him wanting instruction from the best player available.
I sat listening to Chance describing how he played second base. Of course Jeff knew Chance had the highest batting average on the team, but there was plenty of time to talk batting.
This chat was about glove-work. Chance smiled and seemed happy to demonstrate how he held his glove under certain circumstances. Jeff tried each position, moving his glove in response to Chance’s description.
The second string pitchers straggled in from the bullpen to provide a casual batting practice. This was more a loosening up drill for the hitters who wanted to take some swings. It was the routine the day before we played a game.
Hand-eye-coordination was a delicate balance. The great hitters were possessed with the eyes of an eagle. Chance could time his hits to put the ball anywhere he wanted it to go. Andy had this reflex reaction that told him when to bring his bat around to meet the ball. It was all calculated to achieve maximum velocity and the proper trajectory.
I knew the secret behind what these two did. I spent a lot of time listening to them explain it to me, but I wasn’t in their league. No amount of discussion or practice made me capable of doing what they did. I’d improved over time but mostly it was about taking the walks issued without trying to hit bad pitches.
Chance could not only tell you how he did what he did but he could describe the mechanics in detail. You put your hands here and swing like this to get such and such result. Chance left nothing to chance.
Andy was briefer.
‘I wait until the ball reaches the right spot and then I swing.’
Yes, he did.
Someone like Jeff Henry was tuned into Chance’s dialogue. He had the same presence on the field as his brother. Bobby taught me everything I knew and I listened because I knew he knew what he was talking about.
I got the same feeling from Jeff. He knew plenty and he was confident in his ability, but he wanted to know what Chance knew. It was never enough simply to know what he knew. He’d learn because he was willing to do the work.
Chance, Wertz, and Andy sat on the bench next to me. We all stared at the batter’s cage to watch each batter take his swings. One at a time they’d grab a bat and journey there, hit some balls, returning to the bench once satisfied.
Coach Briscoe spent some time talking to Jeff. He put him out in right field and hit some fly balls to him. I remembered my dad doing that for me when I was ten. I couldn’t shut down my reaction to Coach Briscoe no matter what he did. I’d take psychology next year and hope by baseball season I had a better understand of odd behavior.
Jeff did whatever was asked of him. Being new to the squad, it’s what you did and you didn’t voice any displeasure or doubt. He seemed calm for the pressure he must have felt. He moved easily, always maneuvering under the ball long before it dropped into his glove. He realized he was being tested by the man responsible for calling him up.
I felt bad that I hadn’t gone down to the freshman team to speak to him before. It was difficult to explain why I put it off. I’d thought of it more than once, after finding his name in a freshman box score. No one had to tell me it was Bobby Henry’s brother.
Yes, I was busy with school and playing ball, but it wasn’t the reason I hadn’t made the trip across the athletic complex to see him. When ever Bobby Henry was around, he stopped to see me. I knew Bobby but I’d never met Jeff before now.
I asked him to go to dinner with us so I could ease my conscience. I mentioned how Bobby had an influence on me. He knew all about me. Bobby talked about me, he told me. I’d rather not have known, but it was too late to tell him to forget about dinner.
Chance, Wertz, and Andy didn’t have much to say. Jeff didn’t have anything to say and so we ate in silence. They hadn’t had much to say all day. It was that time of the season. We spent so much time staying focused it was difficult to be totally social after a couple of hours of practice.
*****
It was a home game and I’d spent some time in the library getting ready for finals instead of going to classes for review. It was easier to focus on a book than trying to listen to a professor.
I was sitting on the bench when the team started straggling out to the field. Students had already started filling the seats around the field. It was one of those fine spring days that were perfect days for baseball. I got a different perspective from not playing. Before a game I was usually focused and didn’t notice anything if it wasn’t directly connected to my role as a player. I rarely noticed the crowd.
St. Anthony had arrived and was using the field to loosen up, after a thirty or forty minute bus ride. They were relatively untalented but they had two pitchers that could keep them close in key games. One of these pitchers was always saved for us in the hope they could steal one from the league leaders. This made headlines at St. Anthony’s, but it hadn’t happened during my tenure at State.
We’d knock off St. Anthony once their starter tired. This would be followed by two away games. These were the biggest games of the year. We played Greenwood in two days and Bradbury in three. If we won both games we won the league title and were heading for the division playoffs.
I’d be playing next week. We’d have Kane back in right field where he belonged, and the rest was according to the numbers. With Bale pitching the away game with Greenwood, he’d be ready to pitch the final league game at home against Bradbury. With those three wins we end up at the top of the league no matter what the other teams did.
It was all very easy. I’d been thinking about it since the day after I got hit in the head. It’s something Coach Bell and I would have sat and discussed in his office.
As usual Chance showed up first. He did some stretching exercises near where I sat at the end of the bench before he sat next to me.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t I look okay?” he looked at himself as he spoke.
“Shut up,” I said and he laughed.
He was fine but he didn’t say anything else. Wertz jogged out to the bullpen to talk to the pitchers who were taking turns warming up. Andy swung bats out toward first base, watching the St. Anthony players. Kane was always late and Coach Briscoe was an unknown quantity. I hadn’t figured out his routine yet, but he was still in the field house, as I made my mental notes.
Baseball wasn’t my life but it was at the center of my life. The only friends I had at State were baseball players. They were all right there within reach. My lover was twenty feet away, oblivious to my existence for the moment, but there within reach. My life was all lived out within sight of the athletic complex.
Only in class was I away from the game. I was hardly was away then, frequently wondering, thinking, supposing about this or that. It was always baseball, and if not baseball Andy, who was the only thing on my mind as often as baseball.
Not playing baseball was going to be harder than playing baseball. When I played my thoughts were always confined. Not playing meant my thoughts were on baseball but from a different perspective. There was no focus, no plan, no measured self-control to keep everything under control. When I played my mind was in the game. Sitting on the bench my mind was all over the game and beyond.
Kane’s laughter and self-confidence irritated me as he came over to the bench. He’d spoken to Andy without getting a response. He spoke to Jeff who stood staring at first base. What irritated me was he was going out to play my position. My dislike for him was exceeded by my anger over him playing my position. The idea of him replacing me in the field, after I’d lobbied against it, made me mad. This put my integrity in question and there was the chance I was wrong..
Coach Bell would have said, ‘John, I like Kane for shortstop. What do you think?’
‘Kane can’t play shortstop,’ I’d object.
‘Who do you like then?’ he’d have asked.
I’d have been asked as the starting shortstop and my opinion would have been respected.
Was I really all that much better than Kane? Maybe Chance and I were wrong and Kane was every bit as capable as I was. Chance only felt the way he did, because I felt the way I did.
I knew Kane could outhit me and if he could hold his own at shortstop, Coach Briscoe was going to keep me on the bench. It was probably his plan all along.
Chance wouldn’t stand for it, but Chance wasn’t the coach and neither was I. The relationship I enjoyed with Coach Bell was no longer viable. Whatever happened, I had to smile and write it off as none of my business.
Coach Briscoe walked out behind the backstop to talk to St. Anthony’s coach, when I first noticed his presence. He was smiling and they stood together looking out at the field. How strange it was to see someone other than Coach Bell going through this ceremony. He seemed so relaxed and even like he knew what he was doing.
Maybe it wasn’t Coach Briscoe who was out of step. Maybe I had some blown up idea of my own importance to my team and Coach Briscoe was doing what any coach in his position would be doing.
Why did I feel so strongly against him?
Except for knowing Kane, I might have believed it. Kane was never going to be a shortstop. It’s something I knew, because his mind wasn’t capable of making the calculations fast enough to be effective. He rushed what he did and what he did under pressure was almost always wrong. That’s what I knew and there was no way to see anything else when I saw Kane at shortstop. I always came back to the same place, this wouldn’t end well.
Just as I’d calculated, the St. Anthony pitcher was sharp. It was Stevens, and we almost always faced him, when we were playing the Red Hawks. Jim Bale was the only pitcher with a better record in our league. We never used Bale against St. Anthony. We saved him for the games we had to win.
Two ground outs and a strikeout retired us in the first. Two strikeouts and a pop foul retired us in the second.
It was 0-0 after two and both pitchers were on their game. It was no surprise but my nerves were. I was afraid to look away from the field, which created even more anxiety.
Why hadn’t I gotten out of the way of that pitch? I’d never been hit in the head before. The worst injury I ever had was a muscle strain or a tender ankle. Hell, I could play on one leg but not without my head.
Kane got his first grounder in the third. He charged it smoothly, made a good pickup, and his throw was wide but it easily got the runner. Chance met him as he returned to his position. He smiled as they exchanged words. Not bad.
‘That’s it. Keep him calm, Chance,’ I thought.
We hit two ground balls and our pitcher struck out in the third. In the fourth St. Anthony got their first hit. It dribbled to third and the runner beat the throw. The next batter struck out. With one out and a man on first there was a sharp hit to the left of the pitcher’s mound. Kane charged it, fumbling his attempt to pick up the ball. He kept it in front of him, picking it up and making his throw to first. The runner beat the throw by a step.
“Shit!” I said, refusing to glance at Coach Briscoe.
All he had to do was flip the ball to Chance to cut down the front runner and we’d have been even against the board. Two outs with a man still on first. Now there was one out and men on first and second.
Chance didn’t go near Kane and said nothing. I could feel his anger as his face turned crimson. He stayed near second to hold the runner close. He seemed to refocus.
‘That’s it, Chance. It’s a new batter and no point in going over the edge on one bad play.’
There was a pop up for out number two, which held the runners. A grounder to Jeff at first was the third out of the inning.
We had two outs when Chance came to bat in our half of the fourth. He worked the count to 3-2 and hit a line-drive into short left field. He stopped on first and cheered on Andy as he came up swinging the bat and ignoring everything but what was inside his head. I could see his focus. This was when you wanted Andy coming to bat.
Sitting on the bench and noticing everything in a new perspective, I noticed how broad Andy’s shoulders had become, and how powerful he looked. He stepped into the batters box and looked at the pitcher for the first time. There were two more purposeful practice swings. The pitcher set and delivered the pitch.
CRACK!
I stood up as the ball soared up over the outfield’s heads and disappeared into straightaway centerfield. I stood and applauded, yelling at my man. Chance crossed the plate with Andy jogging about ten steps behind him. Chance turned his back on Kane who was about to shake his hand. Chance greeted Andy and they passed Kane on their way back to the bench.
My nerves calmed down once Andy and Chance came to sit with me. Kane took some practice swings, looked over at the bench, stepped into the box, and hit the second pitch on a line-drive to the second baseman.
2-0, advantage State.
We went into the sixth at 2-0. The first batter up in the sixth hit a double between center and left field. Chance stayed to the shortstop side of second base with no one out and let the runner take a fair lead. The next batter struck out but the third batter singled between first and second. The runner on second scored. One man on and one man out, 2-1, advantage State.
I stood up and leaned on the overhang that kept the sun off the bench. Jeff stood one step off first base. The runner took three lengthy steps toward second. I held my breath.
Coach Briscoe stood up and walked out toward the pitcher’s mound. The umpire called time.
Coach Briscoe called for Temple. Maybe he saw something in Boyle’s motion. He’d been pitching well but his pitches were coming up in the strike zone.
It might have been the smart move and Temple was solid for two innings or less. I hadn’t seen him warming up but he looked ready. I wasn’t going to second guess Coach Briscoe. I was the starting shortstop and that was my job, not coaching. It was his call.
Temple was throwing heat and got two quick strikes on the next batter. The third pitch was just as fast as the last two, only the hitter got his bat out in front of it, hitting it directly to Kane, who moved one step to get directly in front of the ball. It popped out of his glove when he turned his head at the last instant.
Once again he picked the ball up, firing it to first base. The throw was too late to get the runner and there were men on first and third, one out.
Any solidly hit ball was going to tie the game. The runner on first was the one we needed to worry about. In a tie game, advantage State, especially on State’s diamond.
As for Kane, it was the right play. I could have dropped it. I’d dropped balls like it. The guy had enough of a lead off first to get to second safely, but Kane never looked in his direction. This allowed the runner to never break stride and end up safe on third. That bothered me, because it was a pattern with Kane. We were still leading.
St. Anthony was looking at the same game I was looking at. They’d seen Kane misplay his position almost every time the ball was hit to him. Jeff held the runner close at first. Coach Briscoe moved Kane in a few steps, Chance played just in front of second base, on the first base side. The play was at the plate or at first if the runner on third didn’t attempt to come home. Anything hit hard enough to get out of the infield was going to score the runner on third. It was a long shot but a double play was the desired result of this positioning of the infield.
There were two straight strikes as Temple went to a full windup. Temple had thrown nothing but bullets. The third pitch was a ball, just outside, but the batter didn’t bite on it. The next pitch was a few inches closer to the strike zone, down and appeared to cut the corner of the plate, except it was the pitch the batter wanted and he hammered it to Kane’s right on one sharp bounce.
The runner on third was charging the plate. It was Kane’s play and it was why he was playing so close to the plate. The play went home to first if the catcher had time.
Only Kane overran the hard hit ball, reaching back with his bare hand, after trapping it with his glove, trying to turn and throw at the same time was a bad idea.
Even an average shortstop knew better. The results were always bad. This was a guy who could barely do one thing at a time. The ball sailed up, up, up and over Jeff’s outstretched glove.
“Fuck,” I screamed, holding the sides of my head.
At the time of the play at first the runner had rounded second and was allowed to score. The runner that might or might not have been out at first was now standing on second.
‘Asshole,’ was my second reaction as I stomped my foot.
By this time Coach Briscoe had come out of his chair, raked the batting helmets off the shelf behind the bench before he kicked over the bat rack, spread bats far and wide. I couldn’t help but look and caught the rage in the coach’s eye. The guys seated on the bench between him and me, had scattered away from the bench, the bats, and the helmets.
“Pick them up,” he growled directly at me
I continued leaning on my piece of roofing and looked back at the field to get some idea of what the damage was.
“What good are you?” Coach Briscoe bellowed at me, as teammates peaked into the bench area to see what was happening now.
“I shouldn’t exert myself,” I answered with contempt filling my voice.
I wouldn’t pick up one bat or helmet for him.
The home plate umpire came to stand in front of our bench to witness the coach’s meltdown. As soon as Coach Briscoe saw him, the umpire pointed his finger at him and said, “You want to finish coaching this game? I suggest you get yourself under control, Coach. Where’s Coach Bell anyway?”
Ouch!
Low blow.
I stifled my laugh.
With a runner on second and one out Temple did the most judicious thing he could do, striking out the next batter on three pitches and the following batter on four. The inning was over but the repercussions would be rumbling through our team for the rest of the season.
“I can’t play with that asshole,” Chance raged as he threw his glove against the back wall where the helmets once were and it landed among the bats. “What the fuck happened?” Chance asked, stepping over the bats and the helmets.
“You want me to bench you?” Coach Briscoe snapped.
“He’s not a shortstop. Do told you as much. He doesn’t know where to throw the damn ball under pressure,” Chance screamed as the home plate umpire walked back over to our bench.
“Coach, you’re this far from having an official complaint filled against you. One more outburst and you’ll forfeit the game. Don’t make me walk over here again.”
I grabbed Chance, pushing him away from the bench area and out of contact with Coach Briscoe. The guys started picking up bats and helmets as they came back to the bench.
The umpire stood glaring in our direction, waiting for a batter to come to the plate. He wasn’t a happy camper.
“West you play second. Chance is done for today,” Coach Briscoe said calmly, looking at the list of available players.
“Why are you doing this?” Chanced cried as I turned him back away from the bench.
“Anyone else?” Coach Briscoe asked the half standing and half sitting team that wasn’t quite sure what was going on.
“Why?” Chance asked me loud enough for the people seated down the third base line to hear. The umpire came two steps closer, yanking off his facemask as he starred into the shadows.
“Don’t test me, Chance. I can sit you down for the rest of the season if you like.”
“It’s not him, Briscoe,” I screamed. “You’re the only one that can’t see the problem. You don’t care. It isn’t your team is it? This is Coach Bell’s team win or lose and you don’t care which how badly you fuck us up.”
Andy was all over top of me, trying to block my access to Coach Briscoe. I was out behind the bench before I realized I’d said anything. What, was he going to bench me?
“Are you crazy? That guy can fuck you up. He’s the man like it or not.”
There it was.
Wertz came out and leaned on the fence next to where Chance leaned on the fence. We were once again left speechless. In spite of myself I’d said it all. It was no secret Briscoe held a grudge against me, but he held a grudge against Coach Bell for protecting me. I hadn’t seen that before.
I listened to the umpire yelling at Coach Briscoe, “Who ever is doing the yelling, get them off your bench and send them to the showers. If you intend to finish playing this game, get their butts on this bench.
“I need a batter and don’t think I’m going to forget your conduct, Coach. You’ll be hearing from me. Get your batter to the plate, now.”
*****
We lost 3-2 and Kane had done what he’d been set up to do as far as I was concerned. There was no mistake in playing him at short. Our team was falling a part and there wasn’t a damn thing we could do about it. It all looked very unfortunate to the casual fan, but to someone who knew baseball, it was a coaching mistake to use Kane in my place.
The next day’s headline on the sport page of the school paper:
“Bad Play Sinks State”
It was like being punched in the stomach. I’d been told not to come to practice that day, but I’d be on the bus to Greenwood for our next game no matter what Coach Briscoe said.
Chapter 8
Separation Anxiety
I waited outside the locker room so we could go to eat, which was our routine after a home game. I could have gone inside but there was too big an opportunity for me to run into Coach Briscoe. Being disappointed in my behavior, I didn’t want to risk another blowup while the last one was still cooling down.
What we all knew was we’d blown a game we should have won. We should have come back to beat them, even with them leading in the late innings. We always came back once the pressure was on. Unfortunately, we failed to get another man on base and St. Anthony went home with a win.
This further aggravated an already volatile environment. I’d failed to do what I needed to do. I had an excuse, ‘hey, I got hit in the head.’ There was no excuse for me to have acted the way I did in front of the team. It was embarrassing even when my guys took my side of the clash. My outburst was a loss of control I couldn’t afford.
“What’s wrong with that guy?” Jeff asked, as we walked toward the cafeteria.
“He’s your basic asshole,” Chance blurted.
“No he isn’t. He’s our coach and we’re stuck with him. Going up against him isn’t going to get us to the division title,” I said.
“He’s still an asshole,” Chance asserted.
“You can’t fight the boss,” Andy said, being first in line to fill his tray.
“Do’s right, it’s Coach Bell’s team and Briscoe doesn’t give a damn,” Wertz said.
“I’m not right. It’s not Coach Bell’s team any more. It’s our team. It’s up to us to play the best ball we know how to play so bonehead plays can’t torpedo us,” I explained.
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t playing. We’re stuck with whatever Briscoe decides. Hell, he may pass over Bale and pitch someone else against Greenwood. We need Bale in there,” Chance calculated, as he piled up food.
“As temperamental as the guy is, he might shut down if he doesn’t get the start he’s waiting for,” Wertz said, handing over the meal voucher as the cashier was still startled by Andy’s overloaded tray.
We picked a table off to one side of the half empty cafeteria.
“Passing over him to pitch Boyle against St. Anthony was strategy. That way Bale is ready to go against Greenwood. He hasn’t gone six days between starts all season. He’s in a groove and upsetting him could be bad news,” Andy said, as he spread out his bonanza of food.
“We should have beaten St. Anthony. Now we’ve got to beat Greenwood. They’ll pull even with us in the standings if we don’t. We need Bale to keep us a game ahead of them. On their turf, even Bale isn’t a sure thing,” I said. “Greenwood gets stronger as the season goes on.”
“Damn Briscoe,” Chance said.
I looked over at Bale. His tray was piled high with food. He didn’t seem to be aware that anyone was in the room but him and his food. He wiped his nose routinely, shoveling food in between wipes. He was thin by most standards but he ate like a horse.
Bale was a more moderate size than Andy, but they ate about the same amount of food. I figured the high strung pitcher burned calories with all his nervous ticks and contortions. I remembered a time when he couldn’t get the ball over the plate. It’s odd how someone like him goes from a zero to a hero without any notice. Now the only undefeated pitcher in the league, and no team wanted to face the fidgety pitcher who threw only strikes.
“He looks ready to me,” I said.
“He’s great,” Jeff said, glancing over at Bale who sat alone at a table in the rear corner of the cafeteria.
We finished eating and headed back to the dorm as Jeff said goodbye to return to the freshman dorm. No one seemed any the worst for wear, except Chance, whose perpetual smile had given way to a scowl. He had been insulted and disrespected in his mind and it was not something he was going to forget. It was all the more reason for me to maintain an even keel. We had to stay focused.
As quick as we got inside the door of our room, Andy grabbed me and it was a mad dash to get our clothes off and into bed. I was in no mood for passion, having been upset by the game and I still hadn’t let go of my anger with myself and Coach Briscoe.
I beat him into bed and gave in to the desire that he lit in me. The sight of his body, his erection, and the manly stature he’d acquired while my brain was too wrapped around baseball to notice. Much of our love making was done in the dark and usually after everyone was ready for bed to prevent someone interrupting us, but the acrimony of the day had Andy at a fever pitch to drown his stress by becoming lost in my arms. I’d seen him react the same way before and I would be the last one to ask him, ‘what’s wrong.’
I ran my hands over his muscles, admiring his chest, now fuzzy with blond fur, and his arms that bulged more each day. Andy had added weight, his ribs no longer showing with his belly all the more lean. No matter where I touched him, his response was to moan as we made every effort to get as much of our skin touching as possible.
We maneuvered to gain access to our more excited members. The door swung open freezing us in place.
“Oops,” Chance said, closing the door as quickly as it opened.
“Fuck!” Andy said, hesitating for a second to ponder the discovery of what we’d so successfully kept to ourselves for so long.
Whether he was further stressed by this turn of events or our love was so powerful he couldn’t resist finishing what we started, I don’t know, but we were rocking and rolling as soon as the door closed. What was done was done and I was in no mood to stop before we got where we were going.
Andy was swollen and needy as we wrapped ourselves around our most overheated parts. I couldn’t get enough of him but there was too much to consume all in one meal.
I knew enough to slow my enthusiasm to keep from ending my happy dash too early. Unlike Andy, it took me a few minutes to regroup for the next inning. When Andy cut loose it was merely a prelude to the symphony ahead with movements and flourishes to match my lover’s lust. He did like it when we went to extra innings.
My desire to prolong these magnificent moments made us well suited to one another. Confirming our love for one another was never more welcome. I didn’t want to think about Andy’s looming departure, but when I did, I wanted him more than ever before. Our destinies had to go in separate directions for awhile, but once I was done with school, we had a lifetime to be together.
Gone were the quickies between classes or before dinner. We were now invested in the marathon sessions that often left us with circles under our eyes with little bounce left in our step. Andy’s classes were all but done and the few finals he was required to take had already been passed. All that was left was baseball and our free time together.
I never questioned his love for me. The evidence stuck out like a soar thumb every time I touched him. Our bodies fit together as if they’d been designed to fit that way, or perhaps we’d trained them to adjust and respond to each nook and cranny as we rolled around the bed. It was so easy to be with him and so difficult to be away from him when I was. It kept our love alive and exciting.
We sought to prolong what often had been a dash for the finish line. Today we worked to keep ourselves together for as long as time allowed. This was not a time in minute increments that was able to break in on our love. This was time in the larger context of days, weeks, and months, which were in decline and could be measured in a few weeks by now.
We didn’t have long left. Time was fleeting. Before long we’d be too far apart to get together. Andy wasn’t one who dwelled on the inevitable. We knew what was coming at us. He’d graduate. He would leave to pursue his baseball career. I’d be on my own for one year.
Each moment we spent together meant one less we had. Having love an arms length away for years made the loss of it all that more daunting. I could keep it off my mind most days, but it surfaced more often as the season ran down.
When there was a break in our need to have our bodies tangled up together, the loss of Andy took center stage in the drama that was my life. Even having him standing a few feet away from me left an empty feeling inside, and the need to have him in bed with me immediately was overwhelming.
We were careful not to mention our impending separation. It was dishonest to never talk about it, but there was also a balance in our lives that required we keep our minds on a game that had brought us together and would soon pull us apart. The wonder of our meeting and falling in love came out of a game I only played so I could get my college degree. Go figure.
“What do we do about Chance?” Andy asked as he pulled on his underwear, signaling a different kind of hunger had entered his mind.
“We’ll draw straws. One of us will need to shoot him,” I quipped.
“You kidding me, he’s too good a second baseman to shoot. We’d better talk to him,” Andy said.
“We, as in you?”
“No, I meant you. You’re far more familiar with how to put words together. Besides, he’s in your class and you’ll have to deal with him next season. I wouldn’t want to risk saying something wrong.”
“We supposed to go to dinner together?” I asked.
“Is it dinner time already? No wonder my stomach is growling. We eat with him every day.”
“Maybe he went on without us,” I said.
“I don’t think so. That could have been what he wanted. See what time we were going to eat.”
“I suppose. It wasn’t what he saw. Why didn’t you lock the door anyway?”
“Me? I was busy getting out of my clothes.”
“What your arms broken? I got hit in the head, remember? I’m working on half a brain here. Besides, I wasn’t wasting any time getting at you.”
“Yeah, well, you can explain all that to Chance. I just hope the entire team doesn’t know. That isn’t going to go over too well.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Chance is cool.”
“We’re about to find out how cool,” Andy said.
“The truth hurts. Are you ashamed, Andy?”
“Fuck no, but I’m looking for a job. This gets out and a lot of teams will cross me off their list.”
“They’d be fools not to want your bat. We’ll talk to Chance. It’ll be okay.”
Andy checked the hall and I followed him out. He walked down to Chance’s door and I followed him. We stood together as he knocked.
“Yeah, you ready for chow?”
Chance slipped out into the hall in his socks and wearing only a pair of sweat pants.
“You guysss! I should have known. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s not a subject you spread around the locker room,” I said.
“Oh that’s for sure. I wasn’t thinking. Let me get a shirt and we’ll get Wertz. I told him you were studying and we’d probably be going to dinner a little late.”
“Chance,” I said as he started back into his room. “Thanks.”
“You guysss!” he said, flashing us his broadest smile.
“He’s cool,” Andy said as we waited.
We went to dinner and Chance told me of an envelope he’d collected for me at the front desk. It had the seal from the Athletic Department’s Chancellor on it. It’s what he was bringing to me when he walked in on us.
“No one else received one?” I asked.
“Nope! To the attention of John Dooley.”
“I’ve never even met Bishop. What could he want with me?” I wondered out loud.
“It might not be Bishop himself. It’s from his office. There’s all kinds of business done with athletes.”
“Urgent!”
We all looked at each other and no one had a reason why the envelope came marked urgent.
When we got back to the dorm I went into Chance’s room for the envelope. I opened it there not wanting to wait to solve the mystery it represented.
“Mr. John Dooley is to appear in front of the Athletic Chancellor at 9:30 a.m. tomorrow morning. This is not an invitation it is an order from Chancellor Bradley T. Bishop.”
I handed it to Chance who read it and then he read it again.
“Fuck! Your ass is fried,” he observed.
“Today’s game? I didn’t do anything but tell it like it was,” I said.
“Yeah, but that umpire was one pissed off dude. I think he has something to do with it. You’re the captain of the team and I was a lot more vocal than you were. You didn’t speak up until he threw me out of the game.”
“Briscoe!” I concluded.
“Briscoe,” Chance agreed. “He isn’t all that fond of you, you know?”
“Tell me about it.”
I began thinking of ways I could earn some money over the summer to pay for my senior year. My parents didn’t have that kind of cash. If Briscoe wanted me off his team, I was up the creek when it came to my senior year.
“Wait until you talk to the guy,” Andy said. “You don’t know what it means.”
“No, I don’t but I do know that I’ve avoided visiting the Chancellor’s office for three seasons and I’d like to have made it four.”
“The team will back you. Briscoe’s an asshole,” Chance reminded me.
“The word urgent has a meaning. We could talk baseball, but that doesn’t equate to an urgent in my mind,” I said.
“No,” Andy said. “It doesn’t but don’t get too far ahead of yourself. It might not be what you think. A lot went on in that game. The Chancellor knows what losing to St. Anthony means. No one wants the division title and a ticket to the NCAA Championship more than Bishop.”
“It’s Briscoe,” I said.
“It’s Briscoe,” Andy agreed. “You’re the captain of the team. Coach Bell thought the world of you. In one game Briscoe is going to bust you off the team and you weren’t even suited up? That’s not logical, Do. There’s got to be something more to it than Briscoe complaining about you.”
“Maybe,” I acknowledged.
At nine fifteen the following morning I was seated in the office outside of Chancellor Bishop’s office. The secretary smiled, asked my name, and told me the Chancellor would be with me momentarily.
At Nine twenty-five Chancellor Bishop came into the outer office.
“Mr. Dooley, you may come in.”
Okay so far. He hadn’t called me a jerk or an asshole yet. That definitely had to be a good sign. I followed him in and he went back behind his desk after pointing out where I should sit. He wasn’t very verbal.
His office was decorated in dark wood, matching his huge desk. He sat in a leather chair with a very high back on it. I supposed it was to prevent whiplash. He reached into his desk and withdrew some stationary which he delicately arranged in front of him.
My chair was the same colored leather without the high back. It was nice and comfortable and I sensed a theme. I looked for whips, chains, or fixtures on the ceiling that might hold a sling. I could find nothing obvious but of course the ceiling tiles flipped over to conceal the hooks. As my eyes examined the room, he remembered I was there.
“Yesterday! You were present at the game?”
“Yes, sir,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable.
“In your mind did anything unusual take place?”
“I’m not prepared to say,” I said.
“You mean you don’t wish to comment at this time?”
“No, sir, I’ll comment if that’s what you want, but I don’t know what is usual for Coach Briscoe and therefore I can’t say if anything unusual took place. From my experience with State baseball the entire game was unusual.”
I knew this was a risky tactic, but if we were going to parse words I wanted mine to be precise. Jumping right into a conversation about something I wasn’t sure I could explain didn’t seem prudent. He’d have to be more specific with his inquiry. He was getting at least two sides to the story and I wanted my side to be as honest as I could make it.
“I see. Did you in any way disrupt the game or insight Coach Briscoe?”
“In my mind I did not. In Coach Briscoe’s mind I can’t say.”
“Can you describe to me where you were and what was your impression of the events that disrupted yesterday’s game and brought the umpire over to State’s bench?”
“Is this about me and do I need some kind of representation to protect my rights if it is?”
“No, it is not about you at this time. Depending on what you can tell me about the events surrounding the disruption of yesterday’s game, then I can assess whether or not my investigation will turn toward you.
“At present I have one irate umpire’s complaint about the conduct of State’s baseball team. I’ve got an indignant sanctimonious coach claiming he’s being sabotaged, and I’ve got you, a player who wasn’t playing, which thoroughly confuses me about what the hell happened and how it might have been avoided. Do you have any idea how I might proceed to cause the least amount of disruption.”
“Well, you can suspend me,” I said bluntly, “and that will eliminate one voice of reason among many who may not be so reasonable. All of us are unclear on what Coach Briscoe is trying to accomplish,” I said, stopping to await his reply.
“So in your mind the disruption was Coach Briscoe’s doing?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. I was sitting on the bench supporting my team. Coach Briscoe had been advised about his choice of shortstops, a position I have some familiarity with. He didn’t care to listen. The… disruption started when his choice of shortstops misplayed several balls. These could have been called difficult plays, but a shortstop must make those plays.
“It was instrumental in costing us the game. Coach Briscoe was upset by this because two of his starting infielders had warned him not to play that player at shortstop.
“He played him and when he blew the game up, Coach Briscoe blew up as well. I was right. The other infielder was right. Coach Briscoe was wrong, and he didn’t like it. The fact I was on the bench a few feet away from him did nothing to help, but I’d have been playing shortstop if I was able.
“When the other infielder I mentioned returned to the bench, he protested having to play with the unqualified shortstop. At which time Coach Briscoe benched him without cause. That’s my opinion. If a coach benched a player every time he shot his mouth off, no one would be left to play the games.”
“Let’s get to the helmets and the bats?”
“I’m not commenting. My position is clear. I’ve just given you the reason I feel as I do. Pointing my finger at Briscoe doesn’t mean anything. You’ve got half the team, all the boys on the bench, to ask about the helmets and the bats. They were the ones that had to scatter to avoid being hit by the flying gear. I just sat in awe of my coach not sure of what would come next.”
“Let’s get to Chance’s roll in all this?”
“He had no role. All he said was he couldn’t play with Kane at shortstop. As I said, he was promptly tossed out of the game. He objected. Coach Briscoe offered to bench him for the season. Chance was less than pleased by what seemed like irrational behavior. That would be my description. We didn’t discuss it after the fact, because the damage was done and there was no point. Again, that’s my assessment.
“Chancellor Bishop, Chance is only our best hitter and the kind of infielder I’d want in my infield no matter the circumstances. He’s probably one of the easiest going ballplayers I’ve ever met and he’s probably going to turn pro after this season now that Coach Bell has left.”
“He told you this?”
“No. I know Chance as well as anyone. Him and about half the juniors on the squad will declare for the draft at the end of the season. I’d be doing the same if I was good enough, but I’m here for the education.”
“Finish with Chance. I’m lead to believe that you and Chance precipitated the disturbance.”
“Chance was out in the field when the disturbance got the ump’s attention. Two outs later Chance came to the bench and was adamant about his inability to play with Kane. We’d gone from a 2-1 lead to trailing 3-2. He was upset.”
“He threw his glove?”
“Yes, he threw his glove up against the area behind the bench where the helmets should have been. He expressed his opinion. He was baffled and enraged by Coach Briscoe overreaction. We were watching a key game being fumbled away. There was frustration.
“He was guided away from the bench area immediately. I gave my opinion on what Briscoe said. I was wrong to do so. I regret it, but we went into yesterday’s game ready to take our place in the division playoffs. We finished that game going in reverse. I might have over-reacted, but not until Chance was benched.”
“Kane was the one misplaying your position?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You disagreed with this choice. Why?”
“Coach Bell wanted me to train him at shortstop for the freshman team. I spent several days with him. I told Coach Bell he would never be a good shortstop. I told him why. Coach Bell had him assigned to right field, because Kane is one hell of a hitter and a bonus in any lineup.
“Kane was certain he could play shortstop. When I was injured, he went to Coach Briscoe and told him I had railroaded him with Coach Bell. Coach Briscoe, not being my biggest fan, believed him.”
“You don’t dislike Kane?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I admitted. “He believes he’s way better than he is. He can’t play shortstop. Check yesterday’s box score for errors, but I suspect you have. There you’ll locate the difference in our winning and losing a game that would have cinched the top spot in the division playoffs. Now it’ll be a dogfight.”
“He hits far better than you. If he’d been able to play shortstop your position was at risk when he came to the first team. That never entered your mind when you gave Coach Bell your opinion?”
“Of course it entered my mind. I couldn’t believe Coach Bell would ask me to train my replacement. I did what Coach Bell asked. He was fair and he knew what he was doing. He knew I’d be honest in my effort to give Kane the benefit of what I knew about playing my position.”
“Coach Briscoe?”
“We have a history,” I explained. “I’m not proud of it but I put it behind me.”
“What is your history?”
I gave the Chancellor the information about how Coach Briscoe and I had our falling out. He seemed interested in the distress I felt over Monty’s injury. He didn’t interrupt me and waited until I had finished.”
“If I give you some paper and a pen will you sit out in the outer office and write down everything you’ve told me in detail? Sign each page at the bottom, use as many pages as it takes. Give it to my secretary when you are done.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re not to go on the team bus to Greenwood tomorrow. I don’t want you turning out to practice. Do as I ask for the time being and by the time the doctor clears you to play, I’ll know if I’m going to let you play. How do you feel about it?”
“I’m the captain of the team. I should be with the team when it plays. I’d like to be there. I’m not the Chancellor and I’ll follow your orders. I’ve got to go back to my dorm and most of the team is close at hand if you’re worried about me stirring up trouble,” I said.
“I’m not worried about that at all, Mr. Dooley. I trust you are an honorable man. I’m sorry but I’ve got to make some move to defuse the situation for the moment. I don’t believe the disruption was your fault but your presence had some influence on Coach Briscoe’s conduct.
“Just go along with me for the time being and we’ll try to have you back on the field by the time the doctor clears you to play.”
“Yes, sir,” I said as I stood up to retrieve the paper and pen he held out for me.
I couldn’t read him. He asked questions that didn’t reflect where he stood. This could be good. It could also be bad. All I could do was wait to see.
Chapter 9
Left Behind
Baseball wasn’t my life. It wasn’t in my blood. Sitting at the dorm during practice was the only way to hide my strange stress over not being with my team. This isn’t a reaction I can explain or diagram. Not being there to observe, to offer my teammates support, or to maintain a presence, bothered me more than I thought it should.
I wanted to take back my outburst. I couldn’t do that, which had me isolated from my team. No one had to tell me that I’d set a poor example. It left no doubt where I stood. It was not my place to criticize a coach. It was worse to insult him and accuse him of a conspiracy.
I had convinced myself I held no grudge against Coach Briscoe, but maybe that wasn’t true. I didn’t like the man no matter what but he was the one with the grudge, making my insult worse.
Losing my cool while trying hard to maintain a respectful objectivity made me question the maturity I was assuming. Coach Briscoe did nothing to make our adjustment to his coaching style possible. He took over and his word was law, no matter what anyone else said.
Being so anxious about missing a practice meant staying home on an away game day would be worse. The away game was with our biggest rival, which would make today easy in comparison.
Had I not been captain, it might not be so bad. My team knew what to do and they had the tools to do it if they were allowed. Coach Briscoe didn’t need to do anything but let us play ball. My concern was over how an erratic coach could destroy my team’s confidence. This was my worry. Not being there magnified its intensity.
I could blame Briscoe for my situation, except I was the one who shot off his mouth. No matter how bad the coach the team is his kingdom and no player gets a vote. What I’d done made it more about my conduct and less about his coaching. Players were allowed to disagree with the coach, expressing it wasn’t tolerated and he had witnesses who he might to say what they heard.
I hadn’t realized how confining the dorm was until I was there alone. I kept finding myself running all the possibilities through my brain, while I thought I was studying.
If Coach Briscoe was running the show there was no way I could play for him now. I knew all I had to do was pretend to be ready to play, even if he didn’t play me, but that would make my senior year impossible. I’d rather drop out of the program and earn enough money to pay for a senior year somewhere closer to home.
The idea came to me that considering my bonehead decision to express my opinion, they’d be better off without me. My being there irritated Briscoe. If I walked away he might lighten up on the team. Coach Bell trusted me and solicited my opinion. Why couldn’t Coach Briscoe? I’d made it impossible, that’s why. There was no preparation for the chance so late in the season.
Maybe the distance would allow things to cool off and some of the hostility would die down. Chancellor Bishop wasn’t Chancellor because he was clueless. It was possible he knew what he was doing. If my mouth was elsewhere it couldn’t get me in trouble. If it was elsewhere permanently the problem was solved.
As long as I finished my junior season, I’d back away quietly.
This line of thought brought my mind back to Coach Bell. He’d bowed out quietly and left a mess. I needed to let go of it and let the wheels turn and not get so far ahead of events. It was easier said than done.
Why is it that the one thing you don’t want to think about is the only thing you think about? If this meant I might be crazy it would explain everything.
My difficulty subsided when Andy came to get me to go to dinner. Everyone was fine and they jabbered about practice, the Greenwood game, and how Bale was ready to get us back on track. No one mentioned anything out of the ordinary and this reinforced the idea that removing me from the picture solved the problem. I smiled and was very agreeable.
I relaxed once I wasn’t alone. I’d made it through missing one practice. There had to be an easier way to get through this.
Late that night, holding Andy after he drifted off to sleep, my brain ran through all the possibilities yet again.
I hated watching the team bus depart without me the following day. I’d discovered that if I looked out of the highest point in the upper right hand portion of our dorm room window, I could see the road and a tiny piece of the practice field. As luck would have it, this is where the bus parked. Once it began moving the bus was out of view fast.
An away game assured a certain disadvantage. Playing on a home field in front of a home crowd gave you a cushion of confidence. It was advantage Greenwood. Losing would put us a game behind with three to play. Bale pitching made it game even.
Logic in sport is folly, because nothing is a sure bet. You can take all the statistics and all the patterns available, and on any given day any team can beat any other team regardless of history.
The one predictable thing involving college sport, it will be unpredictable. I continued to weigh the details I knew that might allow us to win. After an hour I laughed at the futility of it. All it accomplished was waste some time.
I’d wished everyone luck before they’d gone to dress for the trip, except for Bale, who was never available on a day he pitched. He’d sit alone in the rear of the bus with a towel over his head as he yelled out from time to time in some kind of focus only he understood but we’d grown to appreciate.
My absence from practice was but an appetizer for the excruciating ordeal that was the long wait until the bus returned. It was a matter of not knowing rather than continually thinking. I wouldn’t have played anyway but it was easier being with the team.
Baseball wasn’t my life but my teammates were.
I checked my computer monitor for the time, calculating when the bus might return.
Four hours after the bus left State I went down to the baseball complex. I sat near where the bus would park an hour before it would return. The fresh air cleared my mind and the walk felt good.
When I saw the bus turning onto the road, I stood near the gate to the practice field.
Coach Briscoe was first off the bus and he didn’t notice me. He wasted no time turning toward the field house.
Andy and Chance saw me immediately. Were they expecting me to be there? Andy strolled over as Chance and then other players followed behind him.
“How’d it go?” I asked casually.
“9-0,” Andy said expressionless.
“All right! I knew Bale would come through,” I said relieved.
“We lost,” Andy said in a voice that left no doubt.
“What?” I said, not able to imagine they shut us out.
“That asshole left Bale in until it was 6-0. Bale couldn’t find the plate. They scored three in the first and three more in the second. Watching Bale was like watching some tormented animal and he left him in. He let him fall apart.”
“He walked the first two batters,” Chance explained, moving around to my side so he could see me. “He balked twice. A run scored on one balk. There were two or three hits in a row, maybe a ground out. I stopped looking. By the time Briscoe pulled him out in the second Bale was shell shocked. He kept looking at the bench, waiting for him to pull him. The umpire kept telling him to pitch.”
“Kane?” I asked, seeing him in a few of the nine runs.
“He got one of only two hits. I think he fielded two or three balls. He always went to first. It didn’t matter. Greenwood had their bats going and once they got the lead we folded like a cheap suit. Nobody had any spirit after watching Bale suffer. We just wanted to come home.”
When Andy moved, half the team was around me. They were all bummed out. I couldn’t believe Bale had let us down. What did I tell them when I might be gone in another day?
The apprehension and pending doom I felt, surrounded us all. My original intuition and my outburst had hit the mark. Briscoe would deny it but anyone who knew baseball would see the problem if they wanted to.
I’d rather have been wrong. The team was waiting for something, anything to give them hope our season wasn’t lost. We only wanted to get back to playing baseball the way we knew how. I could have incited them in only a few words. It’s what I wanted to do more than anything, but that’s not what they needed or wanted to hear.
This was like something out of a bad movie. What could I say to make them feel better without sounding like an asshole? No one left. They expected leadership. They didn’t understand why I wasn’t with them, but I was with them now, and they were waiting for me.
The word captain came to mind as other players spoke about the disappointing game. I knew how badly I’d let them down. I should have been there in victory or defeat. I was who they depended on to speak up on their behalf.
I could have argued with Chancellor Bishop’s ruling, but I sat like a lump and took it. I should have spoken up and told him how I felt. I was afraid I’d damage my precious college education. I’d thought about John Dooley, when John Dooley should have spoken for his team.
This wasn’t about the baseball team. It was about State and the kind of athletic program they wanted to promote there.
“You’ve forgotten something. Bale is the best pitcher in the league and we’re the best team in the league,” I said without being dramatic.
“Yeah,” came an agreeable response.
“It’s one game. We’ve got three big games ahead of us. We win those and we’ll be okay. It was a bad day but we’ve had damn few.”
“Yeah!” came the response.
“Okay, hit the showers, get some food in your belly, and we put it behind us. We’ll get them next time. We’re going head to head against the two teams we must beat to make it into the division playoffs, and that’s what we’ll do.”
“Yeah,” came back the chorus.
“What are you going to do about him? Tell them you’ve got to go with us. I’m tired of being fucked with.”
I didn’t see who asked the question, but I’d already seen it coming. It wasn’t an answer I was confident giving, but it was all that was left for me to do.
“I’ll go see Chancellor Bishop. I’ll explain how you feel. I’ll ask him to let me stay with you guys until I’m cleared to play.
“Go eat and forget about everything but what’s ahead of us. We’re going to win the next few games. We haven’t forgotten how to play. We let a couple slip away from us and now we’ll get them back. We can talk later.”
“Yeah,” came a hopeful chorus, as the team took off toward the field house.
I could almost feel Briscoe’s eyes on me. Once the bus pulled away, he’d see the team meeting. He wasn’t going to like it.
I went into the locker room and sat waiting for Andy, Chance, and Wertz, so we could eat together. I wanted the team to see me there. The silence was disturbing. The closing of lockers, running of water, and a few coughs and sneezes were the extent of the sound.
It was clear we weren’t the same team Coach Bell handed back to State, but Chancellor Bishop knew I was an irritant to Coach Briscoe. Who is the Chancellor going to side with? I knew the answer, but the next morning I’d be in his office.
Andy, Chance, and Wertz were easier to deal with than the entire team. They didn’t want anything but to share a meal and we sat together in silence as they picked at their food.
When I saw Bale seated alone in his usual corner of the cafeteria, I excused myself to make my way through the tables until I slid into the seat across from him.
“Rough game,” I said, waiting for him to look up.
He had a fist beside each of his ears and his vivid blue eyes stared out of his super thick lenses.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened to me. I couldn’t get the ball to do what I wanted. We needed that game, Dooley. I let the team down.”
“You’ll beat them next time, Bale. Not even you can win them all,” I said defending our best pitcher.
“Why didn’t he pull me in the first? He knew I didn’t have my stuff. Why did he leave me out there and let them build up a lead? I gave up 6 runs, Dooley.”
“That equals what you’ve given up all season. You just didn’t have it today. It’s not your fault. You can’t win them all, Bale.”
“I hate change,” he said, looking up from his plate each time he spoke, looking back down when he was done.
“You miss him too, huh? He was a good coach,” I lamented, thinking it would help.
“You should have been there, Dooley. You’re the captain. We expect you to be there when we need you?”
“I can’t go with the team right now,” I said.
“You’re the captain. You need to be with us. We trust you, Dooley. You let us down.”
“I know, Bale. Chancellor Bishop says I can’t go with the team. It’ll be cleared up tomorrow.”
“The season ends next week. It might have ended today. I needed to win and you needed to be there. The team was depending on ME. I let them down. You let them down. You need to be with us, Dooley. What’s the point of you being captain?”
“It won’t happen again, Bale. I’m sorry.”
He was right.
When we got back to the room, Chance and Wertz wanted to stay together. We sat around the room chatting with the door open. We talked about school coming to an end. We talked about our summer plans. We all listened to Andy describe his future plans.
“I’ll go in the second round. Maybe late in the first,” Andy calculated the baseball draft as he saw it.
“First, Andy. The way you hit the ball? Everyone is searching for power. You’ll go in the first round.”
“Maybe,” was as close as Andy could get.
“I’ll be in the minors two seasons. By that time someone will want me in the Big Show.”
“You’ll be able to buy your parents that house you’ve talked about,” I said.
“Us first,” he blurted before catching what he had said he shifted gears. “I’ve got to have the money first, is what I meant to say.”
Chance laughed and Wertz looked at him and then Andy and about then the other players straggled in until half the team was inside.
“What are you going to do, Do? We want a say. You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Tell me what you want,” I said.
“Fix it so you’re on the bus. Fix it so you’re with us. We don’t like how we’re being treated.”
“I’m as good as suspended. Until Chancellor Bishop says otherwise, I’m persona non grata.”
“Get persona grata fast. This isn’t working for us. With you with us we know we’ll get a square deal. You’ll speak up for us.”
There was vocal agreement with the spokesmen. I listened carefully, trying to think of what to say without making promises I couldn’t keep.
“I told you I’d go to Chancellor Bishop’s office in the morning. I’ll tell him the team needs me for the sake of continuity,” I said, remembering how well Coach Briscoe took that point of view. “I’ll tell him you need me, because… because I’ll think of something convincing to tell him by tomorrow.”
“We’ve talked it over. We’ll go with you,” someone said. “Yeah,” more guys agreed. “We’ll back you up. We can’t let you go alone. He has to know you’re speaking for us.”
“I don’t know that’s a good idea,” I said. “He’ll think I’ve started a revolution over in his baseball dorm.”
“We already voted. We’re going to back you up.” he said in agreement with the rest of the team.
“That’s right, Do. He needs to hear how we feel,” Wertz said. “We’re going.”
“The more the merrier. You’ve sold me. We’ll go together,” I said. “I don’t mind telling you guys, I wasn’t looking forward to facing him alone. Thanks. No matter what happens, we’re a team.”
“Yeah,” was the rousing reply.
I hadn’t seen it coming and I was sure it wouldn’t go over well with Chancellor Bishop, but what the hell. Their determination was obvious in their voices.
I’d lead the way and hope the Chancellor would listen. I’d promise to be on my best behavior if I was allowed to return to the team.
A little after nine in the morning we entered the Chancellor’s outer office.
“Yes, Mr. Dooley?” the secretary said.
“We’re here to see Chancelor Bishop,” I said.
“Have a seat. It may be a few minutes.”
Chance, Wertz, and I sat in the only chairs, and Andy stood beside me. Twelve guys lined up out the door and down the hall. His secretary smiled politely but made no inquiry as to our purpose. The dye was cast. There was no turning back.
After fifteen minutes Chancellor Bishop open the door of his office. He did not look pleased as he nodded in my direction.
“Leave the re-enforcements behind, Dooley. In my office,” he said in a neutral sounding voice.
He pointed at my usual seat before shuffling some papers in front of him once he sat behind his desk.
“I’m not impressed, Mr. Dooley. I don’t know what game you’re playing, but it doesn’t impress me. I have work to do and a schedule to keep. Give me the short version so I can get on with it.”
“I’m sorry. I figured it was best I come along or you’d have had those guys standing here without anyone between you and them.”
“That supposed to be amusing? What’s the bottom line? I’m busy.”
“They feel like they’ve been deserted. There isn’t anyone they feel like they can talk to.”
“Well, Mr. Dooley, they obviously have you. Keep talking.”
“I said I’d come talk to you and they said they’d come with me. They want to be heard. They want someone to listen.”
“Go on.”
“Yesterday was not a good day for State and they aren’t very happy about it. They’re looking for a reason to go back to playing ball and not worrying about the next surprise.”
“That’s what they want. What is it you want, Mr. Dooley?”
“You think I wanted to come in here and face you? No way, Jose. There’s nothing I can do. I know… I can see the problem but I can’t see a solution. I’m here because they need someone who cares enough to listen.”
“If I’m getting you right you tried to nip this little gathering in the bud?”
“I told you if I didn’t come they’d have come without me. At least they believe I’m on their side. I don’t have the answer but you need to say something that makes them feel like there is some point in giving their best shot in the final three games. They lost more than a game yesterday.
“I told them I’d talked to you. That’s all I’m here for. Say, go away, and I’ll tell them what they’ve got is what they’ve got and that’s all State has for them.”
“You realize your future is riding on this little stunt? Coach Bell arranged for you to have the full ride in your senior season. You certain you don’t want to rethink what you’re doing? Your future is on the line here.”
“He told me before he left. I’ve decided if you say no I won’t be back to play ball next season anyway. So, you can void the deal or get me to sign off on it so someone else can get the benefit from it. I didn’t ask for it anyway.”
“No, you didn’t, and I’ve got a feeling Coach Bell had a reason for doing it. He wasn’t a man given to irrational moves. That leaves me to question what my typical response to this kind of pressure would be.”
“He didn’t tell me what was behind the gesture, except he knew Coach Briscoe didn’t care for me. He evidently wanted me to finish with the team,” I reasoned.
“A man has thirty players and yet he only protects one. Why? Believe me when I say, this has kept me up nights. I’d have bounced your ass out of here so fast your head would still be spinning if not for Coach Bell protecting you.”
“You’ll have to ask Coach Bell. I play ball. I do my best, but it’s no fun any longer. The scholarship is a piece of paper. I’ll go to work for a year or two and finish my degree elsewhere if you tell me that’s what you want.”
“Don’t make it too tempting, Dooley. I may as well hear from your friends. Maybe we can salvage something out of this distraction.”
He walked to the door and opened it wide.
“Inside, come on. All of you. Inside. All the guys in the hallway. Inside. I haven’t got all day.”
They lined two walls of his office and he shut the door once he was sure there wasn’t anyone else. All we needed was a photographer and we could do a team photo.
“Where’s Bale? You couldn’t convince him to come with you?” Chancellor Bishop asked.
“Sulking somewhere,” someone said. “He forgot what it was like losing a game.”
“He blames himself for yesterday’s loss,” I said, and there was a chorus of agreement that broke the ice.
“I don’t know what you expect me to do?” Chancellor Bishop said.
“Let Do stay with his team,” Chance spoke out. “I might have to work with Kane but at least Do would furnish moral support. With him there it looks like he’s coming back.”
Chance focused his eyes on me as he spoke.
“You’ve given up arguing with the Coach on that point?” the Chancellor asked.
“I never argued with him. I told him the score,” Chance said firmly. “He wasn’t interested in what I had to say about the infield I play in.”
“How’d Kane do yesterday?” Chancellor Bishop asked.
“He held his own. They were hitting most of the balls into the outfield. He might have fielded a couple of balls more cleanly, but he didn’t muff any opportunities.”
“So who plays short if Kane doesn’t?”
For the first time I got the impression the Chancellor asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to. I didn’t say anything.
“If I can’t have Dooley we’ve got three utility infields sitting on the bench. They can all hold their own at shortstop,” Chance said, and I let him lead the conversation. “We need Kane’s bat. In right field he’s okay. Shortstop is too demanding for him to wrap his head around. He gets confused. He forgets about the lead runner and keeps going to first base with a throw that should come to second. He thinks he can play the position and that makes it worse.”
“I don’t know what you boys want me to do? I’m not the only guy that says who the coach is. It was decided Coach Briscoe had earned a shot.”
“You can talk to Coach Briscoe. Tell him we aren’t kids and we don’t appreciate being treated like we are. We know what we’re doing and we’ve done it just fine all season,” Chance said with a chorus in agreement behind him.
“He’s coached a few games. I know it might seem like the end of the world but you still have three games to play. Bradbury and Greenwood play one game against each other. You go out there and win those three games and State will be in the division playoff. I’ve confidence in you boys, and believe me you wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t concerned. I think you need to go back to doing what it is you do best,” Chancellor Bishop calculated for us as if we all didn’t know what we needed to do.
“You want us to win those three games?” Chance challenged him. “Talk to Coach Briscoe and tell him Coach Bell left him a winning team. Why doesn’t he get out of our way and let us win?”
Ouch! Way to go Chance. I put him in to buy some time for me to think and he hits it out of the park.
“You all feel this way?”
“Yes, sir,” the answer echoed in the office.
It no longer mattered what he did. My team was all on the same page and win or lose we’d do it together. It was no longer up to anyone but us. We’d made the situation clear and we’d do the best we could to win the three games ahead of us.
I’d be proud of them if we lost all three games, but I didn’t feel like we would. We’d taken a stand, because we were right.
“Anything you have to add, Dooley?”
“No, sir. Chance spoke for me.”
“Anyone want to add anything?”
No one said anything and it was time to go. Chancellor Bishop got up to open the door for us. He wasn’t sure I wasn’t at the bottom of the baseball rebellion, but that didn’t matter now.
“Mr. Dooley, I’d like a word. He’ll catch up with you gentlemen in a moment,” he said, closing me in the office.
“Coach Briscoe was in my office last night. He told me you were organizing his players to challenge his authority. He said you were in the locker room last night after the team bus returned. You know that violates what I asked you to do.”
“No, sir. I didn’t think about it. I was waiting when the bus returned because I wanted to find out the score. The team came to me and asked for help. I felt like I needed to be with them. I felt like we could salvage the season if I was there for them. It wasn’t practice. I stayed in the dorm when they went to Greenwood. My understanding was I shouldn’t go to practice or on the team bus.”
“I want you here at 3p.m. this afternoon, Mr. Dooley. Alone,” he said firmly. “Do not have any more meetings with State’s baseball team. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir. Three o’clock,” I agreed.
Most of the guys seemed to feel better about doing something. While I was able to place the blame for our collapse, the rest of the team wasn’t so ready to blame Coach Briscoe. We’d been left by Coach Bell and nothing had gone in our favor since.
I didn’t mention my return invitation to the Chancellor’s office. I still couldn’t read him. His questions were carefully worded so he didn’t give much away.
Asking me to return alone hadn’t left me with a warm fuzzy feeling. It was information the team didn’t need.
Chapter 10
Chancellor’s Call
When I walked to the Chancellor’s office, everyone else was at practice. I smiled at the secretary once inside.
“You can go in,” the secretary said, smiling as though she knew something I didn’t know.
I knocked twice and turned the knob.
“Mr. Dooley, this is Umpire Lamb.”
The middle aged man stood and we shook hands. I’d never met an umpire before. I’d never really looked at an umpire close up. Their faces were almost always behind the umpire’s mask.
There were three chairs in something like a semi-circle in front of the Chancellor’s desk. I sat in the one closest to the door. My instincts told me I might need to make a break for it. Nothing like being prepared, but I wasn’t really prepared for the fellow who would fill the third chair.
The door swung wide open and in charged Coach Briscoe, fashionably late, wearing a Cheshire cat size smile. I tried to remember if I’d seen him smile before.
“Sorry, I had to get practice going before I came over. Give the boys some guidance.”
“Did Coach Martin come by? I sent him to make sure there was some supervision.”
“Oh, yes, he’s down thee. He isn’t familiar with my boys, but he’ll be okay if anything comes up. Nice to see you,” he said to the umpire.
“This is Umpire Lamb. Coach Briscoe.”
“Very glad to meet you,” Coach Briscoe oozed personality and warmth but neither man offered the other his hand.
I was immediately captivated by this man who I’d never seen before. He chatted with Chancellor Bishop like they were country club confidants. I checked the room for a gallows. I suspected a lynching was about to break out.
It was like being a Christian who gets an invitation to go down on the field, where the action takes place. It’s only after he hears the door slammed and bolted that he sees the lions.
“Gentlemen, I wanted to have all three of you here in front of me at the same time. I’ve spoken to each of you individually. Like a blind man encountering an elephant, his description of the beast depend on the part he grabs first.
“I want to ask a question. Without anyone going into great detail, I want each of you to indicate with your index finger, to who goes the lion’s share of the responsibility for the disruption during the St. Anthony’s game?”
I found myself staring at Coach Briscoe’s annoying stub of a finger. It never occurred to me to look at Umpire Lamb, but I had to look somewhere, and his finger was pointed directly at Coach Briscoe. I kept my fingers to myself. I knew which way the railroad ran and I was the only one there who had no standing whatsoever.
“Mr. Dooley, is there something wrong with your finger?”
“No, my fingers are fine. I realize I acted poorly toward Coach Briscoe. It wasn’t a deliberate act of defiance. It was a… a reaction, I guess. I’m not proud of myself.”
“Coach Briscoe, you seem certain Mr. Dooley is guilty. Do you care to give cause?”
“Dooley is a conspirator. He’s out to get me. He doesn’t respect me. He refuses to follow orders. He is continually undermining my authority like he’s the coach. I told Coach Bell he was pampering Dooley. He refused to listen. He was protecting him, when he should have been disciplining him.
“He is the problem,” Coach Briscoe pointed directly at me, giving upall pretense of having a personality.
“I don’t know about any of that,” Umpire Lamb said. “But what disrupted the St. Anthony’s game was Coach Briscoe. One of his players, the shortstop, Kane, made a bad play. To say Coach Briscoe came unglued is an understatement. I’ve never seen a coach at this level of competition act in such a disrespectful manor.
“In fact this young man, …Dooley, I think. His role was to restrain the second baseman,” he said, taking a pause. “…Chance, yes, Dooley to Chance. A fine double play combo. It was Chance that came off the field upset by the play of Kane. Dooley restrained him after Chance lost his temper. He pushed Chance away from the bench. This young man pushed Chance.
“I don’t recall him saying anything until that time. There was an exchange as I walked back toward the bench. Coach Briscoe said something about benching Chance I believe, and I’m sure Dooley responded before other players moved between Coach Briscoe and the two players in question.
“I didn’t hear the entire exchange, but it didn’t have anything to do with me stopping the game. I regarded Coach Briscoe as being out of control. He was at the center of it and I wanted him seated and under control before I restarted the game.
“No, even Chance did no more than raise his voice. When you are watching an important game slip away, I expect emotion. For coaches and players to have angry words is part of the game. I can’t imagine not having an emotional reaction in this case. That’s something I see several times a year. It doesn’t require me to stoop a game.”
“Coach Briscoe, any rebuttal?”
“Dooley has gotten to him. He instigated it. His staring at me like he knew more than I did. He acted like a big shot in front of the team. Secret meetings! I told you he got the players all worked up after the Greenwood game. I told you he disobeyed your orders and went into the locker room with them. I knew what he was doing. I told you what he was up to.”
“So you did, and that’s why I asked for you all to come this afternoon. I wanted to make sure I had the facts straight. I want to thank you for coming in. Before we’re done, Mr. Dooley, do you have anything else to tell me at this time?”
“No, sir, I think he’s got a serious problem, but I don’t have anything to do with it. I did my best when I thought my team needed me. I’m sorry if I hurt his feelings.”
“Well, I’ve got the picture. Thanks for coming in. No not you Coach Briscoe. You sit. I want to have a word with you if you don’t mind.”
“I’ve got practice,” Coach Briscoe objected.
“Mr. Dooley, you can go down to practice and see if you can be of some help to Coach Martin. Thank you, Mr. Lamb. I appreciate your attendance.”
“No problem at all. I wanted to see to it this never happened again.”
“I can assure you it won’t. Thank you both,” Chancellor Bishop said, holding the door open for us and closing it behind us.
I went down to the practice field and found Coach Martin from the freshman team. He was in a position very familiar to me. He had his fingers woven through the chain link of the backstop, watching Andy take batting practice. I went over to see if he objected to me being there and got a refreshing warm welcome..
“Hi, Dooley,” he said, smiling pleasantly. “He’s a thing of beauty.”
“Yes, he is,” I agreed, not thinking anyone saw Andy the way I did.
The bat cracked as Andy followed through easily on his swing. The ball stayed within the confines of the fences by five or six feet. On days when he hit away there was a manager who stood outside the fence to throw the balls back. This was just a warming up exercise, letting his motion flow, not seeking distance but even then the balls were barely able to stay within the field of play.
Today was a light day. We went to Bradbury the following day. Coach Martin would be on the bus with us. Before I went to get on the bus I walked past Coach Briscoe’s office. The door was open and the office was empty. Anything that indicated Coach Briscoe had once been in charge disappeared overnight.
We’d once more undergone a leadership change. There wasn’t a word spoken. Coach Martin simply eased into the role he was assigned. No one questioned his ascending to the helm of the first team. He was a soft spoken gentle man that I’d known only briefly as a freshman.
Over the next few days I found out that Chancellor Bishop talked privately to Chance, Kane, Andy, as well as other boys on the team before the final meeting in his office. The man had done his homework. All he had left to do was dismiss Coach Briscoe as a poor example for impressionable players on the State baseball team.
We beat Bradbury 5-4 but it wasn’t as close as it sounds.
It turned out to be a far bigger win than we knew at the time. Greenwood lost to Concord. We pulled back even with Greenwood, realizing they weren’t all that tough. Concord was the last place team in our league.
This turn of events rejuvenated my team. We were delirious with joy when word came of Greenwoods 3-2 loss. Our energy and momentum had returned. The dismissal of Coach Briscoe got the team back on track. No one spoke of his erratic behavior or how fast we’d been derailed. We were all thankful to still be alive in league play.
Moving back to the top of our league gave us an appreciation for our ability to come back. We had no doubt we could beat anyone, but we understood if we didn’t stay at the top of our game we could be beaten.
Coach Martin kept the lineup of available players in his pocket. He had a habit of calling me over each time he made a decision on pitchers, or especially when he wanted a shortstop. I wasn’t sure why this was.
I wanted to think he trusted my judgment. I didn’t want to think Chancellor Bishop told him to include me in on decisions to sooth any damaged feelings. Actually, I’d finally learned to read Chancellor Bishop. It was easy. Think logic. He had earned my loyalty for not allowing a coach to run me out of the game without finding out the reason why.
Having Chancellor Bishop worrying about my peace of mind wouldn’t be bad. I accepted Coach Martin’s need for my opinion, because he genuinely seemed to want it. I knew my team and he respected that. It was a welcome change in coaching style.
*****
It was odd to suit up against Bradbury. It was our next to last regular season game. My cleats felt funny and the uniform felt like a million bucks. Everything changed once I suited up. My estrangement from my team had ended. I was back.
The doctor had cleared me that morning, after I counted hjs fingers successfully. Fingers had become import in my life. I remembered the fingers in Chancellor Bishop’s office. I point at no one.
We took the field as the game got underway. Chance came over and patted me on the butt, smiling broadly, saying nothing. I stood at the shortstop position and felt like I’d been away a year. Chance didn’t need to say anything. I felt our presence marked the infield. Together we became something special. We almost never surprised one another. It felt so good being there.
We threw a ball around the infield as the pitcher took his warm up pitches. Chance sent the ball to me on one bounce each time the ball passed. I felt good. The time away dissolved without any adjustments required. I’d played shortstop so long it was part of my being. I didn’t need any practice or a refresher course. What I did came as reflex. I didn’t remember tha while sitting on the bench, because I wasn’t in the game.
Bradbury’s first batter hit three foul balls down the third baseline. He struck out on the next pitch. I pounded my hand into my glove and took my stance with each pitch. The second batter worked the count to 3-2 and the very next pitch flew up over his head and clanged against the chain link in the backstop.
There was a surprising response to that particular sound. I had a chill and became agitated. It took my mind out of the game in a most disorienting fashion. For a few seconds I felt lost. I found myself watching the runner trot down to first base.
I pounded my glove and smelled the leather. I told myself to get back to business. I settled back into my shortstop mode, focusing in on the plate as the pitcher and catcher went through their routine. I watched the signs being flashed until the pitcher got what he wanted.
I pounded my glove and went back into my stance, ready to react instantly if the hitter got his bat on the ball.
The ball was hit so sharply there was no time to think about making a play. I was on it like a cat and whipped my throw to second. It popped when the ball hit the leather of Chance’s glove. He leaped out of the reach of the sliding runner’s cleats, delivering the double play throw to first base with time to spare.
Bradbury was retired in the first.
Chance looped his arm over my shoulder as we jogged together toward the bench. I felt great. I was back.
“What a throw,” I said. “That was nice.”
“Good to have you back, buddy,” he said, as I got ready to bat.
When I reached for my batting helmet, it wasn’t there. Of course it wasn’t. It had splintered like my skull would have done if not inside that helmet at the time.
“Hey, Chance, can I use your batting helmet? I forgot I needed to get another one.”
“Go for it, Do.”
My bat was right out front where it always was. I batted first and that’s the slot it had been in since the day I got…
I swung the bat as I walked to the plate. The Bradbury pitcher was still throwing warm up pitches. I stood for a second behind the backstop. The umpire indicated it was time to play ball.
I moved into the batters box and swung the bat twice. The weight felt perfect. No readjustment needed. I felt great. All the sounds and smells were like they should be. Sitting on the bench and not playing was totally different.
The pitcher began his motion and the ball came in on me as I backed away from the too close pitch. It did tick me off a little after missing a week after being hit. I pulled the bat up so fast I almost hit myself in the head with it.
I was sweating. My knees were starting to shake and I couldn’t believe my ears.
“Strike!” the umpire declared.
Wait a minute. The damn ball almost hit me. How could it have been a strike? I looked at the umpire who was watching me do my imitation of an idiot. This didn’t add up.
I looked at the bench and both Andy and Chance had stood up. They both stood on the edge of the grass out in front of the bench. Coach Martin stood in front of his chair, looking concerned.
What the hell was I doing staring at the bench?
“You going to bat, son,” the umpire asked politely.
It was Umpire Lamb. I recognized his voice from Chancellor Bishop’s office. I stared at him and he stared back, waiting.
“Oh, yea,” I said, trying to act like I knew exactly what I was doing.
I stepped back into the batters box, while feeling disoriented. What the hell was wrong with me? I swung the bat and looked out toward the pitcher.
“You all right, son?” the umpire sought clarification.
“Yes, sir. I’m fine. Sorry,” I apologized, as I stood back in my batting stance and took two practice swings.
I continued to sweat and I did all I could to keep my knees from shaking. I stood there for three more pitches and I struck out without ever thinking of swinging at one of the pitches. I hadn’t even seen the ball except for the one I saw coming at my head. It’s all I could see.
“You okay, Do?” Andy asked, as I sat back on the bench beside him.
He took my bat and went over to slide it back in the bat rack.
“You going to be okay?” Andy asked, looking at my face as he sat back down.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I need a little batting practice, I guess.”
“You look a little pale,” he said, but I didn’t answer.
I recognized the feelings. I’d been afraid of the baseball for years. I’d been hit a couple of times with wild pitches that got away, but it was like being brushed or punched on the arm by a buddy. I’d gradually forgotten I was afraid of being hit, until I’d been hit in the head.
It was no brush back. It could have done serious damage. I’d faced my fear and beaten it before and I’d beat it again, but probably not before my next at bat.
By the time Andy came up Wertz had singled. Chance singled Wertz to third. The pitcher wasn’t going to serve up any fat pitches, letting the first two go low and outside. The third pitch was also outside, but it came up higher and Andy reached out his long arms and tagged it out over the right field fence. Advantage State, 3 zip.
There was one out and Kane doubled and scored on a single. I was worried I’d come to bat again in the first inning, but there was a strikeout before the next batter flied out. Advantage State, 4 zip.
I got one shot at the ball in the second and threw the runner out at first. There was a Bradbury single before we retired the side. We came to bat in the second and I swallowed hard and figured I’d do better my next at bat.
The pitcher struck out on three pitches and I’d already put on the helmet and retrieved my bat. Andy and Chance watched me like a hawk. I went directly up to the plate, taking practice swings on the way. I just wouldn’t think about getting hit. I’d make myself stand in and swing at the ball.
It took me four pitches to strike out. The bat remained on my shoulder. Even when the idea of swinging at the pitch occurred to me, the ball was already in the catcher’s glove by that time.
As I started to walk toward the dugout, the umpire called time and was suddenly in front of me. I pulled up short and stared through the bars on his face mask before he pushed it up on his hat.
“Why don’t you call it a game, son? You need to think about it awhile, Mr. Dooley.”
“I’ll be all right,” I said.
“Play until your next at bat. Have your coach pull you. If you don’t I will, Mr. Dooley. This isn’t doing you or your team any favor. Work it out and maybe you’ll feel better next game.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, and I didn’t act like I was shocked or disturbed by his insight.
I didn’t say anything when I went back to the bench. Luckily the first pitch to Wertz went to second to first for the third out. I took the field and no one said don’t. Chance kept looking at me like he was expecting something to happen or maybe he was looking at me not sure what to expect.
It was 5-1 when I was going to come to bat in the fifth inning.
“Pull me out of the lineup,” I said to Coach Martin in a low confidential voice.
He was immediately staring at his lineup card. He wasn’t going to ask me why, which was a relief. Of course everyone knew why. I needed to pretend they couldn’t see my fear.
“Who do you want?” he asked, handing me the card.
I looked down the bench, until I came to the man I knew would do the best job. My instincts told me this wasn’t too bright, but it was the right answer.
“Henry. He can play shortstop. Put him in to bat for me and play my position.”
“He can. He was playing second for us and he started his first two games up here at first. How do you know he can play short?”
“Bobby Henry is his brother. He can play shortstop. He’s a way better hitter than me.”
“Okay, Dooley, I guess you know what you’re doing. Henry, grab a bat. You’ll play shortstop.”
“Sure,” Jeff said, looking a bit curious at his sudden elevation back into the lineup.
“Well, grab a bat. That umpire isn’t going to beg you to come to the plate,” I said in a scolding voice.
Andy and Chance didn’t say anything when I sat back down. It was awkward sitting down before the game ended. My future was in doubt once again. I tried not to let it get me down but in a matter of a few days my life had gone through enough twists and turns to last me a lifetime.
We won the game 6-2. Jeff Henry played fine and Chance thanked me for not telling Coach Martin to put Kane back in at shortstop. He didn’t ask me why I’d taken myself out of the game. I was hoping someone might not have seen me shaking each time I went up to bat.
Andy knew why and he tried to reassure me late that night. I pretended it helped but what was inside my head wasn’t so easy to purge. I wasn’t going to give up. Baseball had become too important for me to walk away without a fight.
I didn’t play the Greenwood game. It was too important to play around with me hoping I might put my fear behind me. We won 7-4 and were in the division playoff. No one else from our league made it. The competition from the other leagues was too intense. I didn’t mind not having to play Greenwood again.
Bale pitched a one hitter in the first playoff game. Andy hit two home runs and Chance got two hits and walked once. We won the second game 5-1 and the third 3-0. When we made it to the final four, we won 2-0 and we won the division championship game 7-1 and were seated second in our section of the NCAA championships in our bracket.
I’d played in each of the division games and had no trouble at all. Coach Martin got the bright idea of batting me eighth, so I could decide at that time if I wanted to try batting or turn the shortstop position over to the very capable Jeff Henry.
It was simple but effective. I got to stay in the field for four or five innings and only come to bat once. Jeff was delighted to share the shortstop chores with me. He kept thanking me for letting him play, and I pretended I was doing him the favor. It was a way to keep my head in the game.
By the NCAA Championships I reevaluated my presence in the games. I realized how easy I could cost my team a game and Jeff became the starting shortstop. He was only hitting .358, but it would have to do.
State made it into the final sixteen. In the top bracket they called it the sweet sixteen, but, no matter what you call it, it was sweet indeed. Andy and Chance were on fire. Bale was back to being unbeatable. Unfortunately there was only one Bale.
We lost 6-4 in the round of sixteen.
This was the highest State had ever finished in our bracket of the NCAA Championship. We went home feeling like we’d accomplished something. We were greeted as winners, because we’d proved we were. Our flirtation with falling apart gave us a new appreciation for what we accomplished in the end.
There was a few days for us to just be students, friends, and companions, but like all the good stuff in life, it ended way way too soon.
In the baseball draft Andy went in the first round fifth pick to Lincoln, Nebraska. Chance, Wertz, and Bale were all picked early. The heart of our team was going pro.
We’d seen how fragile the game was and how fast you can go from winner to loser. We had finished on top of our game and the eyes were on them as strong players with futures in the game. They were on their way to the Big Show.
Parting with my best friends, teammates, and my lover, wasn’t the easiest thing I’d ever done. I knew they were doing what was right for them. I’d known all along Andy had to go out and earn his way in baseball. There was no way I could go with him without being a major distraction. The time we’d get together wouldn’t be worth the damage it might do to his career.
Besides, I had to earn some money in case my senior baseball season didn’t come to pass. Coach Martin had been a fine coach. He was a bit long in the tooth and may or may not want the headache of coaching an entire season with State’s first squad. He had a relatively easy time coaching the freshman team but more than half the first team had left, either graduated or they went in the draft. Next season would be a major rebuilding year at State.
I took the rest of my final exams. My parents picked me up in front of the baseball dorm a few days after my closest friends had gone.
I felt a little odd driving away. No matter what happened in my senior year, nothing was going to be the same without my friends. My difficulty with facing pitched balls placed my future at State in jeopardy.
No one promised me a rose garden.
Part IV
The Senior Season
No Invitation
“What do you plan to do this summer?” my father asked my first morning home.
“You mean besides eat you out of house and home?” I asked, yawning and enjoying our quiet house.
“You’ve lost weight. You need to let your mother feed you the way you know she loves to do. How are the headaches.”
“Fine. Who said anything about headaches, I caught myself too late.”
“Dr. Wilson. He says you’ll experience headaches for some time to come. He wants to take a look at you. We’re going out to the community picnic on Memorial Day. He’ll take a look at you while you’re there. He’s going to notice the weight lose.”
“I’ll be looking for a job. I might not be playing ball next season. I want to get some money ahead. I don’t want to risk getting caught short.”
“Your mother and I have some money we’ve put away. I don’t think you should work until Dr. Wilson takes a look at you. You don’t think your scholarship is going to take care of it, John?”
“Not if I don’t play, Dad. I can’t take the chance. I ruffled a lot of feathers, you know. You always exhaust all avenues before you blindside your coach. Administrators to miss little details like that. I was out of bounds and I expect to pay for it.”
“You did what you did for your team, John,” my father said.
“You’re the captain of the team. They certainly can’t just let you go?” my mother argued.
“I was captain last season. I was Coach Bell’s captain. Coach Bell is gone. The heart of the team is gone. I don’t know if Coach Martin will be back. Jeff Henry is probably going to be starting shortstop no matter who the coach is. I got the scholarship from Coach Bell. I don’t know they want to honor the final year. He arranged for me to have the final year on it on his way out the door. If they don’t want to honor it I won’t fight them.”
“What about Andy. We were sure you’d want to spend part of your summer with him,” mom said. “We put money away so you could.”
“What I want and what I need to do aren’t necessarily the same, mom. Andy has his hands full trying to start at Lincoln. I’d be a distraction and I don’t want that. If I can make enough money, I’ll go there before I go back to school. If I don’t we’ll have to stay in touch on the phone and in letters. He knows I know how important it is he has his mind on his game. He’s got enough pressure on him without me being out there in the way.”
My father made several phone calls that morning to see if any of his businessman friends could hire me for the summer. They all knew me from baseball at State. Every time I spoke to one of them about what I was looking for, we’d spend the entire time talking baseball.
The most logical place was Stan Bartlett Roofing. He had several large projects, including my high school, which would keep me busy through the summer at the kind of pay that I’d need for school expenses.
I didn’t want to drain my parents and staying busy made life way easier. Dropping in bed each night exhausted was good for me. Dr. Wilson took a look in my eyes once a week for my first month home. He would always say, “Hmmmmm!” I never knew what it meant but he simply said for me to come back in a week.
Roofing was a dirty smelly business. It took me until the end of my first week on the 10 hour a day job to get a hold of Andy. He was living in a boarding house in a room with three other Lincoln ballplayers.
He hadn’t started yet but he had pinch hit twice, striking out once and grounding out the other time. We talked for fifteen minutes before he had to get off the line to let someone else use the phone. They didn’t have a phone in their room, so our conversations were to be short.
On days off he called me from whatever payphone he could fine, spend the two bucks fifty in change for three minutes, give me the number of the phone, and I’d call him back so we could talk for a long time. He was in a good mood but not happy without me being there to encourage him. I told him I didn’t know if I could come out before school started, but I would try.
It was tough being so far away from the guy I loved. I missed having him in my arms, sleeping together, and of course the benefits that came with it. One great thing about roofing, I was beat each night from the ten hour days and half a day on Saturdays. On Sundays I slept and dreamed about my man.
I forever had the smell of tar in my nose and I had specks of it burned into the hair on my legs and arms. My uniform was a pair of shorts, boots that came almost up to my knees, and a pair of heavy leather gloves to protect my hands. It was like working on the surface of the sun and I was nauseated most days.
I had no appetite for the first time as far back as I could remember, and after a few bites of my mother’s excellent cooking, all I wanted was to hit the shower and fall in bed. Dr. Wilson reminded me that I was back down to the same weight as in my senior year. I’d been fifteen pounds heavier at the beginning of the year before when I had my school physical.
Laying around in bed and making love with Andy had me heavier than I needed to be but being a roofer was a sure recipe to boil any water out of my body.
By July I’d lost ten pounds since returning home and still had no appetite when I sat at the table. My mother fixed my favorites and I picked at them before giving up on her meal. They knew it was the environment where I was working and the money was too good for me to look elsewhere.
The temperatures on the high school’s roof was over a hundred on sunny days before you turned on the burners to heat the roofing materials, it must have been a hundred and twenty degrees by noon each day.
Sunday was my day of rest and thankfully Mr. Bartlett was a good Christian who honored the Sabbath, or he’d have wanted us working seven days a week. You can’t look a gift horse in the mouth and I was being well paid for my labor and was depended upon to show up each day when many men worked two or three days and took off two or three days.
Whenever Mr. Bartlett came out to the jobsite he would call me off the roof, too hot for him up there, and he’d hand me an ice cold soda in a cup of ice, and we’d talk baseball for a half an hour. He wanted my read on all the State boys who turned pro at the end of the season. He wanted me to tell him we were going to repeat our winning season.
I told him we had lost a lot of our best players and this would be a rebuilding season. He didn’t ask why a guy with a full scholarship was working for him, and I didn’t have to tell him I probably wasn’t playing next season. It was a discussion I didn’t want to have, because the time I spent sitting down in his Silverado were periods of time I could get off that hot roof.
I knew a lot more than I was saying, but I didn’t bother sharing that my suspicions were being confirmed. By mid-July it was apparent I wasn’t being invited to summer practice. I’d have had the letter by then, arriving back at school by the end of July. I was doomed to stay on hot roofs for the rest of the summer but I would have a good down-payment on my senior year.
Since I was previously a scholarship student and a member in good standing of the baseball team, I was sure they’d see to it I got whatever financing I might need to complete my senior year at State. I was carrying a B average and if they gave me any trouble I’d go see Chancellor Bishop to argue my case, as I would willingly let him out of honoring the scholarship. I didn’t think he would argue against me too vehemently. He’d been fair during the dust up after Coach Bell’s departure.
Chance called in July to find out what was up. He was playing second base and batting .312 at Austin. His infield was less than solid and he wanted me to apply for the shortstop position. I told him I thought my baseball career was coming to an end and I’d never planned to go pro.
He thought I was foolish, remembering our double-play combination as a thing of beauty. I did love fielding and would find it hard to be at State and not be with the baseball team, but the fact that my closest allies were all gone would make it easier.
It wasn’t my team any more. I suppose some things grow on you and I’d probably watch the baseball team closely, but not being invited to summer practice meant I could get on with my life after baseball that much earlier, but first I had to finish my roofing career and get that damn smell out of my nose.
I took to standing in front of the open freezer door, getting ice out for my ice tea and taking my time. I’d fold up in my chair at the kitchen table and roll the ice cold glass across my forehead.
“Oh, John, go take a shower. Get ot of those smelly clothes,” mom complained.
It took me fifteen minutes to have enough energy to climb the stairs to my room. Then I’d look at the inviting bed with those clean cool white sheets, and it took all my will-power not to drop into and fall asleep. My mother would have skinned me alive if I did such a thing and besides, the shower was like heaven. Once in I didn’t want to come out. The cold shower was my favorite and yet as quick as I came out my body was overheating again.
It was the week before school began that I called to see what the status of my dorm room was. I’d received no word on it and would need to make arrangements. The registration office said that it still had my name on it with an open slot that the baseball coach hadn’t designated as of yet.
Maybe they were going to give me time to secure other accommodations? I’d been in dorm housing since my first day and maybe they’d see to it I got decent lodging.
Realizing that I didn’t need to go room searching just yet, I was on the phone to get the next bus to Lincoln. My parents fussed that we hadn’t gone anywhere together and I apologized, kiss my mother’s cheek, and climbed aboard the mid-day bus to St. Louis.
I waited in the St. Louis bus station for six hours to get the bus to Lincoln. I called and left Andy a message that I’d arrive at 5:30 the following morning. He was at the ballpark and there was a game that night. They’d leave the message in his room.
From that minute on I was on cloud nine. I was going to be with Andy. I’d been too tired and too out of sorts to give it much thought until I was on my way and then, the closer I got, the more excited I got. I mean really excited and it made it hard to piss or even stand up in front of the built in audience.
Andy met my bus and the hug was hard to break. Feeling him, smelling him, having my arms around him was like greeting a lover after a long absence. I’d never been happier and I couldn’t stop smiling. He took my bag and looked at me longingly.
“You’re skinny,” he said, after we began walking away from the bus stop.
“I am not.”
“What’s that smell?” Andy asked, sniffing loudly as he put his face close to me. “How long you been on that bus? You need a shower.”
“It’s roofing material. You’ll get use to it. I did,” I said, unhappy he said something.
I paid for a motel room across from the stadium where Lincoln played home games. Andy was in town for a six game home stand and we’d be together all the time he wasn’t at the ballpark, but first things first.
I didn’t get the door closed before Andy had me on the bed and we made out like there was no tomorrow. We were half dressed and half undressed by the time we finished round one. I excused myself to take the shower I knew I needed. By the time I got soaped up and the water perfect, Andy was climbing in, rubbing his body on mine, collecting soap.
It is weird how time stands still when you’re making love, even when you’re taking a shower. Being without him for months meant every second was spent in an embrace and we didn’t get through for long when he was back for more.
Andy was a tiger and I loved him and missed him and couldn’t believe I’d lived a summer without him. We had five more days together and we’d be together every minute we could be. He had to report to the park shortly before noon and I got some sleep.
He wasn’t in the starting lineup yet, but he did come in late in ball games to spell the regular left fielder. At times he played right field and he’d hit three homers in his limited time at Lincoln.
Rumors were the left fielder was going up to the New Jersey team soon and Andy was being groomed so he could adjust to the minor league style of ball. He was comfortable, happy, and at ease with his team.
The audience was less forgiving than college crowds who stood by their teams through thick and thin. The minor league audience was looking for good baseball and let you know when they weren’t getting it.
I stayed away from the ballpark until game time my first night. I didn’t want to be a distraction, but he gave me a ticket for every game and that was fine. I loved watching him play. I loved being able to see him, even when I couldn’t.
It didn’t take two minutes for us to be back at one another once the game was over and I walked him back to our motel room. He hadn’t played so he had plenty of energy. Only after a couple of go-rounds did he finally calm down enough for me to just hold him in my arms. He immediately fell asleep and for the first time in months we were both at ease.
Our second night together was a non-stop love fest. Andy was so horny he was done before we got started the first time. I had worried he’d get over me and have lost his passion for me, but absence had made our hearts grow even fonder, especially after so many years together. We knew our time was coming and our future together would develop out of the separation we were forced to endure now.
We wrestled rolled and played hide the sausage in as many ways as we knew how to do it. The best of all was having him to hold, feeling the soft warmth of him next to me, feeling his body grow limp as he slipped into a deep comfortable sleep. I suspected he’d slept no better than I had over our months apart.
We both found it difficult to separate from one another when it was time for him to eat and get to the ballpark for warm-ups and the team meeting before the game.
He came in to play centerfield in the seventh inning in the second game. In the ninth he came to bat and knocked the second pitch out over the wall in deep center field. It was a monster home run. I could see him looking for me as he trotted around the bases and I stood, wildly applauding my man. When passing the section where I was sitting along the third base line, he tipped his hat and the crowd roared their approval as his team met him at the palte.
If anyone tells you that having a week together after nearly three months a part is enough, it’s not true. Getting back on that bus was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. Had he asked me to stay, I would have, but he didn’t. He knew I had to finish college and that’s the way it was.
I wanted to stay with Andy and if not for needing to have a career of my own, I might have stayed with him. As a big time slugger he was going to make a lot of money in the big leagues, but that was supposition.
There were too many variables to think that big money was really going to appear. I needed to be able to hold my own in the business world in case Andy never made the big bucks. That way he’d get all the time he needed if I was working.
It would have been easy to stay with him and life is never easy. At times it may be good but when it’s easy you aren’t doing it right or giving it your all.
I pried myself away from my man to go back to school to give us the insurance policy we needed. I don’t think Andy had a backup plan after baseball, but he put all in had into the game and of course he didn’t want to consider what might happen if he didn’t make it to the Bigs.
I had already packed for school. My mother had ironed everything neatly and put a lot of my shirts on hangers and all empty spaces were filled with snacks and all the things I loved but hadn’t been eating over the summer. She lamented my weight loss and had Dad accompany me into the dorm building to help carry stuff for my room in case I was too weak.
“Ah, Mr. Dooley,” the attendant behind the desk said, reaching for my key once he checked his log book.
The room was as I had left it when I’d left after my junior year. I wasn’t about to argue the point. I wouldn’t feel all that comfortable living among baseball players when I was no longer one, but it saved me a lot of money and I’d stay as long as they’d let me.
I’d come early enough to have time to look around in case I’d have to find another place to live. Now, I’d have time to check out my classes and see if I wanted to make any changes. I liked State before the invasion of students disrupted everything.
Chapter 2
Chancellor’s Call
It was difficult not thinking of Andy and the fact he wasn’t going to be there for me for the first time. From early on in my career at State, I’d been put with Andy. Little could I guess that three years later I’d be back at State, thinking about my lover when I thought about him. My return to school was bittersweet.
It took much of the afternoon for me to unpack satisfactorily. I still wanted to be ready to move at a moments notice, but I’d need time once school started. By that time all the convenient rooms around campus would be rented, leaving me to scramble off campus for digs. Moving was distasteful but a possibility.
It wasn’t a good idea to get too comfortable but I was comfortable there after three years. Giving it up would mean giving up my many connections with my baseball past. Baseball wasn’t in my blood, but it sure as hell was on my mind.
I lasted until after I’d gone off campus for a burger before I walked over to the baseball complex. It was quiet. Summer practice was over and everyone was getting ready to return to school for the new school year. The grass needed a trim and I remembered my turn at lawn care and management at State along with Andy. It made me smile as I went to sit on the team bench. It was bare and there was no sign of a team or its players in the empty space.
I sat for a long time realizing it was one of the few places where I’d belonged beyond my house and my town. The baseball field was part of who I was for three seasons. There were struggles, a brotherhood of teammates, and the final glorious victories that raised us all beyond anywhere we’d been before.
Together we’d gone far and these were memories that would compliment my life. As a team we’d bonded beyond the game. I had no brothers but Andy and Chance were as close as if we’d known each other all our lives. I depended on them to be there for me all the time. Their absence was never more keenly felt than at the baseball complex.
I couldn’t imagine being as lucky as I’d been. I’d started playing baseball in high school. I played to waste time. It was nearly seven years since I first played baseball on a team. It was Bobby Henry who gave me my infielder’s insight on the game. It followed an ebb and flow. You tightened up to deny the hitter his favorite spot. You loosened up to reduce the hits for extra bases down the foul lines.
“Fielding is an art, Dooley. Your glove is your brush. Your footwork is the dance you do. Make a great play and they remember it when they come to the plate. They want to hit the ball away from you. You are inside their head and they are less likely to get a hit.”
The shortstop was at the center of a game. Yeah, everyone remembered Andy, Monte, and Wertz for their homers, but I held the infield together so a lesser team couldn’t scratch hit us to death and win by luck alone. The best shortstops could turn twice the number of double-plays. With Chance on second, we were a threat every time a man reached first and the other teams knew it.
I stepped away from out bench and jogged from home plate to first, from first to second, second to third, and then I walked to the plate. The bags were all up and in the storage locker and there was an impression where the plate sat down in the ground so it was level.
I looked up at the stands and felt a little emptiness in the pit of my stomach that joined the burger, fries, and soda. I looked at my feet and wondered what Andy was doing that early evening. If I got to keep the dorm room where we’d so frequently made love, I’d get a phone with the savings. There was a glimmer of hope left but no more.
I walked around the corner of the stands and standing at the gate was Coach Martin, watching me. How long he’d been standing there I didn’t know and he didn’t say.
“Hello, Mr. Dooley. Nice to see you made it back.”
“Yes, sir. How are you?” I asked, wanting to grill him about where I stood but knowing it wasn’t the time and the decision didn’t rest with him.
“Not quite settled into the idea of coaching the varsity for a full year. I told my wife I’d retire two years ago. Coach Bell talked me into staying. You don’t figure that clever son-of-a-gun knew Briscoe was going to bomb and they’d need to ask me to pick up the pieces?”
“You did a damn good job, Coach. Final sixteen in the NCAA. I’d say you’re up for a nice salary increase.”
“Money isn’t everything, Mr. Dooley. This team could put me in my grave. It’s all rebuilding here on out and it was never Coach Briscoe’s team and it surely wasn’t mine. You boys were carefully groomed and trained by a master, Coach Bell. You can take him off the bench but you can’t deny it was his team that went to the sixteen round.
“You can bet he was there, Mr. Dooley. He was in the crowd, somewhere, each game you played. I imagine he was quite proud of his boys and you did him proud, Mr. Dooley.”
“I didn’t even play.”
“It was your play that got us there. We were lucky to have a good shortstop that could fill your shoes without giving up a lot of your mobility. Jeff’s going to be fine.”
Nothing in anything Coach Martin said answered my questions. Talking about the guys, my team, our finish, made it impossible for me to let him walk away without telling me what I was waiting to find out. I wanted to know where I stood at State.
There was no time like the present to find out. Coach Martin had opened the door and I came charging through.
“I didn’t get invited for summer practice,” I said, biting my tongue, not wanting to complain to him.
“Chancellor’s call, Mr. Dooley. You need to talk to him. I’m the coach but he’s in charge. He specifically told me, ‘don’t send a letter to John Dooley.’
“I’m sorry. I just do what I’m told. He says coach my varsity, I coach it. You’ve got to talk to him to find out what he has on his mind. He doesn’t tell me much and specifically he hasn’t indicated he’d pay a dime more to have me stay on for this season.”
“Coach Briscoe was convinced I lead a conspiracy against him. The Chancellor decided against him, but he felt I had some responsibility for what happened. I could have tried to work with the man. I never did. I don’t blame Chancellor Bishop. He can’t tolerate mutiny.”
“I don’t know anything, but I do know this. Coach Briscoe was supposed to coach the baseball team. He let it go to his head, Mr. Dooley. No one could tell him anything if he got into one of his moods where he knew best.
“It’s why Coach Bell kept him so far removed from decision making. Briscoe was a fair second or third team coach, but he didn’t have a head for the natural subtleness of the game. All he saw was win, lose. I don’t know what the Chancellor wants and I’m smart enough to let him decide this one on his own. He’s in the Bahamas fishing this week. He’ll be back before classes begin and he out to be in a pretty fine mood.”
“Well, I’m back in my dorm room and there was no question about giving me the key. That’s all I got, Coach. If he wants me out he isn’t leaving me any time to find a room.”
“Yeah, Henry asked me if he could share the room with you. I told him I didn’t see any reason why not, but I’d have to make sure it was okay with you. I don’t want him in the freshman dorm any longer than necessary and he asked to room with you. I’ve got two extra rooms in your dorm, because of so many boys leaving. I won’t fill them, Mr. Dooley. That way you’ll stay where you are for as long as you need it if we don’t get the outcome we want.”
“Jeff’s fine with me. Do you think Chancellor Bishop is going to let me stay in the baseball dorm if he isn’t going to allow me to play?”
“Until I hear different, you are a scholarship player. That’s the way Coach Bell wrote it and I go by what’s written. It’s the way I see it. He’ll have to tell me to move you out. If he doesn’t say it you’re fine where you are.”
“Yeah, I figured it would be like that. I appreciate you doing that for me. It will be hard to find a room once school starts.”
“If he tells me you are out of the program and he wants the room, I’ll tell him you need time to make other arrangements.”
“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate that. You know I can’t hit?” I said in what would be my rational for Chancellor Bishop dumping me.
“No, I know you got hit in the head. I know you think you can’t hit. It’s a demon you need to face on your own terms. The kind of glove you bring to the game is invaluable, Mr. Dooley, it would be a shame for me not to have it patrolling my infield. The batting will come back in time if you don’t convince yourself otherwise.”
“You think so?”
“I’ve seen it before. A guy gets hit, gets gun shy, shakes, sweats when he comes to bat, closes his eyes, swings wild, doesn’t swing at all, and if they stick it out long enough, one day they get a hit, and then another, and another, and the next thing you know, they forget they can’t hit and just play ball.”
“I was always scared of the ball, even in high school,” I admitted to him in my version of confession.
“Look at where you are, Mr. Dooley. You’re at State. You didn’t get here by accident. If you were always scared of the ball, you should be pretty proud you still faced the pitchers year after year. That takes courage. Don’t sell yourself short and things might be a lot different than you suppose. I can make no guarantees, but I know what I know after fifty years in the game.”
“Thanks. I like being in the infield. I loved having Chance there with me. Damn we were good, Coach,” I bragged. “It was magic.”
“The best double-play combo I’ve seen in ages, and I’ve seen a few.”
“He’s already in the starting line-up and batting over .300,” I bragged. “He’s on the way to the Bigs.”
“He’s a keeper, Mr. Dooley. He’ll have no trouble making it to the Bigs if he stays healthy and keeps his nose clean.”
It was a refreshing conversation. Just two guys talking ball. Coach Martin was smooth, relaxed, and smart enough to know he didn’t know everything and wasn’t about to presume for me.
I didn’t know Chancellor Bishop very well, but I knew he kept his cards close to his vest. The fact Coach Martin didn’t know what was up with him didn’t surprise me.
We shook hands before I returned to the empty dorm and my quiet room. The meeting did nothing but make me become more obsessed with my future.
I slept in Andy’s top bunk and his comforting smell was still there and I dreamed about being in his arms all night long. I woke up disappointed, but the dream had to do for the time being. It was vivid enough to make me feel as if we’d actually been together. This was comforting on a day I was becoming more anxious about my future.
School was a walk in the park. I needed the credits for English and History to have the credits to graduate. My business courses were the easiest, but I didn’t mind any of my classes. It just wasn’t going to require a big effort to pass all my classes.
I went down off campus and rummaged through the used books at the corner thrift store. I spent two dollars and a quarter for nine books that were new titles to me. ‘Ruby Fruit Jungle’ sounded like the most fun. ‘Get Shorty’ was a movie I’d seen and Elmore Leonard was a most excellent writer. I’d compare the book to use up some time.
I read constantly until classes began. It was a blessing to have something to do, getting to eat in the cafeteria, not so much. The food wasn’t bad but it lacked the gusto I enjoyed and got at home.
It was my final year of college and I didn’t have any idea of what I’d be doing in a year. It was the first time in my life the plan had run out. The idea of opening a small appliance repair shop would allow me to work in Statesville. Mr. Bartlett was lobbying for me to return to his company in a supervisory role, which was a backup position if the business idea took time to take off.
Andy being certain to change teams a couple of times before going to the big leagues wouldn’t allow for us to make any permanent arrangement. We’d take our time making sure we didn’t waste a lot of time and energy playing musical chairs. My income would allow him that much more time to succeed without the pressure of how to survive.
I couldn’t help with the house he wanted to buy his family. It was his priority when we first met and I wouldn’t want him to do something different on my account. We were going to be fine and spend a lifetime together, giving a little bit of time to show his appreciation to his family seemed noble to me.
My desire to play baseball hadn’t diminished, even if my ability to play was in doubt, and there was someone between me, my desire, and my ability.
The thing that stood between me and my future, the fact I wasn’t invited to summer practice on the Chancellor’s say so. I could have seen some hope if not for that. It didn’t bode well for my baseball future.
Maybe on his fishing trip he’d catch some big fish and figure it would be bad luck to cut me loose. At least it would give him time to think about it and reconsider. I had a feeling Chancellor Bishop rarely reconsidered anything. He took a lot of time before deciding anything so he didn’t need to give it any more thought.
All my classes turned out to be keepers. I had more electives and didn’t need all the credits for graduation, but I needed them to keep my mind off Andy, baseball, and a future I could not yet see.
I stopped by the baseball diamond between classes on the second day and the grounds keepers were busy trimming and mowing the grass around the field. They rarely let it go for more than a week or ten days but after summer practice it wasn’t touched until just before fall practices were called.
The team needed to stay in shape and keep their timing down. Fielding took a lot less time to work its way back into the routine at a playing level. It was batting that took the most time to get back to game readiness.
It was at the end of the week I was handed an envelope when I picked up my key at the front desk of the dorm. I knew who it was from. I climbed the stairs to my room, dumping my books on the chair in front of my computer before dropping down on Jeff’s bottom bunk, leaning back and looking at the envelop, I held it up at arms length for some time.
I pictured the old guy who was on late night television. He’d hold the envelope to his forehead to read what was inside. It wasn’t a consideration, but opening it wasn’t as easy as it should have been. I knew my future was tied to whatever was inside.
By the time I opened it I had figured out what it said. Chancellor Bishop wasn’t going to write me a note to tell me about it. My wait wasn’t over yet.
The letters embossed at the top of the single slip of paper, ‘From The Chancellor’s Desk.’ His handwriting under the golden letters was bold and concise. ‘See me tomorrow between 3:00 and 3:30. Bishop.’
I didn’t sleep that night.
“What’s wrong, Do?” Jeff asked, after my third trip to the bathroom that hour.
“Nothing. Just restless.”
“Tell me about it. Wake me up when you go to sleep, okay.”
Jeff was okay. I got cross when someone kept me from sleeping. He was so quiet I had to look to see if he was there. He studied when he was in the room and didn’t waste a lot of time. It was the first time we were alone together in a confined space and it took some getting use to.
I knew Bobby was quite intelligent as well as a good ball player. Jeff had finished his first year with a better grade point average than I had my first year.
I lay a wake remembering baseball, how I got into it, how much of a part of me it was. You can hardly spend seven years doing something hours each day and not wonder what happens when you are no longer doing it. I wondered if it was like retiring from a job you like.
I liked baseball and now that retirement was on the table, I wasn’t ready to stop playing. I wanted to play baseball my senior year. Yes, I could probably pay all my bills and not go too deeply in dept to finish my senior year. I could graduate without baseball, but by daylight I had become very nervous that my days as a player at State might end that afternoon.
I’d been in my dorm room for over a week since the Chancellor’s return. I guess he had more to do than worry about one baseball player’s future.
Coach Martin was no one’s middle man and he wouldn’t tell me if he’d spoken to the Chancellor about me. Stopping to see him first was a waste of our time. I liked Coach Martin and regretted him being in the middle of the confusion about who would be playing in his infield.
He was stretching the boundaries of his life beyond what he’d planned. I had no doubt he’d walk in a New York minute if Chancellor Bishop jerked him around even a little.
But Chancellor Bishop wasn’t a jerker. He didn’t do anything without a plan. He would have worked it all out in his mind by now and he had a lot to do today before he had time to see me. Thinking about it didn’t do any good. Not thinking about it was impossible. I could have skipped class and may well have missed one with the state of mind I was in. One eye was constantly on the clock as gravity refused to allow the hands to move all day.
My life was in the balance and time stood still.
Chapter 3
Judgment Day
It was on this day I missed Andy most. Not having him at my elbow made me sad. This was the place where we were always together. I knew his schedule each day and he knew mine. If we merely wanted to catch a glimpse of one another between classes or at mid-day, we knew where to go.
It might be as little as a nod and a smile to make the day easier. Some times we’d stand off to one side as students headed in all directions, paying little attention to two lovers loving.
These intimate moments outside our room were made harder because of our notoriety.
‘Nice homer, Andy.’
‘Great play, Dooley.’
It spoke of who we were and that we were never alone together, except in the room, which I now shared with Jeff Henry. Even when we sat off to one side during meals, wanting to share a few moments, it was interrupted by Chance or Wertz or any number of the guys we loved but wanted to be free of for a few minutes.
I’d love to have Andy with me with all the interruptions and the lack of privacy that kept us from being as close as we would have liked. I’d love to sit down for lunch with Andy and have Chance simply plopping down with his typical, ‘what’s up, Do?’
Maybe if I took more psychology courses I’d be better able to understand people like Briscoe and Chancellor Bishop. It might make it possible for me to understand why, at the moment that would dictate my future at State, I thought of the people who were no longer there to do me any good. Yesterday had come and gone and today I’d come face to face with where my future would take me.
Saying the day was lost on me is an understatement. There was one thing my mind kept coming back to. What would Chancellor Bishop say? Was I in or was I out? Would I stay at State or go to seek comfort near Andy? As inconceivable as it was for me to have such a thought before I graduated, without baseball, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there any longer.
I didn’t eat lunch, went to the gym to workout, and at 3:00 I entered the Chancellor’s office.
“You can go in, Mr. Dooley,’ the secretary said with her usual smile.
“Ah, Mr. Dooley,” the Chancellor said, looking up from his writing to see who was there. “I’ll just be a second. You can take a seat.”
I sat in the chair across from his desk and watched him jot down quick words before he put down the pen and pushed himself back away from his desk.
“How are you?” He asked happily.
“Fine,” I said, saying all there was for me to say.
“Yes, of course. I suppose you have questions. Let me see if I can answer them for you. I hope you don’t mind but I did something I don’t feel comfortable doing, but in your case it seemed necessary. You’d never have agreed to it had we discussed it beforehand, so there was no discussion.
“I’m just running on. I told Coach Martin not to invite you to summer practice, as you know. Coach Martin mentioned you had talked. I was too busy to bring you in sooner but we’ll add the final touches to our arrangement today.”
Being a well educated man, I wondered if he didn’t know how to get to the damn point and quit roaming all over the place.
I squirmed, listening careful to pick out something he said that went in my favor, or even against me for that matter, but he wandered, not getting close to explaining anything to me.
“With you taking that blow to the head and having so little time to recover before we were knee deep in the NCAA Championships, I felt, and I did discuss your case with the university doctors, it might be best for you to sit out summer practice. You were certainly playing some of your best ball at the time you were injured and resting you seemed the prudent thing to do.
“Summer practice is a conditioning session to get the new ballplayers familiar with our system and coaches. We like having you top notch players there as guides so they can get to know you. It’s a good way to integrate the new young talent with the more experienced players. It gives them a look at the guys who play their position and whose job they may be after.
I listened for the punch line. Chancellor Bishop had always been direct with me. This was a lot of information I didn’t need. Once he finally got to me, right off he threw me a curve.
“You’ve lost some weight. I trust you are feeling fine?”
“I’m fine,” I said misplacing my patience.
“Yes, of course. Mr. Dooley, what I’m going to suggest is unorthodox. The more I thought about it the more I questioned my logic on the subject, but I decided it is something I need to do. I want you to consider a position as Coach Martin’s assistant coach. Coach Bell talked to me about your ability to get his less talented fielders to produce good plays. In effect he thought you had excellent coaching skills.
“Now, we have some constraints put on us by regulations, which means this won’t be a paid coaching position. Coach Martin is not certain to last a full season. He mentioned this possibility at the end of last season. He spoke to me about needing to ask you who to put where in the lineup at different times. He thinks your judgment is excellent and it helped him in situations he’d never expected to end up in when I selected him to replace Coach Briscoe.”
“I’m not done playing ball,” I explained before he got too far a foot. “I don’t know anything about coaching. All I do is demonstrate how I do what I do. It’s not complicated.”
“Coach Bell seemed to think otherwise. He had you in his office to discuss games, plays, players? He was looking for your opinions. He thought you might see something different from what he saw.”
“Sure, but we were just talking,” I said, trying to piece this puzzle together. “I’m not done playing. I don’t have any idea what a coach does.”
“And I can’t pay you for coaching services as long as you are an active player. This is not an official position. I can help you with some tutoring, which you’ve done for us before. This would give you income, but what I can’t do is say you are an assistant coach at State and we will pay you thus and so. That would eventually come back to bite us. We want to avoid that.”
“I would be an active player?”
*“Mr. Dooley, what would change that status?”
“Well, I had it in mind you might tell me to take a hike.”
“I’m accused of being insensitive about people’s feelings, but I didn’t think you’d be adversely impacted by sitting out a few weeks of practice. You’re one of the few bright spots we have left after Coach Briscoe worked his magic on a championship team.”
“I didn’t know why I wasn’t invited. The Coach Briscoe deal made things a bit uncertain for me. You don’t buck the system. I did contribute to the tension,” I confessed, still trying to find out where I stood.
“Nonsense. I sent you back to your team in front of Coach Briscoe. I slapped his face in front of you. I thought you’d understand that it meant you had been cleared of any responsibility in that unpleasantness.”
“I didn’t give a lot of thought to what it meant. I expect to be told if someone wants me to know something. You sent me back to my team without saying I had been cleared.”
“I tried to get away without spending a lot of time making a search for a new coach. I was the one who created the situation in the first place. How bad could he be with a team of the caliber Coach Bell left him?
“I suppose I could have clarified what I was doing for you. Just keeping the program from falling a part was my main goal once I realized what a mistake Coach Briscoe had been.”
“That was the problem. We could have won the NCAA Championship and it wasn’t his team. Briscoe’s ego wasn’t going to let that happen. He didn’t want that team to succeed. He thought we’d all hang around for this season, and it would be his team. He torpedoed the baseball program to make it look like his team. He’d end up the hero inside his head,” I explained.
“I should have picked Coach Martin in the first place. It was my mistake. I should have talked to you one on one, Mr. Dooley. My mistake and I suppose a difficult one for you to forgive?”
“I’m a college student. I play ball for State. That’s all. I don’t blame or forgive anyone. It is what it is, Chancellor Bishop. Chance was the one who figured out Briscoe’s game. It convinced the guys that they weren’t going to get any closer to the top no matter the coach. We were Coach Bell’s team until the end and we went out on top because of him.”
“When you have the kind of responsibilities I have, Mr. Dooley, you sometimes miss the obvious. I wasn’t ready for Coach Bell’s departure and I tried to do a quick fix, not understanding the kind of team he’d left me. I don’t get a do over and you’re stuck with me. I can only hope to be smarter next time.”
“I’m here to play ball. It’s what I do. Last year is last year. We’ve got this season to play yet,” I said. “That’s the most important thing to me. Playing this season.”
“Coach Bell spoke too highly of you for me to ever think ill of you, Mr. Dooley. Admittedly, if I only considered Coach Briscoe’s argument, you’d have been severely disciplined, but it was apparent to me there was only one guilty party in the matter, Coach Briscoe. Your comments reinforce what we both know to be true.”
“If you’d have come out and said it that way I would have understood it. You didn’t and I wasn’t sure I’d be invited back this year. I’ve got plenty of money. I worked all summer. If my scholarship is still in place I’ll be fine. I’ll assist my team in any way I can as I’ve always done. You can call it player-coach or what ever you want.”
“The intensity at the end of our baseball season was such that I truly thought you needed more time to stand down in order for you to heal properly. Concussions are no laughing matter, Mr. Dooley. Had we not been in such an intense battle for recognition, I may have had Coach Martin sit you down to make sure you stayed healthy. You made that move on your own as I recall. I was merely following that line of thought to its logical conclusion. To rest you.”
“It would have been nice to know.”
“There was never any though that you wouldn’t be at the center of State’s infield and our baseball program. I’m sorry if my lack of sensitivity led to any misunderstanding. You are our shortstop. That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Then, nothing has changed. That doesn’t mean I’m about to start hitting a ton. Platooning me would be the right move right now. I can’t say what may happen later. Coach Martin thinks my hitting will come back in time.”
“That’s understood. Coach Martin and I agree that you need to come to bat if you are going to recover your confidence at the plate. Taking yourself out of the games isn’t helping you.”
“No, it’s helping the team. Jeff Henry is an excellent shortstop and I think he’s on his way to being as good a hitter as Bobby.”
“Jeff Henry is our second baseman. He doesn’t want to play shortstop. Coach Martin has had several conversations with him on the subject. Your hitting is of concern. It is not going to hurt this team. We are in a rebuilding year. I want to field the best team I can, giving our newer players the experience to make next year’s team better. I want you in my infield and I want you offering assistance where you feel comfortable. If batting is that big a problem for you, than it’s a call only you can make. Don’t give up on yourself. Don’t sell yourself short. I’ve made my decision and now you’ve got to do what’s best for you.
“I’ve given you plenty to chew on for the time being. You don’t need to give me an answer today. Take a few days and consider what I’m asking you to do for State and me. Talk it over with Coach Martin. See what he’s thinking. I picked him to avoid another disaster like the one that came with Coach Briscoe.”
“I don’t need any time to think it over. You want me to do what I’ve been doing all along. If you say you are comfortable letting me take my swings, than I’ll take them. I came back wanting to play. Before the Coach Briscoe fiasco I may have thought I could walk away from the game anytime I wanted, but I know better now. I can’t conceive of me being here and not playing. Baseball is in my blood.”
“Then that settles that. Feel free to come to me with any problems. I’ll do what I can to help keep you happy with us here at State and I’m sorry for that little miscommunication. I trust you’ve survived?”
“Yes, thanks,” I said, and he stood as I stood, offering me his hand for shaking.
The meeting wasn’t what I expected. None of my worries were based on anything but my usual insecurity. While I had many excellent skills, I lacked confidence that I had the complete package. My bat always being the problem and so I worked to have the best glove. Now I was being told my bat wasn’t a factor in playing baseball at State.
It was one of the best meetings I’d ever been asked to attend. My senior year had become successful without me spending much time in class and with no time at all spent playing ball. I was on top of my game and I hadn’t even put on my cleats. My life had become delightful for me once I’d met with the Chancellor. I smiled a lot and no longer had any worries.
When I gave my parting smile to the Chancellor’s secretary, I waited until I got to the door before I leaped high in the air, pumping my fist almost to the ceiling of her office, “Yes!” I exclaimed, carefully opening the door once I came back to earth.
Chapter 4
New Season
Being told I was a player-coach didn’t explain it to me. I met with Coach Martin a few days later. He told me the idea began with him. He didn’t want to obligate himself to a full season on a team that was rebuilding. State was going to require a lot of work to find the pieces that would work best together. He thought he was up to it with my help.
Once Coach Martin walked away, it would require a major search be made for a qualified coach. After State’s most successful baseball season, Chancellor Bishop didn’t want to be faced with an exhaustive search for a new man. We all knew it wouldn’t be a great season, but by season’s end we would have a competitive team and that would make a search easier.
Coach Martin was apologetic for failing to be honest with me when first we met that school year. He admitted that once he’d turned the suggestion over to Chancellor Bishop, he wasn’t comfortable saying anything about it until the Chancellor spoke with me on the subject.
I had to wait three days to tell Andy what had transpired in Chancellor Bishop’s office. He was on a road-trip with the Lincoln team and each time I called they took a message at his boarding house. He laughed when we talked and told me I was such a dope for thinking State would want to play ball without me, when they could play with me.
Of course it made sense by this time. I’d bothered him with my worrying the entire time I was in Lincoln. He did his best to reassure me but I wasn’t having any of it. It couldn’t have worked out any better if I had plotted it myself, except I wasn’t the only one with good news.
Andy was in the starting lineup at Lincoln. He’d hit two homers in his first three games. He’d made one error but they won the game and the error didn’t factor into it but his two run homer did.
Knowing Andy was starting meant as much to me as what had happened to me, maybe even more. This was the beginning of us being able to plan a life together. The first step was him doing well in the minors so that he’d be picked up by a major league team. I had no doubt this was inevitable, but him having taken the first step meant we were on our way.
It still wasn’t clear to me what I would do after I graduated. If I stayed in Statesville and opened a business, I’d be tied there for a couple of years. By that time Andy would be in or at least on his way to the Big Show. He’d be able to come visit me during the off season, except the coach at Lincoln liked his players to play in the Spanish Leagues in the off season.
We hadn’t discussed it all that much but it was all stuff we faced as we went on with our lives. Any business I began I could leave with employees if I hired people I trusted, which I would. It was a loosely knit plan we’d talked about even before Andy graduated. The only thing that had changed was we knew what club he played for and where he might go as a result. Nothing was certain but it gave us enough hope to go on.
With mostly new players on the first team there would be new personalities, making the job more complex. I’d come up from the freshman team at a time Coach Bell was building his team. He had replacements picked out for the graduating players and brought their replacements up to play in the later innings near the end of the season. Playing with the first team would help them fit in the following year.
I’d been lucky enough to see it and Coach Bell had spent a lot of time questioning me about my thoughts and ideas. It was another level above simply playing ball and I liked it. He shared his ideas with me and he was a quiet pleasant man that I liked. In high school I rarely heard from the coach one-on-one, unless I’d screwed up, and then I got an ear full.
This was exciting. If I decided to sit down and quit playing, I would remain on the team. I couldn’t imagine quitting. My entire school experience was built around baseball. I wasn’t ready to let it go. I wasn’t sure how I could play and not bat, but I was working on it.
Coach Martin wasn’t sure what my role would end up being but he wanted me doing what I was most comfortable doing, after leading the infield through its paces. Even the infield was a question in my mind, but I could deal with infielders. I’d coached most fielding positions for Coach Bell. The only place I would be of no help was in the batting cage and the bullpen.
The idea of Platooning my position was discussed without Coach Martin showing any enthusiasm for it. If we came up with an extra infielder, after the first half of the game I could sit down and he would play. He would bat for me. Jeff wasn’t at all enthusiastic when I mentioned it to him. He figured he’d have to play my position and the replacement player would play second, a less demanding position.
It’s what we’d done with the starting lineup the previous season. Jeff was waiting to fill in for me and it allowed him to play. He brought a good bat with him. We couldn’t expect to find anyone nearly as ready to play on the first team as Jeff had been. While he was still learning, he was confident in his ability and he’d fit right in with Chance.
Coach Martin wanted me in the lineup full time. He wanted me to work on my batting, but he knew I had my own ideas and he didn’t want to argue about it.
He wanted me to know I couldn’t hurt the team by taking all my swings. I didn’t know that hurting my team was what was on my mind. It would be a while before we had to make any decisions and I was thinking about it.
Before we began the official practice we met two or three times a week in the gym for light exercises meant to keep us conditioned. This would give me time to adjust to so many new faces and to make them familiar with what I did and what I expected from them. I took control of the conditioning sessions to free Coach Martin from chores I could easily manage.
Once fall practice began, he wanted me to start working with the infielders, which would include a new first baseman, third baseman, and catcher. I had no doubt about Jeff and I being at the center of the infield, but the rest was a work in progress.
Baker had come in to catch in a couple of games in the late innings at the end of the previous season. That experience put him at the top of the list for first string catcher. Kramer would play third and Ford was set to go on first but they lacked experience. Both had been in a platoon arrangement at the end of the previous. Neither played more than a few innings, but it was a few more than the rest of the sophomores. That put them at the head of the class for infield positions but neither was solid.
I had no feeling for any of the three but they knew me and I was about the only name player left on State’s team from the Coach Bell era. While this might be the Martin-Dooley era, I preferred to defer to Coach Martin and made it known it was his team and I was there to serve him in ways he thought I was best suited. The talk of my being a coach was limited to Coach Marin’s office.
Jeff turned out to be an excellent roommate. He wasn’t nearly as distracting as Andy, so my studies were always up to date and my reading was usually well ahead of where I needed to be.
Jeff made it known he didn’t want to hear about him playing shortstop. He didn’t mind it but he had work to do to become nearly the second baseman as Chance. He asked me if I thought he could become as good as Chance if he only did it part time? It wasn’t fair to ask him to keep changing positions, although we both knew he could.
Jeff was smart and he knew how to approach any disagreement we had, although they were few. We were both smart enough to avoid conflict. It was a matter of taking care of our own business and sharing baseball in portions that were easy to digest. Jeff was more studious than I was and less likely to get caught off guard by something he hadn’t considered, which made him seem mature, when I questioned my own maturity.
When Bobby Henry dropped by he had to give both Jeff and I equal time. He was being called up to the majors the following spring and he was as happy as I’d ever seen him. After so many years of baseball, the dream was coming true for him.
It made me even happier when I envisioned Andy following in Bobby’s footsteps in a year or two. I figured it to be about the same timeframe as it took Bobby. After two or three years in the minors, and then the big boys would want to take a look at Andy. Power hitters were always on the top of any teams wish list.
Bobby wanted to know about my hitting and I confessed I didn’t know. He’d always batted well over three hundred and as good a shortstop as he was, he might have been an even better hitter. Any team looking at him would want his bat swinging at every opportunity. Even when I was able to stand at the plate, I was never a threat to do more than make contact, when I was lucky. I didn’t like thinking about it.
My strong point had always been the walks I took, which were easier for me than measuring pitchers. At times I walked one out of every three or four times I came to bat. Most pitchers knew I walked a lot and I had a reputation as having a good eye, but actually, it was the pitcher who was responsible more times than not.
Knowing I was anxious to walk, they tried to be precise with their pitches, wanting to fool me into swinging at a bad pitch, but I rarely did because I kept my swings at a minimum and my reputation was safe from discovery, until I got beaned. That changed things and now pitchers suspected I couldn’t or wouldn’t hit and this changed the equation and meant fewer walks.
It was a new season and the game was the game and we each played our own angle. Mine was mesmerize them with dazzling fielding plays so they thought I was a better player than I really was. Chance knew what was what from seeing me hit on the freshman team. I told Andy, so he knew, and Coach Bell told me what he’d seen.
“Son, if you hope to hit for an average, you’ve got to get the bat off your shoulder.”
Yes, I did but I didn’t often get it around. Coach Bell merely shook his head each time I walked, advanced, and scored. With the lineup I had behind me my hitting wasn’t a big problem. Now the best hitters were gone.
I was all that was left of Coach Bell’s carefully developed team. I didn’t know how Coach Martin thought or what he saw. At the beginning of freshman practice early in my senior season, Coach Martin sent me to watch the freshman team.
Some of these players were singled out by Coach Bell for scholarships and letters inviting others to think about playing for State. We immediately wanted to know if we could replace Kramer or Carney if need be.
Raymond Livingstone had a wicked fastball, but finding the plate wasn’t so easy. Steve Tyne was a heavy hitter and a fair right fielder in high school. Jake Barney was also a good outfielder with an adequate bat. Both could play for the first team but probably wouldn’t at this point.
Donnie Woods and Harmon Carney were outfielders and easy pick-ups from last year’s freshman team. Along with Ford, Kramer, and Baker left only one outfield position as uncertain and Tom Crosby sat out the previous season in his league so he could come to State in his junior season.
With Jeff and I at the center of the infield it left only the pitching staff as uncertain. Getting comfortable playing together and getting to know how the new players moved took time. Coach Martin picked Coach Wills to supervise his pitching staff and they spent a lot of time looking for starters and separating them from relief pitchers. We did have two starters who didn’t graduate or go out in the draft. It was a start.
As I spent time watching the freshman, it was obvious none were going to break right into the first team, which was good as far as I was concerned. They’d get the time to adjust to college ball and maybe toward the end of the season a few would shine enough to come over to get a look at what the first team did.
There would be no easy road. None of us were up to the best of us that had left at the end of the previous season. Jeff was modest about his talent and both Kramer and Ford left a lot to be desired as far as I was concerned. That’s what rebuilding seasons were like. I was surprised at how good a catcher Baker had become. He was a scrappy ballplayer who took his lumps and got right back down behind the plate. He’d shown none of that tenacity the season before, but he wasn’t first string either. He’d obviously grown into his position.
We spent most of the first couple of weeks on fielding and conditioning and I was happy smelling the grass and hearing the sound of the ball smacking against the leather gloves. It was familiar as taking a breath and I felt comfortable with most of the first squad. There was no real personality conflicts in the infield, although the outfielders, starting with Harmon Carney, were out to eat each other’s lunch and there was no love lost there.
Donnie Woods and Carney got into a scuffle the first day we took the field to practice in game conditions and only Tom Crosby coming between them got the issue settled. He was a powerfully built outfielder who played ball seriously. He’d been screwed by Coach Bell’s demise, coming to State to play for him and ending up in the hands of Coach Martin and me. He wasn’t going to put up with a couple of sophomores who didn’t get along. He made his feelings known but Woods and Carney couldn’t be in a closed area together.
I liked Crosby. He was a bit physical for my taste but when he spoke to you he got your attention and Woods and Carney got the message, glaring frequently in the other’s direction, but having nothing to say with Crosby in centerfield between them.
The first day we batted, it became obvious why Coach Bell had been looking at Crosby. The first pitch coming out of the pitching machine resulted in a loud crack as the ball flew high and far over the center field fence as pretty as you please.
There was no effort in Crosby’s swing. He hit two more balls into the same area that day. No one complained about going out to chase the long balls. We’d discovered we had some power. Crosby was a natural kind of guy, quiet, and not prone to butting in, except when it came to the outfield, and he was often seen referring whatever argument Woods and Carney were having this time. There had been no blows struck yet but it was only a matter of time.
We stuck with infield drill for most of our time and both Kramer and Ford failed to field like they wanted their jobs. Jeff and I wasted no time at half-speed or less than full game speed when we fielded. That left especially Ford trying to keep up with us. The balls came hard and fast and it was all he could do to stay in front of them much of the time. Catching them was another story.
Kramer’s throws from third were questionable. They were throws but the question came when wondering if they’d get all the way to first base. He began to pick it up a little after the first week but his arm left something to be desired and we found the weak spot in the infield.
With Kramer you could get accuracy or speed, but both were impossible. If he didn’t stop before throwing, the ball wasn’t going to be near the mark. If he did stop before making the throws they were too late to get a runner out.
This called for my coaching hat and I ordered Kramer to the weight room. Kramer was not a tightly put together player. Once we’d lifted weights for a half an hour, we ran laps around the track that added up to a mile. He hated this more than anything else, but I was determined he would lose the extra ten pounds he was carrying in his gut.
By the third day of weight training, we had Jeff, Ford, Crosby, and Woods joining us. By the end of that week Coach Martin ordered the entire team to spend one hour at the beginning of practice with weight training and running. Players like Chance and Wertz were so well-conditioned I didn’t think about it. For some reason the newer players weren’t all that well conditioned.
I couldn’t prove this approach improved the play of my players, but it became the most spirited part of practice, when we came together as a team to exercise. As we ran laps Woods and Carney always seemed to end up running next to one another, shoving and jostling, as they fought for position on a track that was a quarter of a mile around.
Kramer became the subject of our endeavor and the biggest slacker, taking any opportunity to lean up against something to rest his girth. He wasn’t so much fat as he was sloppy looking. Most of the guys burned off their calories during daily activities but Kramer was one of those guys who wore their lunch and added dinner to the look. By constantly forcing him to run and exercise he began to lose pounds and tighten his muscles.
My next little coaching trick was to put Kramer ten feet outside the third base line and I’d hit balls at him. He was supposed to field the balls, making the throw to fist base. I was smart enough to put three first basemen along the first base line to chase his throws. At first the balls were dribbling by the time they got to the first base side of the infield but after a few days he was able to throw them over the heads of all three first baseman. He might never be a third baseman but at least he was able to get the ball across the infield.
Crosby would rather lift weights than run and often stayed behind to add weight to the bar once we’d given it a workout. Crosby wasn’t as wide at the shoulders as Andy but his muscles were compact and bulged beyond anyone else on the team. He was well put together. There was no Coach Bell and no hopes of a NCAA Championships were dancing through our heads, but Crosby came to play.
We would be lucky to hold our own and at the beginning of my senior season I didn’t know what holding our own meant. I expected we would win games but I didn’t see us leading our league any time soon. We had a lot of room where we might improve and I was optimistic we would improve as the season progressed.
Chapter 5
Future’s Presence
During fall practice Andy called on Monday nights, as it was the night he was most often off. With a phone in my room it was way easier for him to call me and I called him right back. The first sound of his voice gave me chills and his first comment was always the same, “Do you know how much I miss you?”
Always my biggest advocate, he loved hearing me happy and I wasn’t happy at all the entire time I suspected my baseball career had ended. It was inconceivable to me that I might have to find something else to do for hours each afternoon. Having the entire issue resolved in a way that gave me more responsibility and not less had me flying high. I couldn’t help but look forward to my senior season. Andy was grateful when he heard the news and was anxious to have details about what coaching decisions I might make. It was still early and seeing the team as less than complete meant a lot of coaching decisions to put the proper plaers in place.
Being told I was still in baseball was enough to get me excited. It wasn’t difficult to play and coach, because my coaching was demonstration, except when it came to Woods and Carney. No matter what I did to get them to pay attention to their fielding, they fussed the entire time, which wasn’t going to cut it as far as I was concerned.
Getting Crosby to hit fly balls to them was a certain recipe for tantrums by one or both of the outfielders. If I had three or four outfielders fielding Crosby’s lofty hits, no matter who called for the ball, Woods and Carney fought each other for position even if the ball wasn’t near them.
Woods and Carney were the best of the first string outfielders but I hadn’t given up and my next trip would be to watch the 2nd team players who were new at State but not freshman. I was determined to purge the disagreeableness out of the 1st team. We were going to have difficulty fielding a winner and we didn’t need distractions to keep us from doing the job.
Andy laughed and remembered Coach Bell never having guys fight on his team. No, that was true, but Coach Bell was a big man that no one crossed on purpose. I was a regular sized fellow who played in the infield and the outfielders had little or no respect for my coaching skills, when it came to the outfield.
The rest of the team took instruction well. Fielding was a specific chore we worked on each day. For me working with Jeff was crucial. We could turn good plays together but I didn’t know his moves the way I knew Chance’s. No matter where in the infield a ball was hit, I knew where Chance would be. It was almost certain that any awkward or off balance throw would be collected without much effort.
Chance knew me as well as I knew him and he knew where I’d be under most circumstance. It didn’t require conscious thought, only reaction, and I wanted to develop something like it with Jeff. We didn’t have three seasons to play together but I wanted to make the most of the time we did have.
Jeff and I talked a lot about our fielding in the dorm at night. This also gave me the opportunity to quiz Jeff about our fielding assignments. This would inevitably bring us back to second base versus shortstop conversation. Jeff remained firm on his position and I didn’t press the issue.
“One day, when I get up there, I want to think Bobby and I will play in the same infield. You might say it’s my dream. If we both play the same position we can’t play together. No, I’m a second baseman. You’re a shortstop. Bobby is a shortstop,” Jeff explained.
While Jeff and I felt comfortable talking with one another, my hitting was still on my mind. By pulling myself out of a game Jeff would be forced to move to shortstop. Knowing how he felt about it made the move more difficult. I knew our bench strength did not include anyone particularly suited to shortstop.
Coach Martin didn’t see himself as a big time coach in a big time program. He knew his limitations. Coaching a team that was rebuilding was something he was qualified to do. He had an eye for talent and didn’t like distractions any more than I did. Whenever we discussed moves, he’d already given it some thought before I came to hijm with my concerns.
Even from the beginning when we talked about my knowledge of the team, I reminded him that most of the guys I knew best were gone. He seemed positive that coaching boys I wasn’t close to was better than having emotions tied up with my decisions.
This didn’t occur to me on my own. He was right and looking at the team’s weak spots was a lot easier when I didn’t feel like I should be trying to protect my friends. This worried me because I wondered if I could make the right decision concerning someone I was close to. Coach Martin answered that question for me without me asking.
“Besides, your friends weren’t the guys who had problems, Mr. Dooley. They all got jobs in the minors because they knew their business. It was Coach Bell who taught them their business. Now it’s our job to teach players who don’t know their business that well and may not be as talented as we might like. It makes what we do that much more important to their futures. They’ll be playing for State after you and I have moved on.”
“I only see what you see, Coach. I don’t have any special aptitude for picking talent. Well make the best of what we’ve got.”
“You come to know them all, their strengths, and their limitations. When I look at my lineup card, I can’t always put a face with a name. The 1st team is easy to remember but the bench is filled with boys I don’t see play that often. Few teams lose almost the entire starting lineup at the end of the season. I’ve got to watch the pitchers and catchers, keep track of what’s happening on the field, and in the batting cage. I don’t have enough eyes at this point. Come spring, we’ll have the lineup firmed up and we’ll make sure the bench is filled with the right players. You play with them and you’ll know which will serve our purposes best.
“I want your opinion, because I trust your judgment. You understand them in a way I don’t. It’s why I wanted the arrangement making you a player-coach. I can lean on you when I’m not sure and that leaves me free to do all the other things I need to do.”
“It’s just an opinion, Coach. You make the decision. I tell you what I see. You decide what you want. I do like the challenge though.”
“Almost always a good opinion in my mind, Mr. Dooley, and few coaches are almost always right. I’m not married to State baseball, but with your help I’ll see the team through my last season at State. For most of our boys it will be their first full season at this level. It’s what they’ve dreamed about and planned on. I want to make the experience a good one.”
“I’m glad to be part of it. I worry about my hitting a lot. I don’t want to hurt the team. Helping other guys learn to be better fielders makes me feel useful in a way hitting makes me feel inadequate,” I said.
“Worry may be your problem. You worry too much. You think about it too much. Do it, Mr. Dooley. Go up there determined to do it and then do it. One day you’ll find your bat. Hitting is an art. As a shortstop you’re an artist. You can hit. You need to approach it the way you approach fielding. Be part of it. Live it, Mr. Dooley. Quit worrying about it. You’ll never become a good hitter by thinking you aren’t one.”
“Yeah, it’s all quite simple,” I said forlorn. “If it were only that easy. I can’t get comfortable at the plate. I still see that ball coming at my face.”
“I can’t help you there, son. It’s your demon and you must find a way to slay it.”
Coach Martin was as pleasant a fellow as you could find. He never raised his voice and he took pride in his players, his team, and in State. He was a head coach, even if he didn’t feel he’d earned the job. If I had to do a senior season with someone other than Coach Bell, I’d want it to be Coach Martin. He was a good man.
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation and it wouldn’t be the last. Worry was part of what I did. In spite of worrying all summer I was still on the team. Now I worried about my hitting or lack of same. His words did express his confidence in me, but in essence I feared the baseball and Coach Martin couldn’t do a thing about it.
When I was fourteen and faced my first fastball pitcher, I was scared shitless, fearing he’d take my head off. I didn’t believe that would be at all pleasant. He didn’t hit me but I worried he would.
Somehow I’d overcome the fear along the baseball road. One day I went to the plate and left the fear behind me. It just didn’t occur to me to be afraid. I never hit for a great average but my ability to walk was the result. College pitchers were only so accurate with their pitches and walks were often the result. Leading off each game meant a cold pitcher and if I could walk, I had my on-base for that game.
Once I was playing for State at eighteen, nineteen, and twenty, my walks meant I was more likely to score.
Now, no longer worried about my future in baseball, I had plenty of time to worry about my bat. I’d been in baseball for eight years, and I was back to being fourteen again. Even standing in front of the batting machine, I closed my eyes before the pitch reached me. Cursing my lack of courage and determined to swing at the next pitch the iron machine hurled up, and failing in my effort to keep my eye on the ball.
What kind of player-coach was I? Even before we’d seen any competition, I was known to be no threat in the batter’s box. If I came to bat late in the lineup I would get one less at bat per game. This created an opportunity for someone who was a better hitter to get an at bat if I pulled myself out of the game before what would be my final at bat.
This plan also left an inning or two when someone else would be in my place in the infield. It didn’t look good and it felt even worse. I belonged at shortstop and pulling myself simply made my short comings all that more apparent. Not pulling myself required more courage than I might be able to muster.
By the fourth week of fall practice the team was looking more like a team. Kramer was still straining to make his throws but he was improving. Woods and Carney still argued almost every time they came together. I’d never seen two guys so intent on besting the other. I tried to view it in the context of the game and couldn’t. They were a disruptive force and I began looking for Carney’s replacement on the second team, which I hadn’t looked at all that closely because any time I wasn’t with the 1st team I was with the freshman team, getting an idea of what might be available there.
Kevin Browning was tall, thin, and fairly muscular. He was fast on his feet but he didn’t bat all that well. He was polite and quiet, far more like Crosby than Woods or Carney. He’d played some right field toward the end of the freshman team’s season the previous year. Like most college athletes he was still growing.
I hadn’t noticed him the year before because the 1st team was a bit busy winning games. Coach Martin might have missed his playing time for the same reason and this would mean selling him on the idea of switching Carney for Browning.
While I was watching the second team in the field, keeping my eye on Kevin, I caught sight of a curly haired baby faced boy making the throw across the infield to first. The first baseman’s glove popped from the force behind the throw.
I watched George Carroll play third base. He was fast, good with the glove, and made quick accurate throws across the infield. Where the hell was he when Coach Martin was pulling together the 1st team?
Of course we were replacing most of the team and we had plenty of time to pick and choose the best guys for the job before spring. Coach Martin was busy working on the pitching staff and I accepted perhaps some of these guys were new to him.
I stayed to watch Kevin take some swings against the pitching machine. I wasn’t impressed by his swing but Carney was no heavy hitter himself. I asked Coach Morgan where Kevin had come from. He gave me some history as he understood it.
“He’s a good boy and plays the outfield well. He’s coming along.”
“What about that guy at third base?”
“He played a little freshman ball. He has a good glove, bunts as well as any of my boys, and he has a lot of poise. He’s put on ten or fifteen pounds and grown a couple of inches since last season.”
“I’ll probably want Coach Martin to take a look see, when he has time. We need to make some changes on the 1st squad. We might like those two.”
“They both could play regular or they’d make for good bench strength. We have a few boys that could hold their own. Most lack experience but we all started somewhere.”
I watched Carroll move in the infield and he looked twelve but he was quick and gobbled up grounders effortlessly. He was better than Kramer in the field but with my luck he hit like I did and while Kramer lacked grace in the infield, he could hit for a fair average. I purposely didn’t stay to watch Carroll take any swings. I was jazzed up on both counts and didn’t want to loose my enthusiasm before speaking with Coach Martin.
I caught him in his office once I cut the infielders loose from our practice field.
“George Carroll. He was on the freshman team last year. Apparently he was smaller. He is small but he’s quick and he makes Kramer’s arm look like spaghetti al dente. I just want you to take a look at him.”
“Carroll? Carroll? I don’t know the name. He played on the freshman team.”
“I suspect he didn’t play as much as he sat,” I said.
“Little kid. Curly hair. They called him flea he was so small. I kept him around because he was so determined to make the squad,” Coach Martin smiled as he remembered the details.
“Yeah, that sounds like him. I just watched him fielding on the 2nd team. He’s a good little third baseman. The first baseman’s glove pops when he throws across the infield. Coach Morgan said he’d grown a bit and put on weight.”
“We’ve got plenty of time, Mr. Dooley. Invite him to spend the rest of fall practice with us. Don’t tell Kramer we’re looking at his replacement. We have two utility infielders but no other solid third baseman. We wouldn’t want Mr. Kramer losing his confidence.”
“Yeah, Kevin Browning, right fielder. Good arm. Moves well. He also played a little at the end of last season. He’s at least as good as Carney.”
“I’d love to get Carney out of here. Woods is too good a hitter to make a change there but I can’t see Carney brings anything to the 1st team. We need a warm body to replace him and send him to the 2nd team.”
“I’ll tell Coach Morgan we want a closer look at both of them if you want. How’s the pitching going?” I asked.
“We’ve got the two starters, Hernandez and Platt. They’ll be fine and Cleveland is a strong kid. Walsh and Smith are first class relievers. We’re weak outside of those boys. We’ll need to find two more starters and two more relief men to have a solid pitching staff. We aren’t going to have any room for injuries. Take a look around the second team and see if Morgan has someone he might want to recommend for our pitching staff.”
“Good thinking. We’re doing pretty good for only a month into fall practice. We can make a few more moves, get some bench strength and get rid of the dead wood. It’ll make it a hell of a lot easier when spring comes. I think we’re pretty solid if we get some mileage out of the two boys I saw today. I don’t want Carney on the bench. Let him play on the 2nd team.”
“Sounds right to me. You going to do the heavy lifting with Carney.”
“I will enjoy it,” I confessed, happy Coach Martin wanted to look at the guys I recommended.
We had spent most of our time in conditioning and doing the routine of getting in shape for some games we’d scheduled for the final few weeks of fall practice. We barely had enough guys for a complete squad. Come spring we’d be adding the depth we needed to cover injuries and to have replacements for weaker players like Kramer and Carney.
It was early and I was new to building a program but I felt like I was doing something important for my younger teammates. The new season was coming and I felt I was ready for the challenge. We might not be championship caliber team but we might be able to hold our own by season’s end. It seemed like a good outcome in a year filled with questions.
Chapter 6
End of the Fall
We played our first two games with a mix and match bench that was still in flux as fall turned cool and a bit stormy. Much of the pitching was supplied by guys Coach Martin wanted to see under game conditions. The teams we played were testing their own lineups, preparing for spring.
I’d sent Carney to the second team and Kramer to the bench. Both George and Kevin seemed ready to move up when the call came. With jeff and I in the middle of the infield, and Ford at first, we were solid in our fielding. Jeff was a capable hitter, George was a scratch hitter and not afraid to lay down a bunt when he caught the other team’s infielders napping. He even beat out a few in the games that were meant to let someone like him show off his stuff.
With Woods, Crosby, and Browning in the outfield, we seemed solid there. Donnie was at best an average hitter. Tom hit for average as well as power, and Kevin needed work on his swing. He didn’t seem comfortable in the batter’s box.
My bat wasn’t a factor. I did my best to stand up to the pitchers but didn’t get my bat around more than a few times in the fall games. I couldn’t get comfortable at the plate but it was getting better. I could still wait out a pitcher for a walk now and then. What I really wanted to do was start hitting again.
Coach Martin stayed busy working on his lineup and our discussions were mostly held near the field or on the bench, where I sat next to him in his folding chair. The games meant nothing but the information we got meant we knew our players better. The brightest star had to be Tom Crosby. He could hit a ton and did against opposing pitchers who were being looked at as possible starters on their team in the coming season. On the whole we weren’t going to overpower much of our competition.
It was the final week of organized outdoor practices, when all the fall games had been played. I was up to my usual watching and processing what I was seeing, when I turned around and walked right into Andy, who had been standing just our of my view, waiting to ambush me.
It was all I could do to not grab him and throw a hug and a lip lock on him. I caught myself in time to keep my arms raising into the air, a gesture of dubious meaning. I kept at an arms length, smiling from ear to ear as he smiled back. I was ready to call it a day.
“Just passing through and thought I’d stop by to say hi,’ he said. “Hi.”
“You play ball in Lincoln. You live in Arkansas. How is this on the way anywhere?” I asked.
“So, I’m lost. How are you?” Andy quizzed with no one paying a lot of attention, but his eyes spoke to me of his longing.
“Better now,” I confessed, feeling bashful standing there looking at the man I loved without being able to touch him.
“Yeah, I know how it is. We played our last game two days ago. I’ve been on a bus since they flew us back from South America.”
“You’re a world traveler now?”
“I’m not sure. All I saw were baseball diamonds.”
“No pretty senoritas to keep you company?”
“Hardly. The food is weird. Lots of beans. Their bread is like paper. Kind of tasty. You pile the beans and rice on the bread, roll it up, and that’s dinner,” Andy said.
“Beans. Sounds dangerous,” I smirked.
“Depends on how you look at it.”
I became aware of Tom closing in on us from where he was waiting for the pitching machine to be reloaded. He didn’t seem to notice me but he was honed in on Andy.
“Hi Tom. This is Tom, Andy,” I announced to get Andy’s eyes out of mine.
“I’m Tom Crosby. You’re Andy, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, that’s me. Just dropped by to see what’s up with State baseball.”
“Tom sat out last season to be eligible to come play for Coach Bell at State this season,” I explained.
“Bummer,” Andy said. “You got the short end of the stick on that one.”
“How about showing me your swing, Andy?” Tom asked, getting right down to business.
“How long are you going to be here?” I asked, wanting to get away from there as fast as possible.
“You trying to get rid of me already. I just arrived.”
“No, you can stay as long as you want,” I said. “Hey, Tom, he’s been on a bus for two days. How about we wait until tomorrow and you boys can play in the batting cage all you want.”
“Cool,” Tom said, shoving his hand out for Andy to shake. “Nice meeting you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be here,” Andy said.
Kevin stood right behind Tom. He knew Andy and didn’t say anything but smiled and nodded before he followed Tom back toward the batting cage.
“I room with Jeff,” I said.
“Oh, you do. Won’t he get suspicious if we sleep together?” Andy asked.
“Yes, and I can’t bring you in there like it’s our room. I’ve got some money. We’ll get a motel room. I’ll just tell Jeff we want to spend time together,” I said.
“I’ve already got the room. I took care of it before I came over. College Park Motel room 23. Here’s your key. Didn’t want to waste time once I found you.”
Andy handed me a key with a plastic tag attached telling whoever found it to drop it into a mailbox. I had better things in mind for that key. The post office would need to get their own.
“You hungry?” I asked.
“Yeah, I’m hungry for you. I can’t wait to get my hands on you,” Andy said, leaning closer as he spoke and his hands rubbed the back of mine.
“I’ll tell Coach Martin I’m taking off.”
Andy followed me to the pitcher’s field and then stood talking to Coach Martin for the next ten minutes. I saw Jeff and I told him I was going to stay at the motel with Andy while he was in town. Everyone knew Andy and I were best friends and thought nothing of me going off with him but Jeff seemed amused by my announcement. He smiled warmly and said he’d keep the light on for me.
The motel was on the other side of campus and it was a fifteen minute walk from the baseball complex. I quizzed Andy on the Spanish League play and he said it wore him out after four months of play at Lincoln. He could have stayed longer but opted to return to me.
We began in the first bed inside the door of the room and by the time we were totally undressed we were in the other bed. Andy mentioned we didn’t have to remember to mess them both up so no one suspected we were sleeping together. I told him I didn’t care who knew. I loved him and I wanted everyone to know.
Andy’s steady weight gain since his senior season at State started had stopped. He’d lost a few pounds since I’d seen him before I cam back to school. He was still solid and full of energy. Of course my introduction of weight training to our new young team left me more solid and a few pounds heavier than I’d ever been. After spending two months in the heat on the rooftops of Statesville, I was the lightest I’d been since high school, when I visited Andy in Lincoln.
If he noticed the changes in my body he was too busy to mention it, but my tongue being in his mouth might have cut back on our conversation. It was pitch black in the room by the time we were ready to take a break. I had no idea what time it was.
“I’m starved,” I said. “I haven’t eaten since lunch.”
“I caught a burger after I got the room but that wore off hours ago.”
It was nine o’clock by the time we were sitting on the curb outside of Burger Kind devouring our bag of Whoppers, fries, and soda. Andy laughed as he ate when he looked at me. I let my leg rest firmly against his. I couldn’t believe we’d been a part for so many months that year.
We knew our separations had just begun but I wanted to keep him there as long as possible. It was when I was with him I realized how miserable I was without him. Looking at him was so pleasurable I couldn’t stop.
“I’ve got to go home and get a job. My family needs some help. I’ve saved a little over a thousand bucks and if I can make another thousand, it should get them through until I start getting paid next season. I didn’t make a dime in the Spanish League and I spent too much.”
“I’ve got money. I saved most of what I made last summer. I was expecting to need it for school. I’ll give you a thousand of that,” I said.
“I can’t take your money for my family. That’s my responsibility.”
“Our money. What the hell are we doing if we don’t help each other until we can be together all the time.”
“I don’t know, Do. I don’t like taking money from you.”
“Look, big guy, don’t argue with me. I want you here as long as I can have you here. A thousand bucks sounds like a cheap price to get what I want.”
“I’ve only got the room for two week,” Andy said. “They wouldn’t take a check. I used all my cash.”
“We’ll go to the office and renegotiate tomorrow. All these places have special monthly rates for the collge. I’ll take care of it and we’ll send your family money and you can tell them you’re working here.”
“You call this work? I’ve been counting the hours. I didn’t think that bus would ever make it.”
“You’ll be wishing you were back on that bus once I get done with you,” I said.
“You really think so?” he asked, rubbing his leg against mine and looking into my eyes.
“Let’s go back and get another round to take to the room with us. That way we won’t need to surface until after noon tomorrow,” I said.
“Cold Whopper and fries. There’s a soda machine outside our door. We’ll get change for it.”
“The rooms got a microwave. We just put the meat in the microwave and we’ve got a warm Whopper.”
“My little cook. How’d I ever make it without you?”
“You’ve never been without me,” I said.
Life was wonderful again. Baseball was fine and being involved in building a team took a lot of my time. It kept me from thinking about Andy all the time. Now that Andy was with me, I couldn’t wait for the end of fall practice. The final few days would be a bother more than attending to a task at hand.
By noon on Wednesday we’d renegotiated the room for two months and we’d sent a money order to his family. By the time I got to practice there were half a dozen guys standing around the batting cage waiting for me to bring my lover to them. Andy was a celebrity on his former team.
Coach Martin and half the team stood around the batting cage watching Tom and Andy take turns, alternating one and than the other on each pitch. I sent two guys outside the fence to bring back the homers and at one time they hit six homers in a row between the two of them.
Tom’s arms were shorter and his swing was more compact. He could still get around on the ball so fast that his hits were almost as long as Andy’s. His swing was effortless and balls that didn’t look like they’d get out of the field, drifted, drifted, and fell beyond the confines of the fence. Andy’s homers had more lift and went more directly out of the ballpark. He’d been hitting balls out of baseball fields on the minor league circuit. Hitting them out of State’s field was child’s play to him now.
“You take it for the next few pitches,” Tom said. “I want to watch from behind the cage.”
Tom leaned his bat at the corner of the batting cage and stood behind it to get a long view of Andy’s swing. There were two or three long flies into centerfield and then two or three that headed into homer land. By this time Tom had Kevin standing by him and he was telling Kevin what to look for.
Kevin was taller than Tom but he was built more up and down and not as wide as Tom who wasn’t as wide as Andy through the shoulders and chest. Kevin had a decent swing but failed to make contact much of the time. He seemed anxious and at the same time reluctant. I wondered how many times he’d been hit by a pitch.
Once Andy hit a couple of dozen balls, Tom moved Kevin to the plate. First Kevin swung and missed at the balls coming out of the machine. Since everyone was watching him, I could see he was nervous. Both Tom and Andy saw it too, but ignored the audience, more interested in Kevin.
Ignoring the pitching machine Tom had Kevin raise his right elbow and wanted him to keep his swing on the level. Kevin tried this a couple of times and moved the elbow higher, lower, and then back to about where Tom had suggested. Kevin’s stroke looked better but he failed to make contact with the ball.
Andy moved into the batters box and moved Kevins right leg back to the rear lefthand corner of the batter’s box. This opened up Kevin’s stance by maybe eight inches.
“Okay, when you are ready to swing, step forward with your left leg. Step into the pitch but keep your swing level. You’ll see what I mean. Go ahead and take the next pitch once you’re comfortable.
The pitching machine slung empty air and Kevin almost swung when the empty arm rotated toward him. The pitching machine was reloaded for another round of pitches. Kevin experimented with his swing, moving his right leg around at the rear of the batter’s box and trying to step into the pitch, even with no pitch available. He took some practice cuts before getting ready to get a pitch. He looked at Tom and then Andy to see if he would get more instruction. I knew how he felt.
The first pitch came inside a little and Kevin swung and missed. He waited again for instruction but both Andy and Tom stood behind the cage, waiting for Kevin to put all the pieces together. He missed a second pitch and banged his bat on the plate as a ball came before he was ready. His face turned red as he worked on hitting at least one pitch.
Stepping back into the box, he took practice swings as the arm of the machine rotated, taking another ball down the wire ramp before launching it at the plate. Kevin moved less vigorously as he set himself for the next pitch. This time he watched the machine and followed the entire process without making an attempt to swing.
Kevin stepped into the next pitch and brought the bat across the plate to catch the ball fat. It lurched up off his bat making a solid sound of contact. The ball sailed directly out over the centerfield fence. Everyone cheered and applauded the success. Kevin checked to see where he was in the batter’s box as the pitching machine delivered another pitch, but it didn’t distract Kevin.
“That’s the swing,” Tom said. “Duplicate it and you’ll get the balls further into the outfield. Good timing.”
Kevin got lost in his new swing as guys lost interest in watching him practice moving into and out of the batter’s box. It wasn’t the same as watching heavy hitters like Andy and Tom.
There were several slash hits, single and double range, and another adjustment or two as Kevin tried to locate the best spot he liked in the batter’s box. By changing his place in the box he changed the nature of his hits. He seemed to be processing this difference as he studied where he put his feet each time.
I hadn’t noticed Kevin paying that much attention to his hitting before, but the instruction got him to see the things both Andy and Tom saw. In his hits that afternoon Kevin hit the longest balls I’d ever seen him hit. I hadn’t thought of him as a long ball hitter, although he had a perfect build for it. Getting his arms around faster and putting more of his body into his swing meant better success.
Andy and Tom both took more at bats. They called Kevin back to take more swings. There wasn’t a lot more conversation but they both watched the young hitter’s improved swing. Kevin seemed to have a better understanding of the mechanics involved.
I was surprised at Tom’s poise. He didn’t hesitate and laid the wood to pitches he liked without hesitation. I could see Andy was comfortable comparing notes. Tom hadn’t complained about Coach Bell’s departure. I guess you accept what you can’t do anything about. He was the kind of hitter Coach Bell would have loved to work with.
It was later than practice usually ended and George went out to refill the pitching machine for Andy and Tom to take some final swings. Little did I know what we were about to see. Coach Martin moved up behind the batting cage as most of the first team stood watching.
Once the machine offered up a ball, Andy stood on the right side of the plate and parked it over the fence in left field. He stepped back in time for Tom to move into the left hander’s side of the plate, and he hit a ball over the fence between right and centerfield. Andy stepped back in and hit a frozen rope out over the centerfield fence.
There was applause each time a ball exited the field. They hit nine more homers between the two of them, alternating as hitters. They shook hands once the machine pitched nothing but air and the exhibition was over.
I steered Andy out of the gate as quick as the team finished shaking his hand. A visiting celebrity was nice but a visiting lover was better and I’d waited as long as I could to get my hands on him. The team had to find their own.
He kept smiling at me and bumping me as we walked toward the motel. I didn’t have to tell him where we were going. He knew and I could tell by his smile he was as anxious as I was to get prone together. We once again had to use both beds, because one was never enough. Even after we finished on the second bed, I kept my face against his chest, kissing the tender flesh. He used his hands to smooth my hair.
“Did you ever love anyone before?” Andy asked as the final rays of light squirted through the slats in the blinds beside the bed.
“Me?” I asked, remembering back to why I began playing ball.
“I know about me. I’ve never asked about you.”
“Once… maybe.”
“You did?” he seemed surprised and he moved so he could look at my face.
“I think I did. I was fourteen. We were best friends. Yes, I think I loved him, but nothing like I love you.”
Andy shoved his hands behind his head as he leaned back on the pillow. My hair was still messed up and I didn’t like him not touching me, when he could have been. I looked into his face that was only partially visible in the limited light.
Chapter 7
Andy’s Love
Never put the Burger King bun or the lettuce, onion, and tomato in the microwave with the burger. The ideal way to reheat a Whopper, put the meat on a paper towel, heat it, and then put it back between the healthy part of the meal. Andy wasn’t that patient and so his lettuce wilted, his tomato ran, and the bun toughened up.
He told me they just ate them cold in Lincoln. Having gotten change for cold cola was the best idea. I really didn’t notice the taste of the Whopper reheated. I was way too busy watching Andy. I marveled at how he’d physically matured. I got lost in the feel of his body especially when it was next to mine. I kept it next to mine a lot.
With only a couple more days of practice, I laid out of class rather than risk Andy getting away. I was ahead in my reading and none of it was very challenging. Missing a few classes wasn’t going to impact my grades. It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but after being away from Andy for so long, I couldn’t pull myself out of his arms.
We stayed in bed until noon and went to get some pizza before practice. We took care of all our business and still had time to spare. We showed up at practice together and no one was surprised. Jeff kept smiling at me like he knew a secret and it tickled him. I didn’t smile back and I didn’t practice. This was it. There was no intensity. We had no more games until March and it was time to store all the equipment and wrap things up. We set up the indoor exercise schedules.
Before the pitching machine was put away, Andy, Tom, and Kevin worked out their bats. While Andy and Tom were mature hitters, Kevin still struggled. He moved around in the batter’s box and wasn’t comfortable with his swing. Both Andy and Tom encouraged him but didn’t offer any new instructions. They’d shared what they knew would help and it was up to Kevin to find his comfort zone.
We had the motel room until just before Christmas. Andy was going home with me to spend the holidays. When it was time for me to return to school, he’d go home, until it was time for him to report for spring training. Being in the starting lineup made him confident. This would be his breakout year. He’d put up the numbers, hit for a nice average, and catch the eyes of the big boys.
He understood the most direct way to the majors was with his bat. He’d need a good number of homers and a lot of runs-batted-in. The bigger the homers the more attention the scouts would pay to him. It was only a matter of time if he stayed on schedule.
“This bozo you were in love with before me, you still see him?”
“Every once in a while at home. Statesville isn’t that big a place and we live a few houses away from each other.”
“Well, if I see him, I’m going to punch him in the nose,” Andy swore to me.
“You will not. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. It’s been since junior high school. Besides, I’d never have taken up baseball if it wasn’t for him. We’d never have met.”
“Okay, I’ll thank him first. Then, I’ll punch him in the nose.”
“You will not.”
“I can’t stand he hurt you. What’s his fucking problem? He treated you like you were a piece of meat,” Andy complained. “He needs a good talking to.”
“You’ve only heard my side of it,” I said.
“You think I want to hear anything he has to say? I’ll be jealous. That’s a good reason to hit him.”
“Andy, I don’t want you touching him.”
“I won’t touch him. I’ll hit him. I don’t want you touching him.”
“There are better ways for us to spend our time,” I reminded him.
“Yes, I know that, but we can’t stay in bed all the time.”
“We can’t? I was hoping we could. My life is so much better when I’m in bed with you.”
“Well, maybe we can. We’ve done a good job so far. It’s great not having to go into the dorm and make nice with all the clowns on our floor,” Andy said.
“We had a good floor. Kane was the only real asshole,” I remembered.
“Where’d he go?” Andy asked.
“Tucson.”
“Chance was burning up his league with his bat. He’ll go up next year.”
“You think so?” I asked.
“He’ll start the season where he is but before September, he’ll be in the Bigs. Damn his talented ass. He’s the full package and there aren’t that many out there who can do everything well at every level.”
“Nice Guy. I miss him,” I said. “Jeff’s good but I won’t be around to see him become anywhere close to being as good as Chance.”
“I’ll hit him when I see him too. You aren’t allowed to miss anyone but me,” he said, turning to look at my face.
“Damn, I love you, Andy. You’re my entire life.”
“Baseball?” he quizzed.
“I don’t care anymore. I can’t hit. I’m going to be on the bench by mid-season. I can’t play and not contribute something to the team,” I informed him sadly.
“You’ve got the best glove in the league. You’ll find your bat.”
“I know exactly where my bat is. It’s on my shoulder and I can’t get the fucking thing around,” I explained.
“You will, babe. I know you and I know you’ll beat it in the end. You’re too smart to let fear rule you. You’ve got to step up there and focus on hitting the next pitch, and then you hit it.”
“You sound like Coach Martin.”
“You know where Coach Bell went?” Andy asked.
“Nothing. He might have to sit out a season to get the controversy behind him. He’s a damn good coach. I thought I’d hear from him. We were close. I thought we were,” I said.
“I’ll hit him too,” Andy said, sounding silly.
“You aren’t going to hit anyone,” I informed him.
“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, my love. How in the hell can two guys fall in love with each other? I never thought a lot about girls, but I thought even less about guys. Now I’m in love with one. It’s not how I saw my life going.”
“As long as it’s me, I don’t care how it works.”
“It is you, Do. I can’t imagine ever feeling this way about anyone else. I’ve never felt this way before.”
“Good, I won’t have to hit you then,” I said, smiling as he touched my arm and looked into my eyes as we walked around the exercise track out beyond the left field stands.
Making love after not making love is about the best thing there is. Having a man like Andy in my bed meant instant reaction. Even when he slept, if I was awake and horny, all I need to do was reach around and get a grip on him, and it was instant erection. At times he wouldn’t be awake when he turned in the bed to give me any access I wanted.
There was nothing bashful about him and he excited me in a way that made me as happy as I’d ever been. This was where I belonged. He was who I wanted to be with, and I saw no sign he saw it any different from me. As uncertain as our lives were at the moment, I was certain about that.
On the final day of practice we were wrapping things up and Andy was taking his final swings of the year. I was done with my business and I stopped to admire my man as the pitching machine belched up a pitch. Andy was waiting for it and he nailed it, getting the fat part of the bat on the ball. It made an unmistakable sound as the ball leaped off his bat.
Andy leaned on the bat and watched the ball sail out over the scoreboard in straightaway centerfield. It cleared the scoreboard at 380 feet and was still rising.
Crosby came over to shake Andy’s hand. They chatted about the awesome hit. When I sent a runner out to retrieve the ball, he came back empty handed. Andy and Tom came over to see where the ball landed.
“I don’t know where it went. It might be out in the parking lot under one of those cars,” he thought.
“That’s five hundred feet away,” Tom bragged. “Man oh man, that’s a big league hit.”
“It was only a pitching machine pitch,” Andy explained.
“Five hundred feet is five hundred feet no matter where the pitch came from.”
It was a great hit. Andy was a hit at State. He was bigger, stronger, more confident and self-assured. He seemed like he belonged there with us, although he’d only been gone a few months. Most of the guys on the first team didn’t know him all that well, but they liked him.
The months he’d been gone only seemed like next to forever to me, because I missed him so much while he was gone. It’s odd how much slower time moves when you are separated from the one you want to be with.
Now that we were back together time moved swiftly, too fast for my taste. I had so much to say to him I couldn’t wait to be back in the privacy of the motel room. I wondered who might notice how we looked at each other, walked together, and sat as close as possible. Did people pay attention to how other people related to one another in public?
*****
I was glad when baseball was suddenly a secondary consideration. We were on our own to keep in shape, and that included times during the week when we could meet with other members of the team to exercise, but this would be optional until after the holidays, when a mandatory exercise schedule would be posted.
With Andy came my exercise. It was my sleep that suffered. It wasn’t that I couldn’t sleep. It was more fun not sleeping so I could make sure I wasn’t just dreaming Andy and I were together. Even after being together for most of a week, the first thing I did whenever I woke up was to reach to make sure he was really there in bed with me.
Having the motel room was like setting up house keeping. I could even cook up Mac & Cheese, add burger onion, and items that bulked it up in the microwave. Burger King was our favorite and the Whopper came with veggies, but neither of us wanted to eat a half a pound or more of hamburger every day.
There was a soup and salad restaurant across the street, but Andy wasn’t wild about soup and there wasn’t enough salad to quell his appetite, which meant Doritos, Cheese Puffs, Twinkies, Ruffles, and anything that comes in a bag and can be eaten while you walk to and from restaurants.
I wasn’t a cook and thus I began to see that one of us was going to need to learn. We couldn’t afford junk food all the time, and even if we could, we couldn’t afford the medical bills that would come of it later. I reminded myself to get some tips from my mother. Thanksgiving was coming and she’d spend about half her time cooking for us.
Andy needed to consider his diet in keeping with his profession. He burned food faster than he could eat it at twenty-two, but as he grew older the quality of what he ate would be important in keeping in shape and keeping at a healthy playing weight.
These were the things you thought about when your future was in baseball. I thought about it as part of Andy’s quest in baseball. He knew what he needed and he was doing better than he’d ever done, but he needed to be more conscientious about diet and exercise.
School was a pain in the ass for the first time in my college years. I felt guilty for laying out of class while knowing I could pass without going. This went against my belief that you got out of something what you put into it. What I put into Andy was the real deal but I began to break away from my lover in time to catch at least part of my first class of the day. Luckily I hadn’t scheduled anything before nine in the morning, so if I worked it right, we’d get a round or two in before I jumped in the shower and raced up the hill to make it to class.
By mid-November everything was worked into a routine that had us spending the maximum amount of time together. I couldn’t wait until Thanksgiving, when I’d be home in my own bed and eating my mother’s cooking. Andy talked about it all the time and it was obvious that next to making love, eating was right up there with baseball.
The weather had turned brisk and the usual warmish November days became cold. By the time my parents picked us up for the five days over Thanksgiving, I had almost all my clothes in the motel room. My mother smiled when I spent time loading up the trunk. Dad and Andy talked baseball as they waited for me to finish.
I was fortunate to have the family I had. They wanted me to be happy and there was nothing they wouldn’t do to make certain I was. Andy was the second son they never had but wanted.
This made my life that much more important to them. We weren’t affluent or strategically placed in our community. What we were was happy and I was at the center of their lives, and by proxy, Andy was there as well. He had become an important member of the family. At times I wondered if dad knew which one of us was his natural son.
On that first afternoon we spent the entire time in the living room, eating my mother’s specialty delights as we talked, joked, and nibbled. I’d forgotten how much I loved being home. I’d had a wonderful life and had wonderful parents. My wonderful lover made the picture perfect.
Dad joked that there were three small appliances on the back porch, waiting for me. The neighbors sensing it was time for me to appear would ask dad to ask me to see what I could do. It was what made me envision having a small appliance repair business. I could work out of the garage until Andy and I could set up housekeeping near where he played ball, and if at times it wasn’t feasible living near him, I’d come home to live, work, and save money.
Besides the appliances there was already an offer from Bartlett Roofing for me to take a supervisory position for the next summer. At the mention of Barlett’s name my nose filled with the acrid smell of roofing material and my lower legs burned in memory of all the tar that had cooked itself into my flesh last summer.
I laughed and told my dad that there was no way I’d go through that kind of misery again. I was about to become a college graduate and doing that kind of labor was no longer in my game plan. I was quite adamant and left no doubt in dad’s mind how serious I was, until he told me what the job paid. It left me speechless as there was no job I was going to get as a recent college graduate that would pay me anything close to that amount.
Mr. Bartlett was a huge baseball fan who followed us all once we left Statesville. He’d hired Bobby Henry his first summer in college for about three hours one day. Bobby had protested that he wasn’t submitting his well toned body to such abuse. I wasn’t nearly as good as Bobby and so roofing was something I could do, when I thought I needed to pay for my room and board.
My life never seemed to run smoothly for long. Being with Andy made everything else irrelevant but having too much to decide once school was done was bad for me. I knew I’d need to compare notes with Andy before making any decision but he wanted me to do what I wanted to do, as long as I did it with him whenever possible.
As I stared down my final few months of school, my life was about to change more than it had ever changed before. I had been going to school for what seemed like forever and I was about to finish, whatever that meant. My life would need to be directed to make the most of it.
I wasn’t a great believer in education ending if you had any serious consciousness. We were constantly learning, processing, and developing strategies to keep life healthy and non-toxic. If you simply went with the flow you weren’t maximizing your potential. That was a sure recipe for an unfulfilled life.
Chapter 8
Renewal
The holidays were all wonderful. Having Andy with me made it the best ever. Andy had settled easily into my family, after a long absence. He seemed comfortable in his role. My parents loved him and me about equally by this time. We were practically inseparable, knowing separation wasn’t far away. So we spent all our time together.
His departure for home the day before I returned to State was a most difficult day. The bus ride gave Andy time to decompress, but I went cold turkey. First I had to return to the house without him, sleep alone in my bed that night, and then I returned to our dorm room that I now shared with Jeff. I felt Andy around me every step of the way. We did not know when we’d see each other again.
It was inevitable there were a hard few months ahead of me. I was so close to completing my college experience and yet this was the slowest time in my four years at State.
I’d be in class and in baseball much of the time. Andy would go from home to training camp. There he’d be practicing his trade and working on achieving a better result his first full season as a minor league player. If he could establish himself as a key player on the Lincoln team, he’d be looked at carefully.
It would require a complete effort on his part and my hanging around wouldn’t be helpful. I wanted to be there and he wanted me there, but I would leave college and find some way to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t be able to go to Lincoln. We had a lifetime together ahead of us and if we wanted to make the most of it we had to sacrifice now.
I had a less trying task in front of me. I wouldn’t be doing much differently than I’d done my previous years. Yes, the word coach was mentioned around me but there was also whispers that I couldn’t hit, I was a has been, washed up before twenty-two. These would be trying times and I’d be trying to overcome my fear at the plate.
I related to coaching better than anything else I did. I’d always been instructing boys about fielding. Even early on they stopped to watch me control a game of pepper or stand on the sidelines as the infielders took fielding practice. What I was doing other boys wanted to duplicate and I enjoyed trying to demonstrate and explain what I did.
Coach Bell had come down to the freshman field to ask me to instruct one of his outfielders, Andy. He believed I was the man for the job. He’d watched me as I took charge of the freshman infielders and helped tighten their play. I wasn’t pushy or arrogant, just confident in my ability.
Baseball had been placed in the gap after I lost my first love. It took up time and energy and helped me get beyond love. I owed a great debt to the game for doing that for me. When Coach Bell first came for me, I never imagined what the result would be. It took several years for baseball to give love back to me. It was a far better love than I ever believed existed. Had I not lost my first love, I’d never have met my one great love, and baseball was in the middle of it all.
I was more in the middle of it all than I’d ever been in my senior season. My reputation as a fielder made coaching it easy. Being an official coach meant I was expected to be a step above the rest. It wasn’t a problem in the field but the questions came when I did or didn’t bat. My deficiency couldn’t be missed.
Other team’s best hitters hit away from me if they could. This gave Carroll at 3rd and Ford at 1st more chances. Carroll was an artist with his glove but Ford needed work, which gave me work to keep my mind off my bat.
Working with Jeff became easier as we memorized one another’s moves and began to know where the other would be most of the time. He was no Chance, but he was good and easy to play with. Living with him wasn’t as easy after Andy had come to stay for two months.
My hitting always being on my mind, Coach Martin and I came to an understanding. I batted late in the line up, 8th. I’d take one at bat and before I came up the second time, I’d put in Mandel, who’d pinch hit for me, going into the infield at second. Jeff would move to shortstop. Jeff didn’t complain because he was a ball player and it wasn’t up to him. He often sulked around the room to let me know he wasn’t happy playing shortstop. I did feel guilty, but it didn’t change the situation.
Coach Martin also discussed his displeasure with me for not coming to bat more often. He saw this as the way to beat the fear. He didn’t understand how my insides turned upside down each time I stepped into the batter’s box. He insisted and I refused. I told him it was either pull me before my second at bat or leave me out of the lineup all together. He was the coach but I knew what I needed to do.
Coach Martin could list a dozen or so reasons why I should go to bat every time but none gave me the nerve to face a pitcher more than once or twice a game. He would stretch it as far as he could but when I came off the field and crossed my name out of the lineup, Mandel picked up his bat and it was then Jeff bowed his head.
The preseason games and practices were routine. There wasn’t the intensity to get my nerves on edge. I did stay in to complete a couple of games but pulled myself twice as often. The wild pitchers bothered me least, because by laying off their pitches I would often get a walk.
Certain pitches I didn’t like facing at all. The fastball pitchers were my nemesis. Wild fastball pitches had me sweating before I ever came to the plate. It was a strange balance that I tried to analyze but couldn’t.
I spent time with the freshman team, mostly coaching their infielders. Coach Martin could often be found speaking with Coach French, his replacement after he left the freshman team behind. It was easy to see Coach Martin was at ease with the freshman. Coach Bell had also taken a keen interest in the freshman my first year at State.
The head coach visiting with them was a connection to the 1st team. My presence also offered them some insight into a higher level of ball playing. They respected me and listened to my instruction carefully as I put them through their paces. I was always happy to be with the freshman, they didn’t know I couldn’t hit and so didn’t look at me like I was half a package.
There were no star standouts that would make their way straightaway to the 1st team, but for the most part there was a good group of talented players in the early stages of development. They were learning the intensity of college ball.
There was a very good second baseman, another fine 3rd baseman, and a few with possibilities as yet undeveloped. It was my job to get them focused on the position where I believed their skills were best suited. It was nice being away from the 1st team and the constant scrutiny I felt there. I worried I was going to let them down. The freshman caused me no such stress.
Only my bat did that. I began to hate the feel of it. Each time I picked it up, I winced from some internal force that refused to let go of me. Was I possessed?
Standing in front of the pitching machine is as easy as it gets, and yet I continued closing my eyes before the ball got to the plate. The pitches were always the same. The machine couldn’t throw at your head, but I couldn’t get that into my head.
I sweat and my knees shook and this became my constant battle. Winning and losing couldn’t compare with me stepping into the batter’s box. I never learned to hate anything more. The idea of batting three or four times a game wasn’t possible. I began to ponder if I’d get a hit or have a nervous breakdown first? My resolve was failing me.
Perspective was everything. Coaching was no great shakes. School was all but done, my graduation assured. My life was wonderful on every level. Andy and I talked twice a week and updated each other on what was going on.
He seemed more upbeat as his season was starting, but he was kind enough not to quiz me on how State baseball was progressing. It was a rebuilding year and I could tell he was glad to be in Lincoln and not at State.
The season began and Coach Martin said nothing when I pulled myself out of the game. Jeff moved to shortstop and Mandel, a guy who hadn’t played freshman ball at State, replaced him at second.
The first time Mandel pinch hit for me, he lined a double over the second baseman’s head. This made me look good. What a great move. Then he booted a ball hit to him in the next inning, two unearned runs scored, and we lost the game 5-4. My genius had faded fast. When I went to speak to Coach Martin in his office, as I did each afternoon, he’d already left the building.
Jeff once again let me know how he felt, ignoring me completely when I went up to the room. He kept his nose stuck in one of his books, until it was time to eat, and than he reminded me he was a second baseman, when he was leaving. I already felt guilty but didn’t know what to do.
I was making his season miserable, because he wanted to stay at second. He almost never made an error. He was pleasant for the most part but he shared Coach Martin’s ability to look at me soulfully, like he wanted to offer me some advice but he knew I wouldn’t take it and so he didn’t.
Coach Martin didn’t need to ask me for advice. When your ship is sinking, you bail out the water as fast as you can. Then you regroup. We were still bailing. Whether I batted or not didn’t make any difference.
Our team was inexperienced. We had no power beyond Crosby. In our start against Greenwood their ace pitcher struck out thirteen of us. I’d never come to bat against him before. We lost 9-0 and had a perfect season going after five games. There was no excitement at State.
Coach Martin took it well. He knew he wouldn’t be around long if we kept losing at that pace. I felt a little sorry for his circumstances. Rebuilding years are the shits. It’s all pain and no glory.
I felt no pressure because expectations were so low. I spent long hours wearing out our pitching staff, trying to find something that would make me want to come to the plate. No one complained about me taking batting practice after the rest of the team hit the showers. The pitchers I used needed to throw a lot to develop a rhythm, and it was just more practice for them. The results were questionable for both the pitchers and me, but I kept looking for a way to lose the fear that gripped me. Dread was without joy.
We had two away games, winning one 2-1, and for the first time that season our starting pitcher pitched a full game. We were scheduled to play at home the game after the win.
We were still drawing good crowds at State but we’d come up empty there. This made me feel bad, because I knew a lot of the fans remembered the team the year before. We were exciting to watch. It was surprising they hadn’t started booing us yet. I liked it better playing at home in spite of our only win being a road game.
It was the game after the win that I came out to get my equipment ready for the first of three home games. When I stopped to look at the lineup posted in the locker room, Coach Martin had my name at the top of the batting order.
When I played for Coach Bell, I’d always batted first, but I’d been batting 8th under Coach Martin. I went to bring this oversight to his attention, realizing it was close to the time he’d be presenting the lineup card to the umpire.
Coach Martin wasn’t in his office when I went to chat, which meant the lineup card was likely in the hands of the umpires. I’d need to come up as our first batter in our half of the first inning or take myself out of the game.
I didn’t understand. Was Coach Martin calling my hand? Play or sit on the bench. We’d just talked the day before and he made no mention of a batting order change. This wasn’t like him. We chatted about what changes might work to offer us better results and we spoke about where we were coming up short. He didn’t do things without mentioning them to me first.
As I came out to the bench, much of the team was already preparing for the game. When I saw Coach Martin in his usual spot, I went over to inquire about the change.
He saw me coming and watched my determined strides as my cleats clicked on the concrete.
“Good’ay, Mr. Dooley,” he said warmly.
“Coach, I thought….”
I didn’t finish my sentence, being almost immediately distracted. It was a bit like being hit in the head and my ears rang from the clang of the ball hitting the chain link in the backstop. My entire body vibrated as I swung to see the pitcher who hit me in the head taking warm-up pitches off the mound.
“I thought you’d want to bat against him,” Coach Martin explained. “No point in putting it off, wouldn’t you say?”
There was another clang and the catcher was turning to retrieve the ball for the second time.
“Yes, sir,” I said with the determination in my voice. “I sure do and the sooner the better. Thanks.”
He didn’t last long because when our pitchers showed up he was expected to warm up on the sidelines. I remembered my batting helmet with the dent in it that now sat on my dresser at home. I remembered the feeling I had every time I faced a pitch since that yahoo hit me.
The fear never rose up in my belly that day. I wanted to hit against this guy more than I wanted to do anything else. I knew this was an important moment in my baseball career. I wasn’t sure why.
We took them down in the first with one strikeout and two easy ground balls. One grounder came to me and I picked it up on a gallop, throwing it underhand to get the runner by a step at first. I went back to our bench, eyeballing the helmets in search of mine. Jeff handed it to me and my bat was leaning against the front of the rack. The entire team knew what was happening.
Taking conscientious swings I moved out away from the bench. My mind was almost clear as I noticed some applause. I looked to see people standing to applaud me. I was focused, determined, and a little bit mad. I thought of Chance and I remembered how he could hit the ball anywhere he wanted it to go. That was a good thing to be able to do, I thought.
I nodded at the umpire and stepped into the batter’s box. For the first time I looked directly at him. He stood on the middle of the mound rubbing up the ball for his first pitch of the game before taking his first glance at me. He looked away as fast as he looked my way. He toed the rubber and watched the catcher for his sign. If he recognized me he didn’t show any sign of it.
He went into his windup and a ball came in high and tight. My first instinct was to step back and get out of the batter’s box. I leaned back away from the ball and felt it passing under my chin.
That son-of-a-bitch tried to brush me back on his first pitch. Already being mad turned into being enraged. I watched my feet as I dug into the batters box. He knew I wasn’t going to get off the plate now. I took one slow practice swing, aiming the barrel of the bat at the pitcher. I did it a second time, holding the barrel of the bat pointing it directly at him. My teammates stood, sensing something was about to happen.
I had no fear.
He wound up and threw the next pitch over the catcher’s head. It rattled around and the umpire picked it up, looking it over, he tossed it out and gave the catcher a new ball. I relaxed but didn’t move out of the box. I rubbed my bat and took more practice swings before digging my feet so I couldn’t easily move out of the batter’s box. I took one practice swing followed by another which ended with the bat being pointed at him. I knew what I wanted to do. I didn’t know if I could do it.
For some reason the umpire ignored my blatant aggressiveness. The crowd had gone silent. Many remembered me being hit at the peak of our previous season. By that time most of the school was following us. Some might have known this was the pitcher but most wouldn’t. At best they knew this was the same team.
The third pitch was too far outside for what I wanted. It was ball three and I was running out of time if I was going to do what I intended to do. The pitcher stood for a long time rubbing up the ball before finally getting his sign and going into his windup.
He threw up the pitch I was waiting for. I could have parked it out over the left field fence, but I had no thought of parking it. I got my bat out in front of the ball and took a short sharp swing to keep the ball on target. I stung that sucker on a line right back at the mound, taking the pitcher’s legs out from under him.
As I dashed to first base the pitcher was rolling on the mound, holding his shin, as the ball trickling over toward third after it bounced off the pitcher. I was proud and as happy as I’d ever been, pumping my fist in the air as I reached first base safely.
My bench cleared and everyone stood out in front of it applauding, including Coach Martin, who beamed. The stands came alive as the word spread about what I’d done and why. Maybe it was a fluke. Maybe it was an accidental happening, but it was payback no matter how you saw it.
Everyone but the pitcher, his coach, and the home plate umpire saw it as divine intervention. Anyone who watched the swing I took knew what I intended to do. Even if I got thrown out of the game or suspended for it, I was proud as a peacock.
The home plate umpire walked over to get Coach Martin to get his team back on the bench. It took another minute for my team to voluntarily sit down. The stands quieted. The trainer looked at the pitcher’s leg. A stretcher came out and we had a new pitcher for our second batter. I stood and waited on first base. I’d never get a better hit.
The umpire, two coaches, and catcher all met behind the plate and everyone put in their two cents worth. In the end the coaches retired to their respective benches and the catcher took warm up pitches from the relief pitcher that came to the mound. No comments were directed at me and I was not called to task. It was what it was.
George Carroll took two balls and fouled a ball off before bunting me to second. He almost beat it out, being fast down the first base line, but he was thrown out. I stood on second feeling ten feet tall. I was ready to run as Kevin Browning came to the plate. I couldn’t remember the last time I was on second base.
I led off several steps and had both the shortstop and second baseman keeping an eye on me. I wanted to run. I was ready to run and it was then I watched Kevin coming around on a pitch. I started to run, stopping dead in my tracks to turn to watch the ball sail out over the centerfield fence.
There was never a question about where it was going once it left the infield. I jogged around to the plate and waited to greet Kevin. We went together back to the bench. It was perfect and I had never felt more alive. I was ready to play.
Doing what I did might have accounted for what followed. What I do know is that the next time I came to bat I didn’t flinch or fear the pitches. In fact I’d never had a better day at the plate, hitting a double, and then a triple in my next two at bats.
We won for the first time at home that season and nothing was said about my batting or what it might mean. It was a game we could savor. We might not win again but this game was a team effort. We’d played together in a way we hadn’t done before. The fact it started with my first hit just before Kevin’s first home run made it memorable.
What it all meant to me was I’d settled a debt I owed. The disappearance of my fear of facing a pitched ball remains a mystery. What one had to do with the other, I can’t say. It made baseball a lot more fun and gave me a lot less to worry about. I can say that.
Back on Base
We weren’t about to become of championship caliber my senior season. What we were about to do is jell as a team. As I felt and suspected all along, my presence in the middle of the infield had a lot to do with my team’s performance. Once I’d begun to hit we were able to win more often.
My breakout game had me getting a hit against three different pitchers. This indicated my determination to play a little payback wasn’t all there was to it. It did break the spell in my mind and the fear of the pitched ball faded as quickly as it had seized hold of me.
We’d have to struggle mightily simply to get back to .500 ball by season’s end. We were already too many games behind that lofty goal. Winning only two of our first ten games, but two in a row, meant we were heading in the right direction. The best part of it, beside my daring do in the first inning, we won one for the home crowd, and even if we didn’t amount to much otherwise, they loved it and hung around after the game was over to encourage their team.
We were approaching the half way point in our season and time was running out to make vast improvements. Not only that, This was the time the scouts came to sit in the stands to watch the talent. They didn’t come to watch State this time. They were there to see our competition. Tom Crosby was the only junior that had the kind of potential to attract any attention. He was hitting homers but not at a pace it took to stir the interest of professional scouts. His batting average was close to .300 but without the big home run production it wasn’t exciting anyone including Tom, who showed his frustration.
Kevin Browning was a sophomore, but the day I began hitting, he hit his first home run of the season. He’d been struggling with his batting stance and was still searching the day of his first big hit.
By the time we played game twenty Kevin had eight homers to Crosby’s ten, only Crosby had six homers when Kevin hit his first. He was also batting .325 and was most likely to bat in runs. He went about perfecting his swing and all his wiggle and waggle at the plate subsided as he settled into his game. Kevin had become State’s best power hitter, but he was too inexperienced to gain more than a reference in some scout’s notes, ‘a future consideration.’ They would have their eye on him next season.
Coach Martin became much more pleased with the progress State was making. We no longer needed to spend time discussing would I or wouldn’t I bat and how often. Our discussions were of the talent and who was making progress and who might be losing his grip on their position on the 1st team. These were the discussions the coaches on a rebuilding team should be having.
The freshman team was still raw with the few exceptions I’d mentioned to Coach Martin before. No one was shinning beyond his teammates at mid-season. This was to be expected but we were still determined to bring up a few of the freshmen to get some 1st team experience to see how they reacted.
With me being the only 1st team player graduating, there was a lot invested in keeping our current lineup in place to begin the following season with an experienced team.
It was during one of these discussions in the afternoon after practice that Tom Crosby came to chat fresh from his shower.
“How you doing, Tom?” I asked him as he slid into one of the empty chairs near the door.
“I’d hoped to be doing better, Do. I’m not putting my name in the draft. I wanted to let you know that I intend to graduate from State next year and play my senior year of ball here. I didn’t want there to be any doubt.”
“That’s good to hear, Mr. Crosby,” Coach Martin said. “You are key in my outfield plans. I just might stick around for another year to see how it all turns out. You boys have picked it up quite a bit in the last ten games.”
“Sitting out last season hurt me more than I thought. My timing isn’t what it was. I know my numbers will look a lot better if I keep at it. That way I’ll go way higher in the draft next year than I would this year.”
“I think you’re making the smart move. You’ll have your degree to fall back on and that means you can concentrate on baseball, knowing you have an alternative.”
“Yes, sir,” Crosby said, standing to make his exit.
First base and catching were the weakest positions on the team and might change hands if any of the freshmen began to shine. The team as a whole, even with my replacement, Mandel, sitting on the bench, was in place for a run the following season.
As we came down the home stretch, we played consistently. Kevin had a three home run game in the final week of play and took the home run lead away from Crosby. Kevin already led the team in runs batted in for most of the second half of the season.
Jeff Henry was tops in batting at .345. He was a fine second baseman and the center of our infield played almost as well as when I had Chance beside me. Jeff’s average was only ten points bellow what Bobby Henry averaged in his tenure at State. I wondered if one day I might hear some major league announcer calling a game say, ‘the ball is hit sharply to Henry at short, making a clean pickup, he throws to Henry at second, and the throw to first in time for the double play.’
Consistency made us much more competitive and the team’s play had improved remarkably. Finishing with fourteen wins and sixteen loses meant we made up a lot of ground.
Even if we didn’t get into the playoffs, we were playing as well as any team in our league at the end. Greenwood’s steady program brought them yet another league championship. We sat home and watched and thought about next year.
I finished the season batting .252, which might have gotten me a look, because of my reputation as a fielder, except when the scouts were out looking for talent in mid-season, I wasn’t batting .200. For me it was a major improvement that left me feeling satisfied.
Any offers from a minor league team would get in the way of Andy’s career and our manageable future. Since he was the one most likely to succeed, I didn’t want to complicate things by wandering around looking for a way to extend my baseball career beyond its expiration date.
My struggles my senior season did make me more aware of what baseball meant to me. Facing not having a senior season had made the season that much more important to me. I hadn’t played well but I had recovered some of what was lost at the end of my junior year. I could face not being in baseball now, but I didn’t have to enjoy it.
With no one looking at me and no invitations coming for me to try out for a team somewhere, my decision was easy and my baseball career had ended quietly.
I was happy and State was greatly improved from the beginning of the year. We were winning games against all the competition. We weren’t knocking anyone dead with our firepower but there was a good balance between our hitting and pitching. With Kevin batting third and Tom batting cleanup, and Jeff preceding those two to the plate, State would produce its share of hits and runs next season.
It was a shame I wouldn’t be there to watch it, but the time comes in all ballplayer’s lives when they had to walk away from the game. I’d gone further than I could have expected as a fourteen year old sniffing around my high school baseball team, looking for a way to spend my time.
My grades had stayed steady throughout college and with my diploma in hand I was ready to start my life. It was anti-climatic at best. Baseball had been what took me to college and it was what kept me there. With Coach Martin staying on for one last season, I didn’t mention to Chancellor Bishop that I’d be willing to take a shot at coaching his team. It was never mentioned and I figured Coach Martin was the one responsible for bringing me on as a player/coach. My future was not going to be at State.
All the worries and complications baseball had brought to my life had ended. My future was in doubt as I wandered down to the baseball complex my last day at State. It hadn’t been locked up yet and the under classmen still had another week of classes.
As I slipped inside the fence to take one last look at my field, I heard a bat connecting solidly with the ball. There facing the pitching machine in a deserted stadium was Kevin, taking big cuts at the ball. He looked like a hitter. He was confident and precise with his swings, ready each time the machine spit out a ball.
My final year of baseball was so filled with anxiety and uncertainty that I didn’t take time to prepare for it to end. I suppose I hadn’t enjoyed my senior year as much as I could. Seeing someone who lived to play ball, playing ball, gave me chills, and left me with a positive feeling. I’d watched Kevin overcome his uncertainty, but he was determined and he persevered. It was a good note to end on and I headed for the exit without bothering him.
I had no concept that leaving my field for the final time would be so hard. Our final game was away. Coach Martin and I sat in his office talking as players cleaned out their lockers that evening. There was no feeling of finality.
There were high hopes for next season in which I would take no part. There would be a next season without me as there had been seasons before I arrived. I’d run my playing days out further than I’d had any right to expect and with results that were mostly pleasing, but it took me until my final day to return to our field to take a last look.
My regrets were few but leaving the field that last time brought on a melancholy concerning the uncertainty ahead of me. The next time I came I’d buy a ticket and watch from the stands.
The gate clanged closed behind me.
I didn’t look back.
My college days were done. It was time to go to work. I could no longer say, I can’t work and play ball too, while I’m going to school.
The End
Don’t miss book 4:
A Minor Success