A Major Chance

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The names and places I am about to tell have been changed, not necessarily to protect the innocent, but to protect me from lawsuits. I was nineteen, cocky, quite a know-it-all, and with more talent than I knew how to use, much less control. 

A scout for a major league baseball team took notice of me during my senior year in high school. A few weeks later I was invited to come to spring training the next year. So, naturally, I thought I had it made. Without a thought I canceled my application to the state university as I figured I wouldn't need it. Once I made it to the big league, I could make enough money to easily go to college after my career was over. It was logical to me. I told you I was cocky. 

So, the university thought I was being coy and made a counteroffer which included tuition, room and board, and some pretty good perks. Their interest in my baseball skills convinced me even more that my destiny was to play ball on a national level. So, I declined their generous offer, worked at a local retail store through the winter, and kept working out to keep my skills at a high level. 

Finally, the day came for me to leave my hometown for the spring training camp in Florida. Quite a crowd came to see me off at the bus station. Most of the folks in my small town knew of the offer I had received, mainly because it had been my main topic of conversation for months with anyone who dared talk to me. Most everyone was pulling for me to succeed as they wanted to see the home-grown boy do good. There were a few who wished I would fall flat on my face as they felt strongly that was what I deserved. But they were polite enough to keep it to themselves, or at least, not publicly voice their opinion. 

When I arrived in Tampa I was on top of the world. I strolled into the team’s locker room like I own the place. Back home I was the best player in the county and some said I was the best ever. Of course, this just confirmed my feelings that I always had about myself. But, I wasn’t in the locker more than five minutes when my self-esteem took a blow. What I hadn’t realized was there was a couple of dozen other rookies there who were just as talented as me. A couple were probably better than me. Added to that was the fact we newbies were the least talented on the team. Even some of the older guys who had been in the majors for years and were now in the twilight of their careers had more ability in their pinky finger than the whole lot of us rookies. My heart quickly learned this was true, but my pride kept my ego inflated. 

“All right, you rooks line up,” bellowed the booming voice. I turned around to see Bruno Watson staring at us. All of us knew who he was as he’d been the team’s catcher for eight years and was the unnamed captain of the team. It was clear he demanded respect and was used to getting it. All of us new guys ambled forward and stood in a loose line. 

He looked up and down the row of us as he sized up what new faces were about to invade his world. With a huge scowl on his face, he took a deep breath and then slowly exhaled. 

“There’s nothing like the smell of fresh meat,” he barked. The players behind him snickered and some of them nodded their heads in agreement. It was enough to make me smile which caught Bruno’s attention. He marched over to me and put his face right into mine. 

“You a catcher, boy?” he demanded.

“No, I’m not,” I replied.

“Good!” he growled. “I don’t have time to potty train a kid trying to take my job from me.”

I wasn’t used to such treatment as I had always been the cock of the walk. So, I snarled back at him, “Why don’t you back off, old man?” 

The room fell deadly silent. All eyes were on Bruno as he wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

Finally, he said, “You got guts kid.” Then he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me tight against him. I tried to wiggle free a bit, but he was much stronger than he looked.

“We’re gonna take batting practice this afternoon,” he declared. “What’s the fastest ball you’ve seen?”

He sure made me uncomfortable, but I managed to reply, “Maybe 95.”

He snickered and barked, “95?!? You ain’t seen nothing boy. Jonesy come over here.” 

A tall lanky player came over to us. I recognized him as Simon Jones, one of the best pitchers on the planet for the last three years.

“Jonesy, how’s your fastball today?” Bruno asked.

“Ah, I feel good today,” Jones answered. “I probably can get 103.”

“Uh-huh,” Bruno said as he still held me tight. “I’ll be catching today when our buddy here comes to bat.”

“Okay.”

“If I call for your fastball in high, close, and tight, will you throw it?” Bruno asked with a sneer.

Jones looked me up and down, grinned and replied, “Sure, why not?”

“But, you might hit our rising star here,” Bruno declared with mocked concern. “I’d hate to see such a talented mouth like his wind up needing stitches.”

Jones laughed and said, “He might as well get used to it. If he makes the cut, it won’t be the last time he’ll have to hit the dirt.” 

I must admit I swallowed hard at the prospect of having to dodge a ball thrown at such speeds. Bruno must have sensed my apprehension as he bent over and whispered in my ear, “I don’t like rookies, and I like you even less.” 

“All right, let’s get this season started!” interrupted Lou McMillan, the manager of the team, as he emerged from his office. Bruno slapped me on the back of the head and then joined Jones and the rest of the older players while Lou welcomed everyone to spring camp. 

Later that afternoon, Bruno was true to his word, and I hit the ground twice as Jones’ fastball came sizzling toward my chin. After the second one, Dave Fisher, the hitting coach, yelled out, “Okay, you two quit that crap! Give the guy a chance to hit!” 

So, from that moment on I watched what I said, especially around the older players. I decided I would show them up with my baseball skills. They could try to intimidate me all they wanted, but I would show the old farts who the real talent was on the team. 

We practiced fielding basics over the next week before the spring games were set to start. To me it was a waste of time as I was convinced I had learned all of that when I was a kid. So, I made an effort, but I knew my batting and base speed would get everyone’s attention and that’s what I really wanted to focus on. 

I was ready and raring, but Lou didn’t put me in a game the first week. In fact, by the start of the second week there were only a few of us rookies left who hadn’t had a chance to play and I was feeling the frustration. I should’ve been one of the first ones put in. How could I ever prove how good I was if he didn’t give me a chance? 

By the end of the second week, I was fuming at not being allowed to play. I was to the point I was going to go talk with Lou after the game and find out what his problem with me was. That’s when he called my number and told me to pinch hit. He caught me off guard, but I quickly grabbed a bat and stepped into the on-deck circle to warm up my swing. 

We were at home against Toronto. The score was tied at one run each in the bottom of the ninth. There was one out. This was the chance I’d been dreaming and preparing for since I picked up my first plastic bat as a child. It was my opportunity to sell myself to Lou and the owners of the team. Not only was I bound to prove I deserved a spot on the team’s roster for the upcoming season, I was just as determined to score the winning run and be the game’s hero. 

Toronto had a rookie closer trying to make the team and he threw a fastball that had quite a bit of movement on it. The batter in front of me went down swinging at a nasty changeup. As I walked past him I could see the disgust on his face. I thought to myself the poor guy wasn’t going to make the team swinging at something that wasn’t there. 

I took my time getting settled in at the plate. This was my moment, and I wanted all eyes on me as I had something to prove. The pitcher was staring at the catcher and nodding his head. This was it. He wound up and delivered the pitch. 

“Stri..i..ke!” yelled the umpire. I shook my head. There was no way that pitch was over the plate. I dug in again. A fastball came inside and I swung and fouled it into the right field stands. Now I had two strikes on me and I was starting to feel a little desperation swelling inside me. The pitcher was better than I had figured. So, I dug in again. 

Without looking back, I felt the catcher move in toward me. This told me the ball was coming inside again. The pitcher wound up and delivered. The ball was definitely headed inside. In a flash I had an idea. I ever so slightly leaned forward and the ball grazed the letters across my uniform. 

“Hit me, ump,” I yelled.

“Take your base!” he hollered back. 

As I strolled down to first, I could hear the opposing catcher arguing with the umpire. “He leaned into it!” he cried.

“I don’t care, it hit him,” the umpire bellowed back. It was all I could do to keep from laughing. I had beat the pitcher and now I was the winning run sitting on first base. 

Batting behind me was the heart of the order. Up next was Mike Cooper, the best slugger on our team.

“Let’s go Mike,” I yelled as my confidence had soared to new heights.

The first base coach, Pops, whispered in my ear, “Let Mike hit.” I looked at him like he was crazy as I was one of the fastest players on the team. I simply said, “Steal” and he said “No.” Well, that didn’t set well with me at all. Here I was trying to showcase my talents and the coach didn’t want to have any part of it. It wasn’t fair. I wanted to be the winning run, the hero of the game, and some over-the-hill former has-been who now called himself a coach was trying to keep me from realizing my dreams. I’d show him. 

I took a modest lead, and the pitcher threw over trying to pick me off. Diving back to the base I easily beat the tag. I danced off the base a little further, but this time, the pitcher delivered to the plate. It was low and outside, ball one. Now, I knew it was my chance to shine. 

The pitcher stared at me as I danced about ten feet from the bag. As soon as he turned toward home I was off. It was a slider outside and Cooper swung and missed. The catcher caught it and flung it to the second baseman to try and tag me out. It felt like I was flying on air as I ran toward second. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the ball coming so I dove head first in a slide to the base. The ball took a nasty bounce and went over the second baseman’s head and rolled out to right center field. I bounced up and was off to third. 

The center fielder got to the ball quicker than I thought he would and threw a fastball straight to the third basemen covering the bag. I did a hook slide in an effort to avoid the tag but felt the glove hit my leg. 

“Safe!!” yelled the umpire. 

The third baseman was livid. He ranted and cursed, and the ump threw him out of the game. Then Toronto’s manager got involved. He and the ump jawed back and forth until he finally gave up and returned to the dugout. 

The third base coach talked to me while all the arguing was going on. “You were out, you know,” he said. I shook my head and looked the other way.

“Didn’t Pops tell you not to run?” he asked in a matter-of-fact voice.

“I made it, didn’t I?”

“He told you not to try,” he bristled.

“Hey, I made it to third,” I snorted. “So, what’s your problem?”

He looked me up and down and simply said, “Okay, kid.” 

I danced off of third as the pitcher tried to stare me down. Finally, he lifted his leg and delivered to the plate. It was low and outside, ball two. I scooted back to third and stood on the bag. Without looking in his direction, I gave the coach the secret sign that I wanted to steal on the next pitch. This was my chance. If I stole home and scored the winning run, I’d be the hero of the game and definitely increase my stature on the team. It may even be enough to make Lou want me on the team when the regular season started. 

As casual as I could, I glanced at the coach, and he was giving me the “stay put” sign. I almost threw my hands up in disgust. He was as shortsighted as Pop was on first. I knew I could make it, and he was refusing me a chance. I took my lead again, but my heart wasn’t in it. With little interest I watch the pitcher wind and deliver a slider to the plate.

Cooper swung and missed again. As I made my way back to the bag, I was convinced he was going to strike out and that would be it as we didn’t play any extra innings in spring training. I stood on the bag and glared at our dugout. Lou didn’t even look my way. 

The coach came near me and whispered, “No.” I knew what he meant. No one believed I could steal home and all I wanted was a chance to prove them wrong. I made my decision. 

I took a bigger lead off the bag than usual. The pitcher looked hard at me, and I could see the third baseman trying to slyly move toward the bag in case there was a throw over. I watched and waited. The instant the pitcher looked toward home I took off running. I heard someone yell “No!” It must have been the third base coach. 

Everything appeared to move in slow motion to me. My heart was pounding, and I felt the strength in my leg muscles as they propelled me toward the plate. I saw the ball leave the pitcher’s hand. It had sixty feet six inches to travel, and I had ninety feet. Of course, with the big lead I took I had narrowed it down to less than eighty. I knew the ball would reach the catcher before I would reach the plate. So, I planned to slide in front of the plate as far away from the catcher’s tag as I could. It would be close, but I felt sure I could do it. 

I was moving as fast as I could. The ball was spinning toward the plate. All was going as I’d planned until I saw Cooper swinging his bat. I was about fifteen feet away and getting ready to start my slide when I saw his bat make contact with the ball. There was a loud crack as the ball flew off the bat and rose high in the sky toward right field. I continued my slide as planned and looked up to see the catcher throw his mask off in disgust. After tagging the plate I bounced up on my feet to see the ball clear the right field fence and bounce off a seat in the third row. Cooper had hit a walk-off home run. It was the winning run. 

I stood to the side of the plate in disbelief as Cooper started his trot around the bases. Our dugout erupted with my team shouting for joy at the walk-off. I was stunned as it was supposed to have been me who would be the hero of the team by stealing home for the winning run. Instead, it was Mike Cooper coming through once again for the team the way he had so many times over the years. 

The players rushed out of the dugout to perform the walk-off ritual of mobbing the hero when they crossed home plate. I was shaken back to reality when I was shoved out of the way, lost my balance and fell to the ground. Glancing up I saw it was Bruno who had pushed me, but I would’ve guess that without looking. On TV it appeared as if I had got caught up in the celebration and lost my footing. Everyone on the team knew different. 

So, in the final analysis, it hadn’t mattered at all what I had tried to do. Cooper received all the credit and when spring training was over, I was one of the guys packing his bags to return to the minor leagues. I didn’t make the team. 

Evidently, Lou and management wasn’t pleased with me disobeying their instructions to not try and steal the bases the way I did. So, was I not only sent down to the minor leagues, I was sent to a Double-A farm team. I was definitely disappointed not to be sent to Triple-A, but at least, it wasn’t Class A. 

It’s now the end of August and we’ve had a good season. Soon the big leagues will be calling some of us up to join their teams as they expand their rosters for the month of September. I think I have a good chance. I’ve kept my batting average up and have the most stolen bases on the team. My manager, Kyle, seems to like me, though he has told me more than once I need to change my attitude. At first, I thought what does he know? He’s stuck in the minor leagues and is going nowhere. I’m on my way up and all I need is another chance at the majors. 

But I’ve decided to take his advice and for the past few months I’ve been the model team player. I figured what’ve I got to lose? As I see it, nothing but a few swear words and a hot temper.  Am I still cocky and self-assured? Yes. Have I learned my lesson? Absolutely. I’ve learned how to play the game.

THE END

Copyright ©2014 by Jerry W. Crews