Chapter 54

Brock wandered into the clubhouse the next morning and began to wonder if he'd taken a wrong turn. The blaring music and loud voices were nowhere to be found. The three dozen extraneous people who had littered the place the year before were gone, too.

"Feels weird, doesn't it?" John Milton, the team's starting left fielder and leadoff hitter asked.

"Feels nice," Brock rejoined.

"It does," Milton replied. "And look, we can get to our lockers without wading through a crowd this year. I'll bet you won't mind that part of the day."

On Brock's first day in training camp the year before, he had entered the Dodgers locker room to find a crowd of people standing in front of his locker. At first, he had wondered if they were writers waiting to talk to him. Then he had realized that the group was Toby Cerutti's entourage.

"Get out of my chair," Brock had ordered a guy who was sitting in front of the locker assigned to him. The guy had his food stashed in Brock's locker and appeared to have opened the game shoes and batting gloves that were in there.

"Fuck you, Rookie," Cerutti had sneered. "Maybe I'll make you dress in your car all year."

"And maybe I'll do everyone a favor and pound your no-talented ass into the pavement," Brock had shot back. "Now get this fucking idiot out of my chair and keep your ego-inflation society out from in front of my locker and out of my shit. If anything is missing, I'm going to find you and you won't like it when I do."

The confrontation had escalated until Al Perez had stepped forward to quell the tempers.

"Move them out, Cerutti," he had ordered. "And keep them out of the other player's way. We're not going to start this shit again this year. Understand?"

Cerutti hadn't spoken but he had moved his group to the other side of the room while he had dressed.

"Keep your head, Rook," Al had advised.

"I won't take shit from anyone," Brock had said. "I'll play the silly little games and all that. But if someone thinks I'm his fucking slave, he better think again."

Al had nodded his agreement and had given Brock a pat on the shoulder.

But this season, it was silent except for the players greeting one another. The clubhouse attendant had worked during the weekend to move the minor leaguers out to get the locker room set up for the big league club. Every locker had a plate with the player's name and number affixed above it. The practice jerseys were hung neatly and there were three boxes of cleats in the bottom. Packages of batting gloves, wrist bands, sanitary socks and sliding shorts were laid atop the shoeboxes. Several lockers had other boxes in front of them – baseball cards that needed to be signed and returned to the company to be used in their promotions.

Brock put his bag down and picked out three gift-wrapped boxes.

He found the locker with Fred Hartman's name above it and put one box inside. Rafael Mendoza was right next to Fred and he got the second box. Few players had arrived yet so Brock decided to take the time to drop off the third box. Although Fred and Rafael had been invited to Major League Camp, Ryan was on the opposite end of the complex with the minor leaguers. The redheaded shortstop was already at his locker along with most of the other rookies.

All conversation stopped when Brock walked through the door.

"Hey," he said to Ryan, who had stood to greet him. He shook the man's hand and then handed him the wrapped box. "Just a little something to thank you for what you've done."

"I should be getting you presents," Ryan replied, as he tried to hand the gift back. "If it hadn't been for you, I'd be back in Columbus ready to slice my own wrists by now."

"Then after this, we'll call it even then," Brock said.

"Should I open it?" Ryan asked.

"Later," Brock replied in a low voice. "For now, just make sure it's someplace secure. Some of these guys would think nothing about walking off with anything not nailed down. I learned that the hard way. Maybe you can see if your skipper will keep it in his office."

"Christ," Ryan whispered. "Is it valuable?"

"You'll just have to wait to find out," Brock said with a laugh. "But it wouldn't matter to some of these guys. Hell, $50 American is more than their parents will make this year. Just be careful."

"Sure," Ryan said. "And thanks. I still can't believe I'm really here."

"You earned your spot here," Brock said. "If they didn't think you could play, they would have released you and bought you out. They kept you because you've shown them something. Yeah, I might have helped get you a chance. But a chance was all it was. You're here because you've shown you can play this game. I expect you to be in High-A by the end of the season. You hear?"

"I'll do my best, Brock," Ryan said earnestly.

"Just remember: Your best is pretty damned good, Kid," Brock said, patting Ryan on the shoulder.

"Hey, Miller, you take a wrong turn at Albuquerque?" a voice boomed out.

Brock recognized the voice as belong to Robert Contreras, the man who had spent the previous 16 days trying to teach Brock the intricacies of second base.

"Hey, Robbie," Brock said, shaking the guy's hand. "What are you doing here?"

"I talked them into switching the coaching assignments," Contreras answered. "Julio's wife is having a difficult pregnancy. He's going to stay here and do extended Spring Training. I'm going to manage the Rookie League team."

He turned to Ryan.

"Radabaugh, I want you to lead the warm-ups today," he said. "You know how I want them done. I got a kid from Puerto Rico whose going to repeat your orders in Spanish for those who don't speak English. You up for it?"

"Sure, Skip," Ryan replied with a firm nod.

"Good, you'll lead them out after a quick team meeting," Contreras replied. "Miller, you better beat feet. They're going to think you're holding out for bigger contract if you don't make your grand appearance."

Contreras' wide smile showed he was fooling around. He appeared to be looking forward to his time working with the 16-21 year olds in the rookie camp.

"I've already shown my face," Brock said with a laugh. "They probably think I'm off filming a TV commercial or something. Hey, can you stick this in your office? I don't want it to walk away before Ryan gets the chance to open it."