Chapter 3: The Batting Cage

Tom really was having a good night. After warming up against the softball machine, he had good success against the pitching machine that produced pitches topping out at 60mph and fairly consistent contact against the machine throwing 70. But the Ultimate Batting Experience was in an entirely different world. The pitches did not come out at a consistent speed or location. Tom couldn't just guess in a general area and hope to get lucky. However, he did best my previous score by getting one double and two singles for a combined total of 600 points. For that, Tom emerged from the cage with a big grin, knowing that he was actually in the top 15 for the day.

I could see that Mike was improving. The coaching from the previous year was paying off and Mike's swing was certainly more fluid. He wasn't opening his hips too soon and lunging at the ball. Now he was starting to drive through the ball and was keeping his head down. The end result was a round of 3800 and the best score of the day.

I entered the cage and took my stance as a lefty hitter. I liked switch-hitting, but felt a bit more comfortable as a lefty. Before I gave the signal he was ready, I closed my eyes and calmed my mind and body. This was another technique Ken had taught him over the past few years that allowed me to focus and control the adrenaline pulsing through my body. The first pitch was clocked at 92mph, belt high and over the outside part of the plate. The sound my bat made upon contact was like a gunshot. The ball sailed out towards the left field designated area like a missile and nailed the home run target.

I continued to pound the ball. I was concerned that my growth spurt would affect my coordination, but found instead that I was able to get better leverage. The bat seemed to weigh less than it had, and I was able to bring it through the strike zone with more authority. This was really what I believed I could do the best. I was at home here. This was my element. I owned that machine.

"Too bad I can't play anymore."

When I completed the round, I was met with applause from the small audience. I smiled, slightly embarrassed by the display and tipped my helmet. The scoreboard read 10,600. As I was returning the helmet and bat, the grandfather from two cages over approached with his grandson.

"That was quite the display you put on, son," said the older gentleman, who offered his hand in congratulations.

"Thanks," I said as I accepted the handshake.

"Do you have a couple of minutes to talk? I would like to ask a couple of questions – maybe give you some things to consider."

I looked over at Mike who shrugged.

"Let me go see how Sparks is doing. Catch up when you get done."

Mike left for the batting cages, and we found a bench away from the batting cages. It was next to the playground area, where his grandson was enjoying himself.

"What's your name, son?"

"Phil Marlow. Yours?"

"Doug Jenkins. Nice to meet you. Phil, let me tell you a little about me and that may help you understand my interest." Phil nodded my acceptance. "A long time ago, I was a major league scout. I was employed by several different organizations doing everything from scouting guys in the Mexican League to checking in on American Legion players. I signed a few that you probably have heard of and quite a bit more that I'm sure nobody has heard of."

That elicited a chuckle from me.

"Good players are hard to find," he continued, "and you really have to kiss a bunch of frogs to find a prince. But great players ... well, they are much rarer, but are more easily identifiable."

Doug let me think about that for a moment.

"Do you play high school ball around here?"

"No, sir. I don't. Not anymore."

"Why is that, Phil? I know what I heard and what I saw. You have the talent, at least hitting a baseball, which is the most important talent to have. Why aren't you playing?"

"A few years ago, I was involved in a couple of incidents on the field. I was banned from playing little league baseball."

"Okay, that's little league, what about high school?"

"The guy who was in charge of the little league is the high school baseball coach. He's also the manager for our American Legion team and he's already told me that I couldn't play."

"That's ridiculous. You could sue him for that."

"Yeah, my mom threatened to do just that. The coach said I could always try out for the teams, but he wouldn't select me. Even if I did sue to get on the team, it's not Little League, and he's not obligated to play me. It would kill me to sit on the bench and not be allowed to play."

Doug sat back and thought for a few seconds.

"What did you do?"

I took a few moments and collected my thoughts. I hated having to talk about something that had happened three years ago. It seemed like it had been forever. I wasn't that same angry kid that did those things anymore. At least not as angry.

"I hit a kid in the head when I was pitching ... on purpose."

"Ouch."

"The kid was hurt pretty bad. He ended up in the hospital with a concussion."

"Anything else?"

"His brother was on the same team, and came out to fight me. I knew martial arts, and used it in a way I wasn't supposed to."

"Uh, oh."

"Yeah. He went to the hospital, too, with a broken thumb and a broken arm. His dad was the third base coach and was there trying to separate us, or so he says."

"What do you say?"

"When he was trying to separate us, he gave me an elbow. I gave him a bloody nose."

"Geez, almighty. Let me guess, the third base coach and the guy running the Little League are related?"

"Brothers," Phil confirmed.

"I'm betting you don't get any Christmas cards from them?"

I chuckled and said, "I was banned from the league and the kids I beat up continually spread rumors about me. After I did those things to them, my mom took me in for counseling. At this point, I couldn't care less about what they say about me."

"Other than pitching, what position did you play?"

"Short, mostly, when I wasn't pitching. I've played center some, and second once or twice."

"Is your pitching as good as your hitting?"

"No, not really. When I hit that one kid, I was actually aiming for his hip. I tried to throw it right at him. The ball sailed higher than I wanted, and tailed a bit behind him. He just stepped back into it."

"Do you want to play baseball again?"

"Sure I do! But Mom has told me that it may not happen until college. I'll probably have to walk-on, wherever I decide to go."

"Okay, let's do this. Why don't you give me your phone number? I'm going to talk to a couple of people and see what I can find out."