Chapter 9

It took me most of the day to get to Louisville, find the hotel where my new club, the Norfolk Tides, was staying, and report to my new manager, Rick Dawkins – a retired Orioles’ infielder who’d been manager at Norfolk for three years.

“Game starts tonight at 7,” Dawkins told me. “You’ll probably start at DH.”

“Okay. Listen, you mind if I ask a question?”

“Shoot.”

“You have any idea why Baltimore wants me? I hear they gave up a good prospect for me, and, shit, they’ve got the best DH in the world already. What gives? Am I going to be traded again in some kind of turnover deal?”

“Doubt they’ll trade you,” Dawkins said. They’re looking for a DH to take over from Brennan.”

“They’re really going to let him go?”

“To the fucking Yankees or the Sox? Not if Peter Angelos can borrow, beg or steal enough money to pay him!”

“So where do I come in, then?”

“The club’s already deep in negotiations with Brennan to extend his contract and keep him in Baltimore long-term.”

“Okay. That makes sense,” I said.

“Thing is,” Dawkins said, “Brennan is tired of being the DH. He’s been working – hard – on making himself into a defensive player. They’ve had him at first base, mostly, when he plays on defense, but he’s been pretty bad. Not as bad, maybe, as I hear you are with a glove on, but he did hurt the Orioles on defense. But he’s been trying to turn himself into a decent outfielder and wants to start in left field, as a regular.”

“So the Orioles are considering it?”

“Considering it? Shit, the’d let ol’ Josh Brennan pitch, if he wanted to. That sucker has a career average of .388! Nobody hits like Brennan. His OBP is off the charts. It’s like Ty Cobb came back and moved to Baltimore!”

“So – if they do re-sign him, they’re gonna need a DH.” I was suddenly feeling much better about the trade to the Orioles’ organization.

“You got it. Brennan maybe ain’t never going to be a great – or even an above-average – left fielder, but he’s working at it, and anyway they got Zeke Taylor in centerfield. The Streak can damn near take care of the whole outfield by hisself!”

It made sense. If any club could afford, defensively, to try to hide Josh Brennan in left field, it was the Orioles.

Imagine that!

Maybe I was going to be the Orioles’ future designated hitter!

Dawkins told me where to go to get a uniform and other equipment and instructed me to be at the Louisville ballpark two hours before game time.

Back in my hotel room in the late afternoon, I finally gave it a deep sigh and telephoned Peggy. Too late, Sarah told me. She’d just departed for work.

“Sarah, I got bad news today,” I said.

“What’s the matter? What happened?”

“I’m in Louisville. The Braves have traded me to Norfolk, and I’ve joined my new club here.”

“Louisville?”

“I’m gonna play for Norfolk. The Tides. They’re the Baltimore Orioles’ Triple-A farm.”

“So when will you be back here?” she asked.

“I checked the Tides’ schedule, and they’ve got another series with Gwinnett late in August. But not until then.”

“What about your things? Your clothes? The car...”

“Somebody from the Braves will come by and pick it all up. They’ll have my car keys. If you’ll just show them my stuff, they’ll take care of it.”

“I’ll ... I’ll pack for you.”

“Thanks, Sarah. Listen, I’ll call Peggy tomorrow morning, late enough that she’ll be up.”

“She’s got a class at 2 o’clock,” sarah said.

“Right. I remember. I’ll call around 11 in the morning. Is Tad there now?”

“Yes, he’s right here. Want to talk to him?”

“Yes, please.”

“Hello? ... Marty?”

“Hey, Tad! Listen, something’s happened. The Braves have traded me to Norfolk.”

“You’re in Norfolk?”

“No, I’m in Louisville, Kentucky. The Norfolk club is on the road.”

“So you’re not with the Braves anymore?”

“Afraid not. And when this club finishes its road trip, here in Louisville and after that, in Toledo, I’ll be heading to Norfolk instead of Lawrenceville.”

“So when will you be home? ... Here?”

“We play in Gwinnett in late August, Tad. I’ll be able to see you then.”

“So you can’t live here anymore?”

“Afraid not, Buddy. I sure will miss seeing you every day.”

“Does Mom know?”

“I called to tell her, but I called too late. She’s already gone to work.”

“I was waiting for you to get back Sunday night.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“You and Mom were going to take me to Six Flags on Monday!”

“Yeah, I know, Tad. I hope you and your mom and Sarah can still go.”

“She won’t. Not without you. It’s clear on the other side of Atlanta!”

“I’m sorry, Tad. I hate that I can’t go with you.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Listen, Tad, you know that guy who plays DH for Baltimore ... Josh Brennan? ... Tad?”

But the boy had hung up.

Shit!

I couldn’t reach Peggy at home before morning. Nothing to do but catch a cab and find the local ballpark.

I’d been in the Braves’ organization throughout my three-year pro career, and it felt a little strange, putting on the Norfolk Tides jersey. Before, even when I moved from one minor league club to another, I had always been with guys I knew – guys who were progressing alongside of me in the organization, or at least fellows I’d seen before at the minor league spring training facility in Florida.

Now, my teammates were mostly strangers – a few of their faces brought back vague memories of past competitions. Some of the guys who’d formerly played in the majors had semi-famous faces that looked familiar.

But, for the most part, strangers.

Well, fuck it. Nothing to do but suck it up and play ball.

So I did. As he’d promised, Rick Dawkins had me in the lineup, hitting sixth, as Norfolk’s DH. I went two for four (singles) in our 5-1 loss to the Louisville Bats.

I didn’t sleep very well that night and, needless to say, nobody woke me up with her lips around my aroused cock. Instead, I woke to the snoring of my road roommate, the club’s pitching coach.

At 11 a.m., I called Peggy. She answered, probably expecting the call.

“Hi, Baby,” I said.

“Oh, Marty! Jeez! You got traded!”

“Yeah. I’m sure sorry, Doll. It was very sudden.”

“Norfolk’s a Baltimore farm – right?”

“Yes. They’re in the same Division as Gwinnett. We’ll be playing down there in late August.”

“That’s weeks away!”

“Yeah. I didn’t even get a chance to come back and get my stuff. The club’s going to come to your house and get it. Even the car.”

“God. They act like those games are so important you have to drop everything and get there right away! And it’s just fucking Triple-A!”

“Yes, it’s silly,” I agreed, “but that’s the way it works. You do what they tell you.”

“At least you’re in an American League organization,” Peggy said. “That’s what you always expected, right?”

“Right. Only I didn’t expect Baltimore. They’ve already got the top designated hitter in all of baseball.”

“Maybe they’ll use you in the field,” she said.

I laughed at that. “No chance. The word is out all over – Marty Coggins is a klutz with a glove on.”