Chapter 10: That Guy

Tuesday June 21

I came downstairs to run and found my mom and Paul drinking coffee with Melissa.

“Sit,” Mom ordered.

“What was last night about, and what the hell is ‘redneck crazy?’ From what I heard, you may very well be more than my ‘stupid boy,’ and we’ll have to get your head examined.”

Oh, boy!

“Pam basically told me she wanted more out of me. I guess it was my ingrained ‘do the right thing’ upbringing that kicked in. If Pam wants to marry me and we bring up Coby as a couple, I’m willing to do it.”

“What the hell happened to you not being sure you wanted to get married?”

Melissa and Paul seemed to lean back, a little bit afraid to get caught in the crossfire. I did notice that they didn’t get up to leave like I was mentally broadcasting. I guess I really didn’t have any Jedi mind-tricks up my sleeve.

“Back in the fall, Pam wasn’t my favorite person. Looking back, it was her father that clouded my vision, even though I tried not to let him. At the time I felt manipulated and knew that was no way to start a serious relationship,” I explained.

“How is now any different? Can you honestly tell me that if it weren’t for Coby, you would marry Pam? Or for that matter, that you’d marry anyone? Good God, David! Sometimes I wonder if you’re even my kid,” she huffed.

“Dad told me that when I was in first grade they did DNA tests and assured me that you and I are related,” I shot back.

“You little shit. You wanted proof I was your mother?”

“Wouldn’t you? I mean seriously, talk about redneck crazy. Sometimes you take the cake.”

“Listen here, young man. You are not distracting me from why we’re having this talk,” she said as she glared at me.

It was worth a try.

“To answer your question, I’m still a teenager. I have zero desire to get married other than what is best for Coby and by extension Pam. If having her in his life on a daily basis gives him a better life, then so be it.”

“Didn’t your uncle have the free milk and cow talk with you?” Mom asked.

I don’t think Melissa was used to anyone like my mom, because she choked on her coffee. The story went that if you were receiving free milk, i.e. sex, why buy the cow?

“I ... I ... I don’t even know what to say to that,” I stammered.

Mom just shook her head and sighed.

“David, I love you to death, but you’ve got to get a handle on this need for grand romantic gestures. I know your heart was in the right place last night. You were just lucky Pam has more common sense than you do. What you did last night tells me that we have to establish a new rule. Before you make any relationship decisions, you have to come to me and talk about it first.”

I just blinked at her. Did she just say that? I did what Dawsons do when confronted with a situation like this: I went quiet.

“Don’t you clam up on me,” she threatened. “I know you think you can make your own decisions and you can tattle to your dad, but I’m serious about this. It’s obvious you’re not talking to Tami enough, so I’m going to have to step in. Last night showed me that you have yet to learn to think things through. You’re letting your heart make your decisions, not your head.”

“Is that so bad?” I asked.

Mom’s mouth pinched and then she leaned back. I could see her force herself to relax. I don’t think either one of us wanted to argue about last night, so I came clean.

“I knew it was a mistake when I said it ... well, ‘mistake’ might be too strong a word. You know that if it came down to it, I would’ve done what Greg did and stepped up and taken responsibility,” I admitted.

“I’m sure you would have, but you’re younger and in a different financial situation than your brother was, and still is. I know that isn’t fair, but it’s the truth. You also have your father’s and my support,” Mom reminded me.

“Greg also has your support,” I shot back.

“The difference is they decided they wanted to get married. We backed him on that,” Mom said.

“Mom, I don’t want to argue about this. I said what I said, and at the time, I was ready to back those words up. Pam decided that she likes our current arrangement, so nothing has changed.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about you.”

“And Mom...” I began and looked her in the eyes. “I’m not coming to you for relationship advice.”

“I know. I thought I’d try, though. I love you,” she said, to end the discussion.

“I love you too.”

“Anyone up for pancakes?” Melissa asked.

“I could eat,” Paul said with a smile.

We had morning practice in the stadium. My coaches had spread out across the other baseball fields to scout the other teams. Coach Mallei, our pitching coach, called me to join him in the bullpen.

“I understand you pitch some. I’d like to see what you have in case we get into a jam.”

I warmed up and showed him what I could do. He didn’t have anything bad to say, but I could tell I wasn’t going to make it to the majors as a pitcher. I didn’t think much about it until I was called over by Coach Nautilus, our infield coach.

“I want to see how you do at different infield positions.”

It seems someone had opened his big mouth and said he was willing to do whatever the coaches needed. Coach Nautilus was surprised when I had infield and first-baseman gloves. I’d already figured out that first base wasn’t really the best option for me. I could play it in a pinch.

I, of course, excelled at shortstop, because that had always been my position up until this year. Second base just felt backward. I was sure I could play it just fine, but I was more comfortable at short.

The position they worked me at the longest was third. I was surprised when I did well there. With my arm strength and reflexes, I was able to do a credible job.

They call it the ‘hot corner’ for a reason. At short and second, you can play a little further back because you don’t need to worry about bunts.

For me, it wasn’t as challenging as short, as far as turning double plays. The key to third was that you had to react even faster to a hit ball. Since third is played closer to the plate, the ball is on you quicker. Right-handed batters also tend to hit the ball harder towards third than up the middle.

At the end of practice, Coach Kingwood pulled me aside.

“What did you think of this morning’s practice?”

“It was good. I haven’t really pitched much this year, so I don’t think Coach Mallei was too impressed. I felt I did best at short and third, but if I needed to, I could fill in at the other two positions.”

“I think that was a good assessment and about what my coaches told me. Are you comfortable at the other outfield positions?” he asked.

“I’d be game to try, but with my range and arm, I think I’d serve you better in center.”

“I agree,” he said, and then paused to consider his next words. “Most of the players here have been at one position all their life and can play it well. Someone like you can give a manager versatility in his lineup options. I was talking to your coaches, and they told me that you bat leadoff for your high school team. That tells me you’re flexible enough to bat up and down the order.

“The reason I had you work at different positions today was because when we finally get down to the twenty-man roster, someone like you can make it feel like a twenty-two man roster. If you can spot-pitch when needed and play both infield and outfield, it’s like picking up two extra players.

“You caught everyone’s eye with your bat yesterday. That was some of the best hitting I’ve seen in a long time. Moose told me that you thrive when the spotlight comes on. That would explain why you excel at football, and I think you’d agree you’re doing well here. What I need you to do is to trust me,” Coach Kingwood said.

“Why’s that, Coach?”

“I may ask you to take on some roles or tasks that won’t put you in the best light. If you’re uncomfortable with that, you need to let me know. I would understand if you were concerned that you might not make the forty-man cut and wanted to play it safe and just play center field.”

“What I said the first day still holds true: I’m a team player and will do whatever it takes for us to win. If that means I have to play out of position, I’ll do it even if it costs me a spot. Besides, if this doesn’t work out, I’m sure I would be okay playing football,” I said to convince him.

He gave me a sly smile.

“Don’t worry. You’re doing just fine playing baseball. Now go join the others at lunch.”

Paul met me before I went into the tent where lunch was being served. He handed me an insulated bag that had my food in it.

“Your mom dropped this off. I guess Melissa let her use her kitchen.”

“Thanks. What are they serving today?” I asked.

“Pizza and chips.”

“I guess it could be worse,” I said, and left him to find my teammates.

“There he is. Looks like you got in trouble today, with having to go talk to Coach Kingwood,” Daz said.

“Yeah, he isn’t sure where to play me,” I said, as I opened my bag and started to pull out my lunch.

Mom had poached chicken breasts, steamed broccoli and made faux potato salad with cauliflower. I also found an apple.

“Where did you get that?” Dave asked.

“My mom and host mom made it. I went to a sports clinic where they talked to me about the importance of good nutrition and supplements for athletes. I try to follow their advice and eat mainly a high-protein, low-carb diet for the most part.”

“I thought it was just me. I do the same. Do you think you could talk them into helping out a fellow teammate?” Lucas asked.

To reinforce his plea, he held up his slice of pizza. It was limp and nasty-looking. Our New Yorker, Blake, was particularly unhappy with the soggy slice.

“That looks limper than David’s dick,” Mitch quipped.

“You can’t say that,” Dave cried foul.

“Careful, Mitch, or I’ll have to pull out something about your mama,” I teased.

‘Your mama’ jokes were old but still funny.

“Maybe we can pool our money and talk some of the host moms into cooking for us. I know mine is a great cook,” Nick said.

“I know this is free food, but it makes me a little queasy,” Daz said as he patted the pizza with a napkin to show all the grease. “I’d be willing to pitch in some money for a decent lunch. Nick’s right, my host mom is a great cook. I told my mother that I might just stay because the food is so good.”

“What do the rest of you think?” I asked.

Everyone agreed. We only had three more days of lunches. Somehow, I was put in charge of organizing it and collecting money. They all had been given money for the trip by their parents, so I collected cash for some decent food.

We played the Stars in the first game today. My family showed up early, so I pulled Melissa and my mom off to the side and told them what we wanted to do about lunches. Melissa was one of the key members of the host family program for USA Baseball. She was shocked that our lunches were so bad, nutritionally. She and my mom planned to talk to some of the other host parents about the situation. I gave them the money I’d collected, and Mom told me that if nothing else she would either make something or have tomorrow’s lunch catered.

I went back and told the team we were set for tomorrow’s lunch, which made them happy.

We warmed up and then gave the field to the Stars so they could do the same. By now, the crowd had begun to build. They were playing some good music on the sound system, so I was bopping my head when I slipped over to talk to my family.

“Unca David, dance,” Kyle said.

What are uncles for if not to entertain their niece and nephews? I did a few of the dance moves I’d been teaching them. Mac put her arms up for me to pick her up. I didn’t think about it and just pulled her into my arms as I danced around.

“Mac dance,” she said.

If we were going to do that, I knew Kyle would want to dance also. I grabbed him and put them onto the field with me. The next song came on and they began to shake their booties. I looked up and the crowd was up dancing with us.

“Dance off!” I called.

I pointed at the Stars batboys and motioned them over, and I got M.E. and Bob’s attention. They came over and joined me.

“Let’s get the crowd going. We’re going to see who the best dancers are, Pride or the Stars,” I said, laying down the gauntlet.

We waited for the next song to come on and Kyle and Mac showed them how it was done. I admit I thought it was hilarious to watch the two of them dance. Kyle was a total free spirit and tended to just bop around. Mac was serious and really took to booty-shaking. Well, as serious as an almost-three-year-old can be.

The batboys had fun, too. Bob wasn’t too sure he wanted to do it until I did. I knew he would want to emulate me. M.E. was a teenage girl; I’d yet to meet one who didn’t like to dance. The other two batboys did it to show they had team spirit.

Coach Kingwood broke up our dance party to remind us we had a baseball game to play. I gave Mac and Kyle back to Greg and ran to the dugout.

“I can’t believe you did that. You’re just weird,” Allard told me.

“You can’t say that,” Dave said, right on cue.

That made everyone laugh even harder.

Right before the game, Moose gave us his impressions of the Stars. They had a big first baseman who could hit the crap out of a fastball. Everyone was thinking he might be a first-round pick in next year’s Major League Baseball draft. Austin was pitching for us tonight. The Florida kid had some nasty breaking stuff.

“I wouldn’t throw him anything straight. Make him prove he can hit your curveball,” Moose coached.

“He’s been their main offense so far. If we can shut him down, we should be good,” Coach Mallei said.

“What about the rest of them?” Austin asked.

“They’re all good, but you would expect that. You can’t take an at-bat off. If you pitch like everyone says you can, then you should be fine,” Moose said, and then he was off to watch our next opponent.

It was our turn to be the home team. They apparently rotated that every other game. That meant we took the field first. I trotted out to center field and inspected the crowd. It seemed like each one just got bigger. It looked like the stadium was half full. Dave told us that normally there were maybe fifty people in the stands for a game. I guess the Dawson effect was happening even in North Carolina.

We also had to contend with the weather; they had predicted a shower this afternoon. You could see clouds starting to form off in the distance. The hope was we could get the game in before it rained.

It was apparent from the start that the Stars manager wanted his hitters to get a first called strike on them before they took a swing. I personally thought that was insane because you might not get a good pitch to hit if you didn’t go up to bat with a hitter’s mentality. Sitting on pitches just reduces the number of chances for you to get on base. You might want to sit on the first pitch if you had a wild pitcher and you wanted to force him to throw strikes. The only other possible reason that occurred to me would be if you had a batter that was overaggressive and you were trying to teach him patience. Neither reason seemed to be valid in this case, though.

By the second inning, Austin had figured it out and was taking full advantage. If he didn’t have to worry about them swinging until the first called strike, he could be up early in the count with each batter. Our first three batters had gone down in order. Austin took care of their first six without a problem. Their big first baseman looked completely human when he was faced with a steady diet of curveballs. Moose had come through.

I was up first in the second inning. Before I went out, Coach Kingwood took me aside.

“I want to see you bunt. Either push it up the first base line or drag it down the third. Force them to quit playing you so deep. Once you’re on, I want to see you continue the pressure and steal second.”

He’d told me to trust him, so I planned to do as he said. The Stars outfielders were playing deep, and both second and short were standing outside the dirt a couple of feet on the outfield grass. Their third baseman was also deep, but he was on the edge. First base was playing at normal depth.

At first, I thought I would drag the ball down third; then I thought again. If I pushed it towards first, the first baseman or pitcher would have to field it. The second baseman would have to cover first. If he was playing that far back, I thought I could outrun him.

I looked down to the third-base coach to get the sign. Coach Way clapped his hands without bothering to give me even a fake sign.

“You’re the man! Get a hit!” he called out.

I stepped into the batter’s box and made a show of digging in. I rolled my shoulders to loosen up, held my bat in front of me, and let my finger dance against the grip. It looked like I was gaining my focus. I took a deep breath, let it out, and then faced the pitcher.

I could tell on the release of the ball that it was going to be low and outside. I let it go and the umpire called it a ball.

“Good eye!” Coach Way called out from third, as he clapped. “You’re the man!”

The next pitch was low and outside again, but this time it was hittable. I slid my right hand up the barrel of the bat and held it with my fingers. This allowed the contact of the bat to push it into my hand, sort of like a shock absorber. This deadened the ball but still gave it enough velocity that it wouldn’t be easy for the catcher to simply run it down and make the play.

I was off like a shot and concentrated on running as I’d been taught. The second baseman about fell on his face when he saw me bunt, so there was no one for the first baseman to throw the ball to.

“Good job,” Coach Nautilus, our first-base coach, said as he patted my butt.

I didn’t take a very big lead, because I wanted to watch their pitcher. He hadn’t had to pitch out of the stretch yet, and I wanted to see if he used a slide step to home or not. I also wanted to see if he had any tells. He looked over his shoulder to see what I was up to, and then seemed to ignore me. Did he not just see me run to first? He lifted his foot to go home and I took off. So much for my plans.

Nick, our right fielder, took a mighty swing to protect me. This kept the catcher from starting his throwing motion to second too soon. He had to worry about being hit with a bat. Their catcher knew his business and threw a rocket to second, and I was a split second too slow to the bag and was out. If I’d taken a little bigger lead, I would have won that one.

I just dusted myself off and trotted to the dugout. Coach Kingwood stopped me.

“Do you know what you did wrong?” he asked.

“Bigger lead and wait for at least one pitch to see what he does.”

“Yep. Good effort, though. Keep it up.”

In the next inning, the second batter hit a solid ball straight back to our pitcher. Austin caught it with his pitching hand out of reflex. He was able to throw the runner out, but it was apparent he was done for the day. The trainers wanted to err on the side of caution and ice it down and not risk him further injuring it.

Daz was our middle reliever, so I expected him to come in. I was wrong. Coach Kingwood motioned for me to come into pitch. I trotted in and he handed me the ball.

“They’ll allow you extra pitches to warm up. I just want you to get us out of this inning. The extra time will give Daz a chance to get fully warmed up and be ready to go next inning,” he explained.

“This is that flexibility that you talked about earlier.”

“Yep. You okay?” Coach Kingwood asked.

“Ask me that when this is done,” I said.

The only good news for me was I faced their ninth batter, hopefully their weakest hitter. While I warmed up, I tried my curveball and it didn’t curve. I smiled when the poor kid in the on-deck circle winced. His coach had told him that I wasn’t one of the regular pitchers. I would be worried, too.

“Just throw hard,” Trent, our catcher, called out.

The umpire deemed I’d warmed up enough. I held up my hand.

“Sir, may I speak to my catcher for a moment? I don’t even know what the signs are,” I said.

Trent trotted out and I could tell he was trying not to smile. I held my glove up and waved at Bob.

“Get my infield glove,” I yelled to the dugout.

I turned to face center field so they couldn’t read my lips.

“Do you think I should put him in the dirt on the first one?” I asked.

“I think that’s exactly what you should do. They’ll think you’re totally inept at that point.”

Bob traded my gloves and I got ready to pitch. I threw my non-breaking curveball. Their batter was ready for it and I wasn’t worried about hitting him. I decided to throw him some heat because I expected his first thought would be to get out of the way of a wayward pitch. If he was leaning back, he would never have a chance.

I hadn’t really uncorked one yet, either. Several things combined to improve my arm strength and flexibility: the weight program, my daily runs with the Bo staff, and just throwing either a baseball or football several thousand times. It caused my fastball to creep up into the low 90s. It also sounded different when it was thrown. You could hear it displace the air, and then when it hit the catcher’s glove there was a satisfying smack.

I guessed correctly, and the young man swung too late. The only other pitch I had confidence in was my split-finger fastball. For all intents and purposes, it looked like a fastball but would drop at the last moment.

Their batter wasn’t about to let another fastball get by him. I had an inner smile when he zeroed in on the pitch and took a massive cut, only to top the ball as it dropped. It rolled right to Joe at second and he made an easy play to get us out of the inning.

We picked up three runs the next inning. Daz came in and pitched until the last inning when Kale took over to close it out. We won 3–0, the same as our record after three games. We also beat the rain, so it was a good afternoon.

I just shook my head when they awarded me the win. They have some funny rules when it came to awarding a win to a pitcher. If you start, you have to go so many innings, which can vary by your level of play or league. They were using a five-inning rule. In my case, I was the reliever who came in and got us out of the inning. Our next at-bat put us up by enough to win the game. At that point, the scorer has the option of awarding that reliever the win or not. It depends on whether they think the pitcher was effective. Don’t ask me what that means. I guess my one out was enough. I personally would’ve given the win to Daz because he faced the most batters, but what do I know.

Swimming was out, so I invited my family to my host family’s house so I could spend time with the boys. The only family member missing was Duke. He’d gotten to go to the farm with my grandma. She said he was a little confused about where he was supposed to sleep at night, but was good company. I could imagine that horse crawling onto her lap for some loving.