Chapter 57

For Brock, the most troublesome thing about Opening Day was the waiting.

Meredith was snuggled up next to him when he awoke at seven a.m. They hadn't gone to bed until after one o'clock so there was no reason for him to wake. Meredith wouldn't move a millimeter for another two hours at least.

But his eyes popped open and that was that. He could lay there restless – and probably arrive at the park with sore ribs or a bruised thigh where Meredith would either elbow him or knee him to get him to lay still. Or he could get up and face the world.

He gave his slumbering sweetie a kiss on the forehead as he slid away from her. As always, she frowned slightly in her sleep whenever his warmth left her side. Predictably, her eyes didn't open and she soon was back in the Land of Nod. She had gotten better at getting out of bed without bloodshed – but not much better.

Brock tempted fate by leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek.

"I love you," he whispered. Meredith's lip twitched slightly. He couldn't tell if it was a small smile or if she was trying to keep the drool from soaking her pillow. He pretended it was a smile.

He spent a little longer than usual in the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when before he exited the bathroom. It wasn't unheard of to find Randi snuggled in with Meredith on some mornings.

Meredith was still alone in bed when he pulled on his underwear and a pair of shorts as silently as he could. He probably could have brought in a marching band and Meredith wouldn't have noticed. But he decided not to tempt fate.

Breakfast was a bowl of cold cereal and a glass of milk. He noticed he had managed to knock 20 whole minutes out of his day. It was still three hours before he could reasonably leave for the ballpark.

He would go in early again. John Milton still had things to show him about the idiosyncrasies of Dodger Stadium. Game time was 5 p.m. – so ASN could broadcast the game in prime time to most of the United States.

The leagues had a new alignment – with Houston moving to the American League – and that had increased the number of interleague games from 18 to 30. An interleague series would be played on every day of the regular season. Brock wasn't sure how he felt about it but his opinion hadn't been solicited. As it was, the Dodgers would open interleague play in two weeks with a game in Oakland. He had faced the Orioles in Spring Training games before but it would be odd to suit up in three new cities this year. Despite his time with the Indians two seasons before, he had never been to Kansas City, Baltimore or Tampa.

He tried to imagine what it would have been like to see Cal Ripken play in Camden Yards – or George Brett in Kaufman Stadium. Tampa hadn't been around long enough to collect a legend yet, although he knew Wade Boggs had collected his 3,000th hit for them. He frowned. He had seen it live on ASN with his Mom.

He wondered how long he'd have to play to get 3,000 hits. Probably until age 50, he decided. He had accumulated 189 hits in his Major League career. He would turn 25 in May. He figured he would be lucky to get 2,000 hits. He considered what might have happened if he had tried to turn pro right out of high school.

He rolled his eyes at the thought. No one in Major League Baseball had ever heard of Brock Miller then. It wasn't until he secured the starting shortstop spot at an ACC school as a freshman that anyone knew his name. It took another year for his past to become widely known. As pro teams took notice of his skills, they naturally did a background check. Most found it extremely odd that Brock Miller didn't exist until he was 16. He had no Social Security number, no birth certificate and no school records until he was a junior in high school.

The first time Brock knew that the pro scouts were interested in him was when Lynn Collingwood called him to let him know that she had been contacted by a security firm researching his past. Brock was immediately on guard, fearing that someone wanted to try to exploit him. It was still his natural reaction in those days. He tended to think the worst of people.

It was his college coach who pulled him aside later in the week to explain what was happening. Teams had come to the coach when they could find out little about the team's sophomore infielder. The coach knew of Brock's history but he put them off until he could speak to his player about what was happening.

Brock was certain the coach was being played by a con artist. It wasn't until a scout from Colorado asked to meet with Brock – in violation of about a dozen NCAA rules – that Brock finally accepted that the coach might be telling him the truth. Still, nothing prepared him for the following June. He had just finished up his degree and was considering what he should do next when the he was approached by Stan Balsam.

It hadn't taken long for portions of Brock's story to circulate around baseball. His history caused some teams to shy away. But his perseverance had made other teams more interested. Cleveland was the most interested of the lot.

Stan explained that because Brock still had a season of eligibility, the agent was willing to act as his unpaid adviser if Brock planned to return to school. Brock figured that was exactly what he'd do but he doubted it would be at Duke. He had been accepted into several graduate programs – including Cal-Berkeley. He wasn't sure if he wanted to try to play baseball while attending grad school. He was certain one or the other – likely both – would suffer. He also didn't figure a low-round draft pick stood much chance of success in the minor leagues.

Stan had told him that he didn't figure Brock would last past the fourth round – a statement that caused Brock to almost choke on his chewing gum. As it was, he barely lasted past the first round. He was the fourth player selected in the second round and Cleveland was offering a signing bonus of $750,000 if he'd give up his last year of eligibility.

He thought about it for about 10 seconds before asking Stan to officially become his agent – and to sign the deal before they changed their mind. A week after he finished classes – and a week before his graduation ceremony – Brock Miller was on a bus in Painesville, Ohio, only a few miles down the road from Cleveland. The Indians had thought enough of him to assign him to their low-A affiliate instead of waiting for Rookie League to open.

It hadn't hurt that the day before Brock signed, the Captains' shortstop had been suspended for 50 games because he was caught using a performance-enhancing drug. He saw Paris and Rome that year: Paris, Ky., on the way to Lexington and Rome, Ga., where the South Atlantic League had a team. He saw Charleston, W.Va., and Charleston, S.C., too. He played well enough that the Indians released their former shortstop when he came back from suspension.

The next year it was Kingston, N.C., for half a year and then Akron, Ohio. The accommodations got better as you got farther up the ladder but none of them would be considered opulent – even through the eyes of some of his teammates who had grown up in dire poverty.

The year after was similar. Brock spent six weeks in Akron to start the season before he was promoted to Class AAA Buffalo. During the year, he was added to the Indians' 40-man roster. He spent part of July and all of September with the club without getting an at-bat. He'd serve as a pinch runner or a defensive replacement but he didn't get to the plate.

Brock got his first taste of Major League Camp the following spring.

He also got a crash-course in failure.

To put it plainly, he was overmatched by Major League-caliber pitching, something his manager had guessed during his earlier stint with the Major League club. Brock had faced some good pitching in the minors and during his Winter League stints. It was nothing compared to the 10 days he spent in the Indians Major League Camp that spring. He didn't get on base until his 12th at-bat and he didn't get a hit until his final appearance with the Big Club. After 10 days, Brock (and his 1-for-19 batting average) was among the first players the Indians reassigned to the Minor League camp.

He was discouraged and disheartened as he moved his belongings to the other side of the facility but his manager put it into perspective. He told Brock that almost everyone struggles the first time in camp. It was no big deal. He had time and he knew what he needed to work on. He told him he had some good at-bats that just weren't successful at-bats. The two would come together for him soon enough, the manager said.

His second season in Buffalo opened a lot of eyes – not just on the Indians but in the community. The Bison were always a huge draw. The city had been considered for an MLB franchise each time the league had expanded in the 1990s but had always came up short. Part of the problem was its proximity to three other Major League cities. Pittsburgh, Toronto and Cleveland all claimed a share of the Buffalo market and all of them expected to be compensated by the league for the loss of revenue a new team might cause.

Given that all three franchises were routinely in the lower half of attendance statistics (some years being outdrawn by the Bison), Brock couldn't figure out why they thought anyone from Buffalo was watching their shitty teams play in the first place. Of course since one of those shitty teams was his employer, he didn't say anything aloud. Instead he threw himself into the community during his free time. He would spend time reading to children at the library or showing up unannounced to visit patients in the hospital. He gave talks to Little Leaguers and served meals at a homeless shelter.

Despite Stan's urgings, Brock never publicized his deeds. He would show up without alerting every media outlet in the tri-state area. If the cameras did show up, he would disappear or point them in someone else's direction. He gave money to the children's oncology unit and to help build a ball field in one of the poorer neighborhoods.

The city loved him – which was one of his goals. He figured his Major League prospects looked murky after his abysmal Spring Training performance. So he wanted to find a place that could be his home if it wasn't going to be in Cleveland.