Chapter 87

Meredith and the rest of the crew were waiting for the players in hotel bar at the Marriott. They all wanted to lift a drink to the team's success.

Meredith was slightly tipsy when she and Brock made the way up to their suite. The players had all had a couple of drinks – ranging from a vodka gimlet for Driesbach to beer for most of the rest of them.

"I like lime juice," Driesbach said as he shrugged. "So what?"

The other patrons weren't particularly happy about drinking with the Dodgers. A few came over for autographs or pictures but most were content to frown their displeasure.

"Hardcore fans," Fred remarked as they exited.

"A lot of them are probably fans who have waited for 15 years for this," Brock remarked. "This city is hungry for a championship. God, if Cleveland State makes it to the NCAA basketball tournament it's a huge event. I almost hate to ruin that for them."

Al chuckled.

"Almost," he repeated as they boarded the elevator. Esmi had drank more than anyone and laughed uproariously.

The bus to the Progressive Field the next day was quiet as the players focused on the coming game.

Neither team planned to bring another starter back on short rest – although the reasons were opposite. The Indians' Stan Petrosky was only 24 years old. He had already thrown more innings than the team wanted him to throw for the season. Coming back after three days' rest was out of the question. It was a question of his long-term value that precluded it.

The Dodgers had Javier Jimenez up next in the rotation. A dozen years older than Petrosky, he was out of gas. His velocity was well below the point of competence and his control and movement worsened as his arm and body tired. He probably wouldn't last an inning if LaCross called on him only three days after his last start.

Instead, both went with their fourth starter – Andrew Bergman for the Dodgers and Bill Stein for the Tribe.

It was evident from the start that Bergman was the better choice.

He held Cleveland in check for six solid innings, scattering eight hits and allowing only one run. Los Angeles got on Cleveland's starter in the second inning. Brock hit his second homer in two days, a two-run shot, and the Dodgers led 4-0 when LaCross turned the game over to the bullpen.

Once again, the Dodgers relief pitchers were up to the challenge. The Indians got on the board in the eighth but the Dodgers walked away with a 5-1 win and would head back to Los Angeles with a 3-2 lead in the World Series but without one of the key cogs. Cesar Davis, the starting right fielder, had banged his knee against the wall chasing a foul ball and had exited the game in the seventh. There was no structural damage, but the knee was swollen. LaCross was left to decide whether to replace Davis on the roster or hope his outfielder healed quickly enough to return to the lineup.

Still, the team was upbeat on the plane home. Even the media session after the game had done nothing to quell the team's enthusiasm. They were heading back to Dodger Stadium – where they won almost 60 percent of their games during the season – and they only had to win one out of two.

The flight from Cleveland left at midnight and the team arrived in Los Angeles at two a.m. local time. Brock was happy to be in his own bed, even if Meredith wouldn't return until that afternoon. The auxiliary members would not fly home until the next morning.

In fact, Brock was looking forward to spending a few hours alone. There had been someone with him since the team had left St. Louis. He hadn't been able to sit by himself and reflect on how things were going in his life. He had nothing to complain about but he still liked to have some time by himself.

He slept soundly for almost seven hours and awoke feeling refreshed. He grabbed a glass of orange juice and went to sit outside.

The Dodgers were in the driver's seat. Neither team was obviously better than the other. Each team had won two games in a row during the Series. The Series was not over by a long shot. Still, it seemed as though the Series was the Dodgers' to win. That felt good to Brock.

He didn't know if anyone else felt the same. He figured that he probably shouldn't feel that way either. The early November sun was rising and it reflected off the pool, making the outside temperature seem warmer than it really was. Brock reveled in his solitude while it lasted.

It was just after two p.m. when Meredith and Randi arrived home. They were accompanied by the females who lived behind them. Melanie and Susan were on vacation. Emmy and Jen had elected to skip their Monday classes. Zoe had switched her days off so she could attend the games in Cleveland. Randi's shooting schedule didn't resume until the next morning.

They were all laughing and joking. The quietness of the house was shattered but Brock couldn't help but smile at their exuberance.

Meredith came in first and made her way to Brock. Even though she had seen him right after the game, she had missed him. She gave him a long hug and pulled him down for a kiss.

"We want to go out to dinner tonight," Meredith said. "Are you up for it?"

"So long as we're not out late," Brock replied. "Remember, I have to be at the stadium by one o'clock tomorrow. The game starts at five o'clock."

"We'll be home early," Meredith promised. "We're not talking about going to a club or anything. Just a nice dinner. Esmi and Mandy are making arrangements but we're pretty sure we can get a table just about anywhere just by mentioning your name."

"She got recognized at the airport," Susan explained. "We were going through LAX and someone stopped her and asked her to wish you good luck in Game 6."

Meredith blushed slightly.

"It's the first time anyone actually knew it was me," she admitted. "It was pretty cool."

"Give it a year and people will be stopping me with messages for you," Brock said with a smile. "Sure, so long as we get home by 10 or so, it sounds like a good idea."

Almost all the team members attended the dinner at a Beverly Hills restaurant. The owner was ecstatic to have the most talked-about celebrities in Los Angeles dining along with the actors, actresses and socialites who frequented his establishment.

Even Jim LaCross and his coaching staff made a brief appearance. They didn't stay for dinner but instead said a few words and departed.

But the words LaCross had to impart left a mark.

"Do not start to celebrate," LaCross warned. "The Indians are a great team – as good as we are. If you think you've won this Series, you've lost it. You can celebrate tomorrow night. Just remember that."

The players ate their dinner and headed home. They vowed to be ready for Game 6.

But it didn't matter. The Indians came out playing like a team on the verge of elimination. They got to Javier Jimenez early and piled it on against a series of relief pitchers.

When the dust settled, Cleveland walked away with a 9-0 victory to even the Series and force a deciding game.

Brock was subdued despite getting two hits in the game. The Indians pitcher – Stan Petrosky – had allowed only six hits in eight solid innings. The excitement the team had felt on the plane home and in the restaurant the night before was completely forgotten.

There was no rest for Brock even after the game ended. NBN had aired the segment on his early life prior to Game 6 and the reporters had watched it on television in the media lounge (still called the press box by some of the old-school writers such as Ed Harvey).

Brock had not seen the segment so he had no idea of how it had been edited. He had no idea of where the network had chosen to focus. The other media representatives in the interview room were only too happy to fill him in, most of them hoping for an explosion that would vault their station to the top of the ratings or their newspaper to the top of the circulation charts.

The questions started before Brock had managed to fully clear the doorway. There were too many voices to understand what they were asking but he heard enough keywords to understand the gist of their comments.

He started to take his seat on the raised platform but he realized that the other players in his group – Fred Hartman and Udo Jergens – had stopped when the loud clamor of voices broke out.

"Ask your questions of these guys first," Brock said wearily. The room was silent – despite the fact that Udo was scheduled to pitch the following day. Finally, Ed Harvey broke the silence.

"Udo, the team announced that you are the scheduled starter for tomorrow's game," he said. "What are your thoughts right now?"

"Right now?" Udo asked. "I'm wondering what in the hell happened that you guys started to yell questions at Brock before he could even sit down. My primary concern is for him, if you want to know the truth."

"NBN ran a somewhat inflammatory pregame piece about him," Ed said, shaking his head sadly. "I think everyone is interested in judging his reaction."

"I'll give you my reaction," Fred said angrily. He pointed directly to the NBN camera. "You people are pieces of shit. I don't know what happened to Brock 15 years ago. You know what? I don't care what happened to him back then. I know who he is right now. You got your jump in ratings. Well so fucking what? A week from now you'll be back to being the fourth network in a three-network league. And I'll tell you something else: You're ratings in Los Angeles won't be worth shit. For every point you gained in Peoria or Little Rock, you'll lose two in the second-largest market in the country. You were willing to scrape the scabs off old wounds for that? Fuck you all. I will not be a party to this stupidity any longer."

Udo nodded his agreement.

"Well, Ed," he said. "I guess I have a new answer for you. Right now, I'm so pissed off at all members of the media that I'm done answering questions. Fred and I will sit here for a few more minutes but don't bother asking us anything. I guess no one will know if I'm scared to death or excited as hell. We warned you. We expect you people to police yourselves. If you won't, then don't expect us to put up with it."

"It's fine, guys," Brock said. "I knew it was coming and I knew it wouldn't be flattering. I'll make a brief statement and then I'm done with it. I haven't seen the NBN segment and I probably won't. I did an extended interview with Mike Carver prior to Game 4 when it became obvious that the network put their ratings ahead common decency. In that interview, I discussed the situation with Mr. Carver in detail. If the network chose not to use it, there is nothing I can do about it. I suspected from the list of questions he was given that the segment would be more about castigating me for saving a young woman from rape and possibly death than it would be about discussing the relevance on my life. I'm not surprised that NBN sunk to the lowest level possible. As you can see, I can rely upon my teammates and my friends for support. I don't care what NBN – or any of you – say about me."

He looked around the room and saw many members of the assembled media looking at their shoes. Those who knew anything of the details of Brock's past were stunned that NBN had chosen to focus the brunt of the story on how it affected the city and county where it had occurred. There was only 30 seconds of Brock's interview used – where he said if he had his way, he'd burn the county to the ground.

"Uh, Brock," Ed Harvey said cautiously. "Do you mind if I ask one follow-up question?"

Brock closed his eyes and shifted in chair.

"Go ahead, Ed," he said finally. "But let's make this the last one."

Ed Harvey nodded.

"Were you present on the field when Tara Wyatt confronted Brett Corday?" he asked.

"Uh, no," Brock said, looking around at Fred and Udo to see if they knew what he was talking about. Both looked back at him blankly.

"Perhaps I can fill you in," Ed said, his voice a little firmer now. "During Ms. Corday's live interview, Tara Wyatt shoved Stan Petrosky aside. She called Ms. Corday a four-letter word starting with 'C' and rhyming with 'runt' and then slapped her face. Before the network could cut the feed, she told the viewers they should bombard the network with angry calls and e-mails because the entire pregame story was a crock of, uh, well, she said 'absolute fucking bullshit.' Mike Carver apologized on the air and said the network had chosen to edit the segment he shot with you to use only the worst moment. He said he was embarrassed and he walked off before the game started."

Brock let out a long breath and closed his eyes again.

"I wanted to focus on baseball," he said sadly. "This was supposed to be about the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Cleveland Indians – about the cities and about their fans. The fact that the network made it about me is bad enough. But the fact that I'm sitting here and talking about this – that my teammates have to put up with this – 20 hours before the biggest game of our lives makes it worse. I foolishly thought if I gave the network what they wanted, they'd let the truth guide their story. I should have known that honesty doesn't sell advertising. Companies like NBN make their money with lies and half-truths. Why should their reporting be any different?"

"Because it should be!" a female voice said from the back. Tara Wyatt pushed her way to the front and stood before her colleagues. "Because it God-damned well should be different. None of us in this room is any better than NBN. I've done it. I've sandbagged someone to get a reaction. Ed, can you say you haven't?"

Ed Harvey looked downward but shook his head.

"Never like that," he said softly.

"No, never like that," Tara said. "This is called the 'media room.' We call ourselves 'journalists.' Both are lies. This is the 'ambush room' and we should call ourselves 'exploiters.' What NBN did today was unconscionable. I hope to hell that everyone heard what I said but in case they didn't, I'll say it again. What they aired before the show was absolute fucking bullshit. I lived through those days. I know what happened that day. I know what the people in Wilkins are like – because before I grew the hell up, I was just like them. I took whatever I wanted and left someone else to pay the freight. I lied and cheated because that was how it was done down there. And that hasn't changed one God-damned bit. The whiny little bitch they interviewed was Tom Anderson's mistress. NBN didn't fill anyone in on that fact and you can bet that money changed hands before she appeared on camera.

"But anyone who listened to the radio broadcast knows – because I told them. That woman wasn't credible. She didn't lose her home because property taxes increased. She lost her home because the guy she was fucking was in prison for trying to railroad Brock. And Lafayette High School? Don't get me started on those jerk-offs. Brock had been out of prison only a few months before a football game brought him back down to Wilkins. Those assholes gave him a varsity jacket and told him they hoped it would make everything better."

She turned to stare directly at the NBN interviewer, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"It didn't make anything better," she continued. "NBN made it seem as though Brock was the sole reason Lewis County dried up and blew away. That's bullshit! The county is gone because the corrupt men they allowed to run it are in prison. Maybe they thought Brock should have just accepted his fate and let them live in peace.

"I'll tell you this. I know what Brock Miller was like when the truth came out. I watched the man you see in front of you today emerge from the remnants the people in Lewis County left behind. He had the guts to do what he needed to do to make his life better. If the poor dumb bastards in Wilkins don't have that, too fucking bad.

"There are two sympathetic figures from this whole ordeal – the young woman it happened to and the young man who saved her from a fate worse than death and then death itself. Anyone else that God-awful woman tried to paint as injured are just too fucking stupid or too fucking lazy to get off their asses and work to make things better."

She turned to start to make her way out of the room but stopped suddenly.

"Oh, and I mean what I said about Brett Corday," she added. "She is a cunt and the next time I see her I'll knock her fucking teeth down her throat if she even looks at me. You make sure that gets broadcast because I don't want it to be a surprise to her when she lands on her ass."

Brock watched as Tara walked right past the stunned league media coordinator and through the player's only entrance.

"See what I mean about having friends who care about me," Brock said the stunned room.

Tara Wyatt wasn't the only person irate about what NBN had aired. Even those who only heard about it secondhand were pissed. The networks phone lines had been jammed with complaints starting 30 seconds into the four-minute segment and it only worsened from there.

Two major advertisers – both of whom employed Brock Miller as their spokesperson – pulled ads from the network. It was worse for the local affiliates in Los Angeles and Buffalo, N.Y. By the time the next morning rolled around, neither had enough paid commercials to get them through the day.

Brock had expected to hear that Tara had been fired from ASN for her outbursts. Instead, the company's ombudsman issued a statement saying that while the network didn't exactly agree with having their on-air personalities interrupt live broadcasts from a competing station, she understood the reasoning behind it and she applauded Tara's stance on the facts.

As a punishment, the network pulled Tara from Game 7 broadcasting duties but announced her one-day suspension would be with pay.

The others in Brock's circle of friends were just as irate as Tara. Word filtered down the stands by the end of the second inning of Game 6. Susan buried her head in hands and started to cry. Meredith shifted over and put her arms around Susan. Melanie and Jennifer had seen Susan's reaction but were farther away than Meredith. They decided Merie might be the best one to deal with things – because if Susan needed to be told off, Meredith was the one who would do it.

"I'm sorry you had to relive that," Meredith said softly.

"I don't care about me," Susan said. "It's him. Why did they have to do that to him? He's put himself out there for me a thousand times. He's always put everyone else ahead of himself. Why didn't they focus on that? They could have done a story on what a great guy he is. They could have done it on the storybook romance you two have. They could have picked a thousand things to televise and they picked that. It just kills me that I've hurt him again."

"You've never hurt him," Meredith said consolingly.

"You have no idea," Susan retorted. "Every single thing I've ever done in my life was solely calculated to make me look good – if not to him then to someone else. I have never done a single thing in my life to make him happy."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," Meredith replied. "Brock has a thousand stories of the fun things you and he would do. He can't tell a story without starting it, 'This one time me and Suze were... ' doing something or the other. He can't talk about you without smiling."

"That's because of him, not me," Susan said, shaking her head. "It's because of the person he is. You know the only times I've ever seen him truly happy in my whole life? It's when he's with you. You are what makes him happy, Meredith."

"Sometimes," Meredith agreed. "And sometimes I make him crazy. It's the same way with all of us. There are times when he'll see you say or do something and he just beams. He's proud of you. I hope you know that. He's proud of all of you. And he's right. You saved his life. You and Jen and Tara and Mel, you saved him from becoming nothing more than a shell of the man he's become. He loves you for that and, well, so do I. I'm sorry you and I haven't really become friends."

"I'm sorry, too," Susan replied. "It's more my fault that yours. When we all went out to the club after the Washington game, I guess it was the first time I really understood. I've seen him when he was dating the rest of us. I never saw the look on his face that I see on it when he thinks of you. The thing is, I wasn't sad about it. I was happy. I'm happy because he is finally happy. He has finally found the person he deserves to live the rest of his life with. I, uh... , I didn't plan to tell you all this in public. But I planned to tell you after everything settled down. I want nothing but the best for him – and you're the best for him."

"Look at that," Meredith said with a smile as she tightened her hug on Susan. "We finally found something we agree on. I promise you, Susan, I will never hurt him again."

"And I promise you that I will be just as supportive of you as I am of him," Susan pledged.

Meredith didn't see the telecast because she was at the game. She refused to watch the videos that sprouted up on the internet – despite NBN doing anything it could to get them pulled down because of copyright violations. She turned off her phone before the game ended and didn't plan to turn it back on – maybe ever.

Brock's friends made certain he didn't dwell on what had been broadcast. In fact, they were more worried about it than he was. Oh, he figured, if the Series had ended in Game 6, he probably would have been pissed off but he had other things to worry about.

The deciding game of a championship series is like nothing else – at least that's what Brock had always heard. It didn't matter if it was the NHL, the NBA, Major League Baseball or a youth soccer tournament.

If the nerves Brock felt on the way to the stadium before Game 7 were any indication of what the rest of the team was feeling, he hoped the medical staff had a lot of antacids handy.

For one of the few times since his return to the active roster, Brock wasn't among the first players to arrive. The others had given up trying to occupy their minds with something else and had shown up early, too. Several members of the team were pacing the floors and a few sat in front of their lockers staring out into space.

Meredith had tried her best to stress to Brock how important it was to be loose going into the game. But the guys he saw in front of him were wound tighter than a watch spring.

He saw Al Perez walk out of Jim LaCross' office and take in the scene. The older player saw Brock standing in the doorway and motioned him over. LaCross had warned him to keep Brock focused on the game and not on anything else.

"Skip wants us to do something to get the guys to relax," Al told him.

"Like what?" Brock wondered.

"I was hoping you'd have some ideas," Al admitted. "Christ, I'm as nervous as anyone else."

"Me, too," Brock confessed. "The only thing I can think of is some of the stupid shit we do in Spring Training to kill some time."

"Might be worth a shot," Al said. "You and I will pick teams."

Anyone walking into the Dodgers' clubhouse before the start of Game 7 of the World Series would have been surprised to see a group of guys playing floor hockey with a pair of rolled up socks and plastic Whiffle ball bats. As teams of three battled each other, Brock, Al or Josh (whoever wasn't playing at the time) stood off the side and set odds on anything ranging from the next team to score to when someone would get pissed off and pick up the socks to throw at an opponent.

When Al, whose size gave him an advantage, got an open shot at the goal – two water bottles on the floor about five feet apart – Brock let him go past and then pulled the outfielder's shorts down to his ankles. Al still scored but everyone got a laugh because he was wearing boxer shorts with a smiley face on the butt.

It was all staged – and everyone probably knew it was staged – but it gave them a moment to get their mind of what was only a few hours away and a chance to work off some of their nervous energy. Only Udo, who was pitching again, and Cesar, whose knee was still stiff, were left off the teams. After more than 45 minutes of horseplay, Jim LaCross came out of his office with the other coaches and the team got down to business.

As had been the case for every home game during the series, the upper and middle decks were filled by the time the team came out for infield practice. There were a few empty seats in the lower section of the stadium but even the celebrities seemed to realize that this was the biggest thing to hit Los Angeles in November in a long time.

Brock was walking beside Fred and Matt as they came out of the dugout. The fans had started to cheer when Al, Josh and Wade had led the team onto the field. When Brock's head cleared the dugout steps, the cheering dwindled for a moment before it clapping of hands erupted even louder than before. He glanced around and saw that almost everyone in the stadium – even those wearing Indians garb – was on his feet and clapping.

Matt had expected some outpouring of appreciation so he stopped where he was and began clapping his hands along with the crowd. Fred followed suit and so did the other players as they exited the locker room. Those on the field turned around and joined in.

Brock saw several members of the Cleveland franchise, including J.C. Michaels, standing on the dugout steps clapping, too. It caught him so much by surprise that he felt tears in his eyes. There was no other noise than the sound of almost 50,000 people standing and clapping.

He wondered if this might be what Lou Gehrig had felt at Yankee Stadium almost 80 years earlier. He was thankful no one was waiting for him to speak because he wasn't certain that he could. Instead he stood a few feet from the dugout steps with tears rolling down his cheeks and waved to acknowledge not only the fans but his teammates and opponents. The rest of the Dodgers made their way back to him and patted him on the shoulder or the back.

The crowd noise had picked up again as the minute-long ovation came to an end. The Dodgers took their spots on the infield and went through the motions of fielding and throwing. The spontaneous ovation had taken their minds off what they needed to do.

"That was something," he said to Fred Hartman after watching Josh muff a grounder at third. "We need to get our focus back though."

The second baseman nodded his agreement but didn't know what to do. His double-play counterpart, Matt Driesbach, did.

"Everyone on me!" he yelled after another miscue. "Get your asses in here."

He walked midway to the outfield as the other players gathered around him. The 24 faces looked up at him expectantly.

"I've been in this league for 15 years," he began. "I'd thought I'd seen everything there was to see in this league. Then I came here. This is the first time I've ever been a part of a team. This is the first time I've ever played with a group of guys who care more about the number on their teammates' backs than they do about the ones on their check. I was just like everyone else when I got here. You know what? I was wrong. I was dead wrong.

"Today is why we play this game. It's not about the stats or the checks. It's not about the fancy suits or expensive cars. We play this game because we love it. We play for this game. I won't lie to you and tell you I'm not nervous. I won't lie to you and tell you that I wasn't moved almost to tears by what happened when we came out here just now. But let's think for a second about why it happened. I'm not talking about some shit on television. I'm talking about a city that loves this team and loves the players on this team.

"We're the Dodgers, God damn it. We're the most storied National League franchise in history. We play in the greatest city in America and in front of the greatest fans in the world. If you think I'm kidding, think back to a few minutes ago. That wouldn't happen in New York or Chicago. It wouldn't happen in Pittsburgh or Milwaukee. Right now, I want everyone to make me one promise. Tonight, we forget about the name on the back of our jerseys and play for the name on the front. We play for the city and we play for these fans. Can we do that?"

"Yes!" the team yelled almost in unison.

"Tell me again!" Matt ordered. "We play for the name on the front!"

"We play for the name on the front!" the team repeated.

"Now let's get back out there and show these wonderful people just how much their support means!" he commanded. He was the only one surprised when the team did just that.

Making a second straight start on short rest had an obvious effect on Udo Jergens. From the opening inning, his pitches stayed up in the strike zone. His slider didn't have its usual bite and his fastball was slower than before. In struggling to keep his sinker from looking like a batting practice pitch, Udo tried to force the ball down.

The Indians took immediate advantage. The leadoff hitter walked on five pitches and the No. 2 hitter drilled a double to the gap in left-center field to score a run. A sharp single to right brought in the second run of the inning. The Indians chased two more runs across before Udo could escape the inning.