Chapter 15

The phone woke me early. Like nine-thirty, early.

It was Big Bob.

"Hey Boy," he said happily. "We need to get you over here and beak down last night's film. What say you drag your pampered ass out of bed, and meet me in the sweet, little, audio / video den you built, and we'll work on your pitch selection, arm angle, and release point? Hmmmmm???"

He had a soft, southern voice that lulled you to sleep sometimes. His gentle manner belied an intensity and sense of purpose that drove him to drive me. Rather than let him down, I hurried through my morning routine and Jack hurried me to the office.

"Mr. Winning Pitcher, we got us some work to do," Big Bob greeted me with a compliment wrapped in a criticism. "You banged them boys with your heater, but they could of been banging that baseball all over the ball yard, hitting on you like you was the school slut on senior skip day.

"Your velocity was all right, but you picked bad times to loose concentration and let the ball drift away from them corners.

"Let's you and I go through this one pitch at a time and hope you see the light, before some big ole country hitter, sees his batting average jump about a thousand percent, off your hard stuff."

We worked for hours and his advice was spot on. I knew I wouldn't pitch for at least two days, barring a crisis, so I concentrated on club business and headed over to the field in time for warm ups. Mr. Bell walked with me and Benjamin. They were heading home as soon as I went in to dress, but he wanted to visit the clubhouse and encourage our team.

Colleen called before I finished dressing in my warm up uniform. "Hey sport star," she giggled. "Rebecca and I will be over in time for the game. Go ahead and eat with the team, or however you do that. We'll have Luanne make dinner and feed the children before we come." We talked for a little while. I found myself reluctant to hang up, but knew I needed to be an example to the team, so I told her I loved her, asked her to kiss Rebecca, James, and Millicent for me, and let her go.

Before completely wrapping myself up in the game to come, I poured over the reports from yesterday's game. Our concession sales were well above our plan. Labor costs were within our goals, and attendance was spectacular. We had an oven go out. It was replaced under warranty this morning. Two urinals overflowed, but engineering fixed them within an hour, and parking was fairly well organized. A little tweaking to keep people moving was in order, but there were no long delays for our arriving fans.

The trainer met me before I headed out to the field and motioned for me to follow him into his office. "You pitched last night and didn't ice your arm," he went right to the point. "You don't do that. Pitching causes tiny tears in the muscles and the ice closes them down.

"We'll work you over before you go out to warm up, but NO THROWING today. Do Not Throw. Let your arm relax and heal. You will thank me for taking care of you now, when you're still trying to pitch at forty."

He had the magic touch and I let him have his way with me. When I went out for warm ups, my arm felt ten years younger.

We won.

Again, that is. The surprise there is that we could have had a letdown after coming back twice, particularly against a rival like Little Rock. The Branson Eagles are officially two for two. This one was much easier, and our manager used only two pitchers. The bullpen was rested and ready for the weekend.

The next afternoon, Manager Ronnie Firth met me coming off the field, following batting practice. Pitchers shagged balls the hitters launched and threw them to a ball boy at second base, who piled them in buckets for the batting practice pitcher.

"Hey," he said gruffly, "You need to keep from using that arm tonight. Don't even go down to the bullpen. If you like, watch the game from your box. I got STRICT orders to keep your arm safe from overuse.

"Got it? Good. See you later," and he went on to other things. Ronnie wasn't known for long talks, quiet walks on the beach, or gentility. He was more of a hit you with his thoughts, and get me the heck out of Dodge, kind of guy.

Big Bill intercepted me as I walked through the tunnel under the stands, to the locker room. "Hey, I hear you're sitting this one out. Where you gonna be?"

"I'll be in my family's box, upstairs. Why don't you meet me when you're done down here, and I'll buy you dinner?" He liked that and nodded as he made his way out towards the bullpen.

Mr. Bell had a visitor when I walked in to the club offices. Mason Pendleton was in deep conversation with him about something that looked serious. He glanced up and saw me coming, nodded and waved for me to join them. "Brian, Mason is telling me that our three-eighths ownership of the club requires me - or you - to attend their monthly board meetings. They prefer both of us, but they understand of your commitment to the team. If you don't mind, I'll represent the interest of the trust, and keep you informed when votes come up."

I was happy to hear the news and said, "Cool! One less thing I need to fit into this week. When are you going?"

Mr. Bell looked at Mason and waited for an answer. "You'll want to be at the stadium at eleven o'clock, Thursday. It'll go all day. We usually have caterers deliver lunch before we start, and eat while we work. Be prepared to stay over if it runs too late." He went on to talk about our "role" as part owners.

Mr. Bell looked at me and I said, "Take the jet. You haven't used it yet. Have fun and come home when you're ready. No problem. We're home through next weekend and I'm not going anywhere. If you take Millie, she could go down to the Plaza, and do some serious damage to your credit cards at J.C. Nickles."

He laughed and said, "I guess you won't need the jet. With a brand new ball club to operate, you're not going anywhere, are you?"

I gave them the evil eye, and headed to our suite. It was large, three tiered for visibility, and very well appointed. We had a play area, with thick rubber flooring, built in for the babies, and a full kitchen to support our desire to eat good food.