Chapter 18

August and September hurried by.

The rosters returned to twenty-five players on October first. True to his word, Janacone used me often. The Royal s played thirty games in thirty-one days, and I pitched eighteen times. My longest outing was five outs. Several times I pitched to only one batter.

On October first I was supposed to be optioned to Double A, to be forgotten until the next time they needed a 'killer' on the big club. That was the plan and I was fine with it, except for the untimely broken arm of the pitcher, who normally pitched the seventh and eighth innings. He managed to break his arm either by falling off the stationary bicycle, or getting knocked down by a furious husband, while groping the (very fine) posterior of said husband's spouse.

Depending on who you chose to believe, the reliever was either diligently exercising, or playing with fire.

Take your pick.

Boys will be boys...

Martin Janacone was furious, and smoke was billowing from his ears when he informed me NOT to pack up my locker, since he was keeping me on the active roster until a better option presented itself. I'd hate to be Crewson when Janacone decided who to cut next spring.

Upon returning to the clubhouse, I found my locker had been summarily moved from outer Siberia to the second row, inside the main locker area. Somehow, I suppose it was because the locker room boys had already packed me up to go back to Branson, I had been promoted to the "real" team, and moved up with the "regular" players.

"Hey, Sweetheart," I said to Colleen, when she answered. "It looks like my short stay in the majors is being extended. Rawley Crewson broke his arm late last night, and Janacone just informed me that I was the substitute of last possible resort, until – and I quote – 'A better option presents itself, ' unquote."

She giggled and said, "Daddy predicted this when you struck out three Yankees in the sixth inning the other night. Now show them what you can do in a pennant race, and see how anxious he is to ship you out."

I needed to pop her balloon, before she got her hopes up. "This is when teams scour their rosters for an upgrade. That's usually someone they haven't thought of since spring cuts, but who was on the forty man roster at some point, before September first, to get them through to the playoffs. The team will request a roster exemption from the league office, when they pick one out, and I'll be gone. Look for KC to pick up a proven, veteran pitcher, and send me down.

"It's Ok, Sweet Cheeks. I am looking forward to coming home. We are apart for too much."

Colleen and Rebecca had no idea how glad I would be to get home. I didn't need money, and fame would be nothing but a huge complication in my life, so there was little other than my competitive nature, to make me WANT to be a baseball player.

Jack had his hands full, taking care of the family, and me, in a dozen different cities. Winnie came along on every road trip. Rebecca and Colleen joined me at least part of the time, but I was still away from home and my children far too much, and staying home would suit me just fine.

No one, and I mean NO ONE, would believe me if I tried to explain myself, so I kept my mouth shut, worked hard to perform at the top of my game, and put my personal challenges aside.

My phone rang ten minutes later, and well before I needed to be on the field for batting practice. "HEY!" It was my other lawyer, Mr. Bell. "What's this I hear? Are you really too valuable to send home for the playoffs?"

"Mr. Bell. It is so good to hear your voice.

"I am told that a certain unnamed pitcher, named Rawley Crewson, got his butt in a wringer because he liked to play with other men's wives, resulting in a most inconvenient broken arm. A certain Major League Manager is apoplectic about it, but is keeping me until they find someone that qualifies as a roster exemption, for the playoffs."

"Brian," Mr. Bell said. "Don't sell yourself short. I would bet you, Mr. Janacone wanted to keep you but didn't have room, so when Mr. Unnamed Player played with the wrong man's bride, it gave them an excuse. They may think you need to feel on the bubble, to make you perform your best.

"Either way, just be the Brian we all know and love and go knocks their peters off!"

I laughed like a fool! That was as close to profanity as Mr. Bell ever came, and it was perfect!

I HAD to tell the girls.

Winnie was in the outer clubhouse, so I started with her. When I informed her our trip home was postponed, she jumped in my arms and laid a big one on me. That got me looking at the clock to see if I could 'squeeze' her in before BP, but alas, no such luck.

She was going to get so lucky tonight.

"Don't get your hopes up," I cautioned. "The team has to figure out who to call up that qualifies for an injury roster exemption, then Janacone will send me out.

"Then we go home and not a day too soon, if you ask me..." I said. It earned me a puzzled look from Winnie, but I had to go practice so we'd have to talk later.

Out on the field, I did what I always do. I ran around shagging batting practice fly balls and tossed them in to second base. It took a little time, but I realized there was a new level of resentment towards me, coming off the other relievers. It was pretty obvious, but I ignored it, did my work, and went in to change uniforms for the game, without having to deal with any of their crap.

As I took a seat in the pen, later, our bullpen catcher sat beside and said, "So. You got yourself a reprieve, and pissed off the pretty boys?" He was smart, tough, friendly, and had nothing to gain by playing their game.

"Yeah, I guess they think I made Rawley go molest a married women, just so I could stay with the club for the playoffs. Screw 'em. I've got a game to worry about. They can deal with their bro-mances on their own.'

Lloyd said, "You just keep firing that BB down the pipe and see how fast they forget that they hate you. If we go far in the playoffs, they get big checks, and since you are a big reason for that, they will warm up and drop the junior high stuff.

"Don't take it to the field with you. Those pansies," he said, indicating our opponents, can't hit your heavy fastball, so let it droop, and swoop and wobble all you can. Then give the ball to Mark and watch him turn their lights out.

"You're a big boy, and have a future. Those boys are older, and far nearer having a past than a future, so they resent your youth, your talent, and your ability to go out and pitch no matter how tight the game, how tough the hitter, or how desperate our situation.