Big League Dreams Ch. 02

Big League Dreams: Chapter 02

I started this story a while ago, before COVID-19 and before the likely contraction of baseball's minor leagues. So, it exists in a fantasy world where these things didn't happen. I hope that the quality of the story allows you to ignore that. Also, while I never specifically say what baseball organization is featured, it is based on one team, which is pretty obvious, especially if you have read some of my earlier stories. But I've taken liberties with locations of minor league teams, and my descriptions of the minor league cities and towns are completely fictional.

I'd suggest reading the prior chapter to understand what's going on. As with all of my stories, they are not submitted until completed, so the chapters will appear every few days. This one's a little shorter because it made sense to break it where I did. Thanks for reading!

I called my parents after I got back to the apartment, and I think that they were happy that the team seemed to have a plan for me. I told them that I needed to go back and get my piece of shit car and would drive home right away. My offseason work was waiting, and I could use every penny of it. Thinking that it was too early to call Jillian, I went into the house to say thanks to the Pullmans.

"It was good getting to know you, son, even for a short time," said Terry, engulfing my hands in his for an almost painful shake.

"Same here, Terry."

"And if you happen to be sent here next season, we'd love to have you back."

"That's kind of you. Thanks. They told me that I'm being turned into a relief pitcher, so I hope that doesn't hold me back."

"I think you'll do great, Ray."

Sandy gave me a hug. "Thanks, Ray, for being so patient with Allie—uh, Allison."

"My pleasure. She's a good kid, and we pitchers have to stick together." They laughed at my second use of the same weak joke. "Where is she, by the way?"

"After breakfast, she went up to her room," replied Sandy.

"Well, I'm not going to leave until tomorrow—if that's OK—" they both nodded, so I continued, "so, I'll make sure that I say goodbye before I leave."

Terry smiled at me. "Last date with Jill?"

I shrugged, "Looks like it. Who knows what happens next."

There was silence, and I used that opportunity to say another "thanks" and head out. Back at the apartment, I decided to call Jillian, so that I could plan the rest of my day. Meaning whether or not I had time for a nap.

"Hey, Ray. All done with the season?"

"Yeah. Got my stuff, talked with Al a little about my future, all good."

"What'ya wanna do tonight, Champ? Or is that a stupid question."

I felt myself getting warm. "Well, actually, I'd love to take you out to dinner, and talk, and let things go from there."

She laughed, a deep, sexy laugh. "Fine. I'll pick you up at 7. Casual dress. Be ready."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Damn, I like the way that sounds, Ray. See you in a few." As usual, she disconnected the call to make sure she got the last word in. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and turned on the TV, waiting until it was time to shower and get dressed.

*

Conversation at dinner was a little awkward as we both realized that our time together, as much fun as it was, was about to end. I was going back to my old bedroom in my parents' house to spend the next few months working at my friend's indoor baseball training facility and giving private pitching lessons to try to save a few dollars to help get me through the next minor league season, all the while working out and preparing for my change of role. Jillian was about to move to New York City and the high pressure world of Wall Street. It seemed like our paths had crossed at random, but were about to diverge, probably forever,

And as far as I was concerned, that was too bad. From every objective standpoint, it would be hard for me to find another woman who would be an improvement. She was beautiful, smart, and great in bed. OK, she thought baseball was boring, but to be fair, when I wasn't actually playing, I could see her point. Of course, I couldn't imagine that she felt the same way about me. It was easy to imagine that someone like Jillian would be able to attract men who were better looking and had better career prospects than a fringe minor league baseball player.

But as awkward as the dinner conversation was, there was no awkwardness when we came back to my apartment and had some pretty intense, pretty amazing sex.

Lying in the dark, with my arm around Jillian, her head resting on my chest, I was briefly able to ignore the reality and just enjoy the moment.

Without turning her head, Jillian said, "Ray, let me make you a proposal."

"Sure," I responded, assuming that it couldn't be anything too bad.

"We're both heading north," she started, "why don't you go get your car and come back here. I'm not taking a car to New York, so I'm renting a small U-Haul to bring my stuff with me. We could tow your car, split the driving, and keep each other company."

I stroked her hair before answering. "That seems like a great idea. I'd enjoy getting to keep you company for a few more days."

"You mean, you'd enjoy getting to fuck me a few more days."

Laughing, I responded, "Of course, that's true, but also just hanging out with you for a few days will be great."

"You're getting better with women, Ray." She rolled on top of me, and we had another round of passionate sex before drifting off to sleep.

*

After a miserable bus ride, and a slow drive back, coaxing my barely roadworthy car across two states with only minor issues, I arrived back at Jillian's parents' house. I received a nice welcoming kiss, was introduced to her parents, who seemed like nice enough people, made some small talk about baseball and the Pullmans, and we hooked my car up to the back of the fully loaded U-Haul.

Since neither of us was in a huge hurry, we took four days to get to Northern New Jersey. As expected, the trip was much more fun than had I been driving solo. We did some sightseeing, ate at some interesting local restaurants, and fucked like bunnies every night. But when we pulled into the Vince Lombardi rest stop on the Jersey Turnpike, it was time to separate—the idea of driving a truck towing a car into Manhattan when you didn't have to seemed crazy. After we unhitched my car, it was time to say goodbye. We made plans to try to get together in New York at some point, after she settled into work, but both of us knew that was only a vague possibility. When Jillian ended her goodbye hug, I knew that I'd miss her, and I did watch her as she walked toward the driver's side of the truck, again earning a flash of her middle finger behind her back, because she knew exactly what I was doing, even without looking.

*

It was a cold, gray February day in Connecticut when I loaded my few important belongings into a new for me used car for the trip to spring training. My mother's older sister had died a few weeks after my car did, and because none of my cousins, all of whom had real jobs and could afford better, had any interest in her old Buick, it passed to me, and I was thankful for it. Yes, it was old, and yes, it lacked any vestige of coolness, but it had very few miles on it and was in pretty good shape. A cold wind whistled through the leafless trees, and it felt like snow was coming. Happy as I was to be heading to warm weather and the game that I loved, I hoped that the weather wasn't a bad omen for me, as I tried to learn a new role and maybe have a chance for a career in baseball. As I drove south, listening to music on the FM car radio, I thought back on my drive in the opposite direction with Jillian, and how much better that had been, for so many reasons.

Gradually, as I got further south, the weather began to warm up, and it became harder to find non-country music on the radio. Before too long, I was at the team's spring training facility. After checking in, going through a physical, and getting the key to my dorm room, it was time to get to work. Minor league baseball players don't get paid for spring training—just a small stipend for meals—so it was nice that the team had dorms for us, even if they weren't exactly comfortable.

It was strange at first for me to be working out with the relief pitchers, who are trained to warm up quickly, and work at maximum effort for short outings, unlike when I was a starter and expected to pitch at least 5 or 6 innings, or more. It also meant that I was hanging out with a bunch of new guys—or at least guys who I didn't know as well as the starters.

And once the games started, I was sitting in the bullpen, not in the dugout, and I was expected to be ready to pitch every day, as opposed to knowing when I would be starting and that it was unlikely that I'd be called on to pitch any other day (barring some crazy extra-inning game). There was a learning curve, and at the start, I had my ups and downs, but by the end of the spring, I was pretty consistently being effective, working in lower leverage situations, getting from the starters to the better relievers.

I was not sure if I had shown enough to be sent back to the high-A level, but was pleased when I found out that I had been assigned there. I immediately called the Pullmans, and Sandy seemed pleased and confirmed that I could stay at the apartment again.

"Thanks, Sandy. I'll see you in a week or so, I think."

"That's great, Ray. Terry and Allison will be happy to see you." I noticed that in the intervening months, Sandy seemed to have come to grips with calling her daughter "Allison."

"And I'm looking forward to seeing you, too."

*

"That's quite a car, son," was the first thing that Terry said when I shook his hand on the driveway outside his house.

"You should have seen my last one," I replied, smiling.

Sandy was out the door next, her attractive, friendly face bearing a big smile. She had done something different with her hair, and it looked good on her. Next out of the door was Allison, and I almost didn't recognize her. Her hair was cut shorter, which flattered her face, she was wearing a tight fitting tank top and tight shorts, and I was pretty sure she was wearing makeup.

Sandy approached and gave me a friendly hug, and Allison followed for a hug of her own.

"It's so good to see you again, Ray," Sandy said quietly.

"Yeah, Ray, glad you're back." She turned to her mother and said "Mom, gotta go. I'm meeting Leeane for lunch in town." She reached into her purse (a purse!), took out keys, and headed for the garage. A few minutes later, the Honda I drove last season was heading down the driveway.

"Glad you brought that car with you, Ray," Terry stated, "Allie has pretty much taken possession of the Honda."

"Come inside for some sweet tea, Ray, and we can catch up," Sandy suggested, and I followed her into the house. I didn't have to be at the park until the next day, and the Pullmans were such friendly people.

After we settled down in the kitchen with our tea and some cookies, I had to ask, "Allison's changed a little since I left, right?

Sandy smiled broadly. "Yes, she's much less of a tomboy these days—"

Terry interrupted, "But she's still pitching softball. Gave up soccer, though."

Sandy continued, "She made some new girlfriends at school, and all of a sudden, she started to be interested in girlie things. We've gotten our hair done together, mani-pedis, gone shopping for dresses. It's like I finally have a daughter, after 17 years!"

I took a sip of the sweet tea, which is a completely different beverage from the iced tea I grew up on, and saw Sandy's joy. Terry, on the other hand, didn't seem as pleased.

He growled, "Yeah, and I think some boys are beginning to sniff around her now. The world is finally noticing that she's pretty, now that she's making an effort. Of course, considering how beautiful her mother is...." his voice trailed off, and I could imagine that he was thinking about how he intended to deal with these boys, while Sandy smiled at the complement.

I caught them up on my fall and winter, and spring training, and gave them my thoughts on the team, and after a while the conversation ground to a halt. Standing, I said, "thanks for the tea, and, of course, for the apartment. I'd like to unpack and settle in, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Ray," Terry responded, "I'll walk you out."

Once we were out in what was still a cool evening, Terry turned to me. "How'd things work out with you and Jill Lowery?"

I shrugged. "About how I expected, Terry. After we split up on the trip home, I was pretty sure we were done. We got together a couple of times during the winter, but after that, she was always too busy, and after a while, I stopped asking. And I saw on Facebook that she has been spending time with a guy from Goldman Sachs, so I guess that was that."

"Sorry, Ray. She's quite a young lady, and I could tell you liked her."

"Yeah, but I knew that she was going to end up with a master of the universe, not some guy barely holding on to a baseball career."

"Don't sell yourself short, son," Terry responded, "I have a good feeling about you this season. And remember, if you find another local girl to spend time with, let me know who she is, and I can give you a heads up if you need to be careful."

"Thanks, Terry. You and Sandy, and Allison, have been great, and I really appreciate it." We shook hands, and after Terry finished crushing my pitching hand, I turned and went into the apartment. Which looked exactly as it did when I left, and it was stocked exactly the same. I made a list, unpacked my few belongings, and decided to head to the grocery store.

*

The next morning when I reported to the stadium was like the first day of school. I grabbed a locker in the pitchers' area. The team was, for the most part, the guys that I played with most of the previous season, with a few new faces sprinkled in—people the team traded for, Omar Tavares, who had a monster season in rookie ball and passed low-A, and three holdovers from last season--Mason Irvin, a good fielding shortstop who needed to work on his hitting, Jamari Post, an outfielder who never really got going last season, and another relief pitcher, Bob Tinerham, who was coming back from an injury when I showed up, and needed to get back to full strength.

Teo, though, was gone, promoted to AA after the successful season, replaced by Steve Worth, a popular former catcher whose career, spent entirely in the organization, including a few cups of coffee in the majors, ended prematurely. I had spoken with Steve during spring training, and he seemed like a new-style manager, big on analytics, which was fine with me, unless it meant less work for me. Steve was more rah-rah than Teo, too, which in theory is fine, but I guess the season would prove whether it was too much. Al was back, and when we worked together in Florida, he said that he enjoyed living where he was and had no interest in moving north, even though it was technically a promotion.

Even though we had all been together in the spring, there was always a mix of guys from different levels playing in the exhibition games, so it was nice to see the team that we would, at least, start the season with. Of course, guys would move up or down, get traded, injured, or even released during the season, but the core group was finally in one locker room. And to a man, I think we all wanted there to be enough talent and good chemistry to give us a good season. Because as much as each of us, individually, wanted to succeed, it was a long season, and winning was always more fun than losing.

For me, though, there was the added worry about whether I could make it as a reliever. But it felt good getting out on the field, even after the long spring training. We were 0-0, and the team (even with mostly different players) were the defending champs, and the season was about to begin.

*

A month later, we were 10-15, and things were not nearly as rosy. It turned out that Steve's personality began to grate on almost everyone from our hottest prospects to the ball kids to the hot dog vendors, and it got worse as we lost more than we won. My first few appearances were pretty good, but the second time around the league, it was as if they figured out my repertoire, and I got lit up a couple of times.

It was a warm day, and I was working with Al in the bullpen, trying to figure out how to get back on track. It was pretty clear to us pitchers that he and Steve didn't really get along, but Al was a good soldier, and tried to use the stats that were given to him as best he could. But you didn't need a printout to see that I had stopped fooling hitters. And if I couldn't fool A level hitters, the chances of a future in baseball was bleak.

"Son, I think the problem is that your fastball isn't really fast enough to set up your slider. We need to get you some sorta changeup that will confuse hitters."

I nodded. I'd played around with some changeups during my brief career, but none of them ended up being anything other than slow, straight pitches that more often than not landed very far away from home plate. So, I rarely even tried one in a game, and it seemed that the word had made it around the league.

"Show me your changeup grip," Al asked, and I modeled my latest model, a variation on the circle change. "OK, throw it." He stepped away to give me room.

Gripping the ball in that uncomfortable way, I wound up and let fly. As it left my hand, I knew that it wasn't going anywhere near where I aimed, and, in fact, flew about 4 feet over the head of Carlos, who was catching me.

"That's not good, Poole," Al said with a smile.

Shrugging, I caught the ball from Carlos and tried again. This time, the ball bounced a foot in front of the plate.

"OK, Ray, now try and split the difference."

The next pitch was high, but catchable.

"Ray, work on it for a while and let me know how it goes." He walked away, shaking his head.

*

We won the next game 2-1, and I watched from the bullpen because, it appeared, I was not getting into close games. I didn't sleep well at all, and was up early, sitting in a lawn chair, enjoying the relative cool of the morning, trying to figure out what to do. I was never able to harness the circle change, or a few variations that Carlos suggested. Sitting there, I even went onto YouTube to watch videos about changeups.

I was so focused on my own problems that I didn't notice Allison, who came out of the main house, dressed in a sports bra and shorts, right away. She stretched, as if she was preparing to run, and was startled when she noticed that I was sitting there.

"What are you doing up so early on a Saturday, Ray?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"I'm going for a run, obviously."

"And I'm trying to figure out how to save my career."

Allison looked concerned. "What d'you mean? You started the season off so well."

"Yeah, but recently, not so good. I'm worried that they're losing confidence in me. They want me to work on a changeup, but nothing seems to work for me."

Allison's face lit up, and I realized that she was going to be a very pretty woman when she grew up. "Um, can I show you something?"

"Sure, why not?"

We walked to the back yard, where the baseball equipment was. Allison picked up a baseball and said, "My friend Will, um, he's the pitcher for the high school team, showed me this grip. It seems to work for him." She put three fingers on top of the ball, and stretched her pinky and thumb around the bottom. Allison wound up, and threw the ball at the pitchback, and it came out of her hand slower than expected, and then darted down to the right.