Big League Dreams Ch. 02

"Nice," I said. "Let me try." I grabbed a ball, mimicked the grip and got ready to pitch. The ball felt pretty good in my hand, and I wound up and tossed it at the pitchback. Like Allison's pitch, it came out slow, but instead of darting right, it dropped straight down. Now, throwing from flat ground at a pitchback is not the same as facing live batters from a mound, but the whole thing felt good. After catching the ball on its return, I tried again, and it did the same thing. I was able to repeat the motion and effect consistently. I looked at Allison, and she was looking at me intently. Jillian's warning about Allison was always in the back of my mind, but I was sure that this was definitely an athlete to athlete moment.

"Cool, Ray. Now, try turning your hand to the right slightly when you throw the ball." I wiped the sweat off my brow with my arm, and tried again, with the additional piece, and the ball did what Allison's did—darting slightly to the right. I was again able to make it work consistently. For the first time in a couple of weeks, I felt optimistic, although how this pitch would work in a game was still a question.

"Thanks, Allison, I really like this." She smiled. "I think I owe you pancakes at Betty's."

"I need to get my run in, especially if I'm having pancakes. How 'bout I run into town, and meet you at Betty's in like a half an hour, OK?"

"Sure." She turned, and began to jog away, showing that same graceful stride that I noticed last season.

I threw a few more pitches, smiled, and went back into the apartment to shower.

*

The pancakes at Betty's were as good as I remembered, and I was enjoying my stack and chatting with a sweaty Allison.

"So, Leeane, she's my friend, she came up to me at the beginning of school, and she's like, Allison, we should like hang out this year, and I was like, um, sure, but why, y'know, it's not like we've been close since middle school. And she was like, yeah, but like, its senior year now, and we should get to know each other again before college, y'know."

The torrent of words stopped briefly while Allison ate some pancakes, so I tried to get a word in.

"So, Allison, tell your friend Will, thanks." I noticed that when I mentioned Will's name, Allison looked down. Maybe she was interested in the kid?

"Uh, yeah, sure, Ray."

"Actually, if you guys want to come to the game, I can get you tickets, and if he wants an autographed ball or something, I could do that."

"You remember, Ray, my dad and I have season tickets."

I nodded. "But if Will wanted to come to the game and sit with you...."

A look passed over Allison's face. "Yeah, sure, Ray, thanks. I'll ask him, y'know, if he has a free day and wants to."

"Just make sure it's OK with your parents."

We ate in silence, and I could see that Allison wanted to ask me something, but kept pausing, filling the space by stuffing more pancake in her mouth.

"What, Allison?" I asked, smiling.

"Nothing."

"C'mon, spit it out."

She paused and took a deep breath. "What happened between you and Jillian," she blurted out, then blushed, and took a drink of her coffee.

I realized that Allison was 17, and not a child, although there was still some innocence to her, but she was old enough to hear basically the truth. "Nothing 'happened,' Allison, it just wasn't meant to be, I guess."

"But you guys seemed happy."

"I know I was. I mean, to be fair, Allison, I was attracted to her right away—she's beautiful, smart, funny. But while we had a fun time here, we were on different paths, and I think we both knew that's all it was. It wasn't like we were in love or anything."

Allison was looking at me intently. I don't think she expected so much detail. I continued, I guess to fill the silence. "Her path was Wall Street, finance, living well in New York, and my path, well, my path is less clear. Minor league baseball, and if I'm incredibly lucky, maybe the majors, but who knows if, when, or even where. And more than likely, I get cut, and end up teaching high school somewhere, coaching baseball. I wouldn't want to live her life, and I'm sure she wouldn't want mine. She doesn't even really like baseball." I took a bite of the cooling pancake and a sip of coffee, to sort of signify that I was done talking.

There was a brief look of shock in Allison's eyes at the last bit, but she changed the subject. "But if that changeup works, maybe you have a better chance at the majors, right?"

Shrugging, I said, "Maybe, but the odds are against anyone at this level ever making the majors. But I intend to keep going as long as possible."

"Because you love baseball, right?"

I nodded.

"Me, too," Allison responded.

We finished up breakfast, and I drove us back to the house.

*

Before the game, I tried out the changeup grip from the bullpen mound, and it was working great. Sinking, and dipping right when I wanted it to. Carlos was excited for me, and we called Al over to take a look.

"I like it, Ray. This could be good for you. How'd you come up with it, and please don't tell me YouTube. We coaches have it hard enough without YouTube videos."

A little sheepishly, I admitted, "Actually, Allison Pullman showed me the grip."

Al burst out laughing. "Great, a professional pitcher is getting tips from a teenage softball player."

"Have you ever seen her throw a hardball?"

Al stared at me, then chuckled when he realized I was giving him shit.

"She said she learned it from her friend Will, who pitches for the high school."

"Oh, that makes me feel much better, Ray. Much fucking better. But seriously, keep working at it and we will see how it works when there's someone staring at you with a big piece of wood in his hands who sees you as an obstacle between him and the show."

*

During the game that night, we were winning 7-2, and they brought me in to pitch the sixth. The first batter scratched a single off my slider, and I walked the next batter. I threw the next guy two fastballs, and the count was 1-1. I looked at Luis Correa, our starting catcher, who signaled for the changeup and I shook him off. I wasn't ready. Luis looked into the dugout and signaled for it again, and I realized that this was a test. I nodded, and threw the pitch in competition for the first time. The batter was way out in front of the pitch, which dropped about a foot before it crossed the plate. I smiled, and Luis pounded his glove. I just missed with a slider to even the count, and he fouled off my fastball. Luis signaled for the change again, and tapped his left thigh. I threw the pitch again, this time with the wrist turn, and it darted into the batter, who swung right through it. Success! I got out of the inning by getting a grounder off the change and watching my infielders turn a pretty double play.

When I came off the field, Al patted me on the back and said, "I think your little girlfriend may have saved your fucking career. Keep working on it, and you might actually have something."

Before I could respond to the "girlfriend" comment, Al was gone, conferring with Steve about something.

*

Two weeks later, we had gone back over .500, and I was getting into close games again, mostly as a setup guy, but I even got a save one night. The changeup was working well, and the team was beginning to come together. Steve's personality continued to grate on many of us, but he proved to be a good in-game strategist. His use of analytics was, as it turned out, very astute, and we learned to live with the changing lineups and pitching roles based on matchups and numbers.

We had just come back from a successful road trip, and I had slept late. It was Friday afternoon, and I was surprised that Allison was playing catch, not with her father, but with a tall, skinny blonde kid who, from the way he threw, was a pitcher. The two of them were whipping the ball at each other pretty seriously, and I watched for a few seconds in the humid heat before Allison saw me.

"Hey, Ray, how's it going?"

"Good, Allison. I'm wondering, though, isn't it a school day?"

"No. We got off for teacher's conferences or something."

"Cool."

"Ray?"

"Yeah?"

"This is my friend Will. You know, the guy whose pitch you stole."

I waved at the boy. "Thanks, Will. I appreciate it. You know, my offer still stands—tickets, autographed ball, whatever you want."

Will looked down. Shy, I guess. "Uh, thanks, uh, Ray. That'd be great."

Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a ball and found a Sharpie in the pocket. I signed it "To Will, whose changeup may have saved my career. Ray Poole #47." I walked toward him and tossed the ball to him. He caught it in his glove, read the inscription and smiled.

"Thanks, Ray. And we'll let you know about the tickets, right Allison?"

Allison beamed. Yep, she liked this boy. "Yeah, Ray, now get out of here before you're late and get fined."

She was right. I couldn't really afford that.

*

A week or so later, we had come back from a road trip where I was being used in more and more critical situations, with success, and the team was doing well. We were moving up in the standings, and we weren't even all that pissed off at Steve anymore. Allison finally got around to asking me for tickets for her and Will, and I sensed that she was nervous. Maybe this was her first date? Anyway, it was a tight game, and Tavares put us ahead 3-2 going into the bottom of the ninth. Alfonso Arroyo, who was our usual closer had worked two nights in a row, so they sent me in to try to nail down the save.

When I got to the mound, I could see Allison and Will sitting in the players' section. Despite our recent success, weeknight games, especially during the hottest part of the summer, usually attracted a sparse crowd when there weren't any giveaways or promotions, so it wasn't hard to find them. Allison was holding one of those red and white popcorn containers in one hand, and seemed to be holding Will with the other. I smiled, but realized I needed to get serious with the game on the line. I threw in my warmup tosses and got ready. The first batter was a big lefty. I got him to swing at a high fastball. He ignored my slider in the dirt before fouling off another fastball high and a little outside. Carlos signaled for the changeup, and the batter whiffed badly. One out. Next up was the shortstop, a little guy with an exaggerated crouch, making his strike zone tiny. I tried pitching him up and in, and he flipped backwards when I almost hit him. The count went to 2-0 when I just missed with a slider, and he lined my next pitch, a fastball, right to Mason at short. One more out to get out of the inning and get another save.

I heard the crowd begin to murmur and realized why when the PA guy announced the next batter. Adam Dyer was a big league slugger on rehab, and I had to face him up a run in the ninth. I took my hat off and wiped the sweat from my forehead onto my sleeve. Carlos pounded his mitt encouraging me, and I could hear the supportive chatter from the infield and the expectant murmuring from the small but attentive crowd. The ump signaled for me to get going, so I peered in for the sign. Changeup, and Carlos tapped his left leg. I nodded and went into my motion. The ball came out of my hand slower than expected and dropped down and to the right as Dyer swung over it. He looked at me, first surprised, then pissed off, like he thought that my job was to toss him batting practice. He stepped out, readjusted his gloves, stepped back in, tapped his bat on the plate and took his stance. Carlos signaled for my heater, up and in, and Dyer, overanxious, swung and missed. Again, he stepped out, readjusted himself and got ready for the pitch. I put a slider in the dirt, low and away, and Dyer seemed to be expecting that, and left the bat on his shoulder.

Carlos again signaled for the changeup, but this time without tapping a leg. I reared back and threw it right down the middle. I could see Dyer's eyes get big as he expected to be able to crush a meatball from a bush league pitcher, but as the ball approached him, it dropped like a stone, and he missed by a mile. A K, a save for me, and a win for the team.

The crowd was going wild, and the guys mobbed me on the mound as if we had just won the championship. I mean, it was cool that I made a major leaguer look bad, but to be fair, he was just starting a rehab assignment, and had no idea what stuff I had. But still, it felt good.

When I came off the field, I went over to where Allison and Will were sitting, and they were still there. I thanked them again for teaching me the pitch, and I was pretty sure I saw Will put his arm around Allison.

The next day, when I got to the stadium, I saw Arroyo cleaning out his locker with a big smile on his face. He was being called up to AA. Later, Al called me in and told me that I was the new closer, "until I fucked it up," as he graciously put it.

In mid-July, I hadn't fucked up enough to lose the job, although there were a few nights where I couldn't locate the changeup, and it wasn't pretty. Plus, the team was doing well, overcoming our early troubles to be fighting for a playoff spot. And, I was getting laid regularly.

I met Nicole at the grocery store, when I was loading up on some supplies for my apartment on a Saturday—mostly beer and frozen pizza, but I tossed in a few fruits and vegetables to make it seem less pathetic. We passed each other going down one of the aisles, and I couldn't help but notice her—short blond hair, pretty face, and a slim, athletic body that was well displayed by the yoga clothing that clung to it. Her cart was filled with healthy food, which made sense from the way she looked, but I wasn't paying that close attention. Although I did notice her shake her head as she glanced in my cart and passed me by. Of course, that meant that I did have to look back at her, and admittedly was impressed by her at that angle, too.

When we passed each other again, I smiled and said, "We have to stop meeting like this," thinking that it was a pretty good conversation starter. Instead, she just started laughing.

"Really?" she responded, her voice strong, with a definite Southern accent.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, "I mean, twice?"

"Have you ever been to a supermarket before? It really isn't that strange." She paused. "Looking at your 'food,' I'd guess you don't grocery shop often."

I was surprised at the hostility from this attractive stranger, and was about to just move on, but she was so damn cute, I had to keep trying. "Well, um, I'm a ballplayer, so I don't really have a lot of time to cook."

She smiled, but it wasn't really a pleasant smile. "Oh, so you're a famous ballplayer. I'm guessing not so famous, considering where we are."

"That's true, and I never said that I was famous. Just a minor league pitcher, trying to make it to the big leagues, before I get figured out and end up coaching high school kids."

For some reason, that seemed to change her attitude. I took the opportunity to introduce myself. "I'm Ray, Ray Poole, very not-famous minor leaguer."

She stuck out her hand. "Nicole. Nicole Carson. Legendary kindergarten teacher."

"Nice to meet you, Nicole."

"Wait, did you say Ray Poole?"

"Yeah, why?"

"You live over at the Pullman's right?" I nodded. "And dated Jill Lowery last year?"

I nodded again. "Do you know Jillian?"

She smiled, much more pleasantly, this time. "Jillian. Hah. She was always just plain Jill when we were getting ourselves into trouble growin' up."

"So, you were friends?"

"Yes, Ray, we were. And are. I heard all about last summer."

"Good things, I hope."

"All good. And when it comes to Jill and men, that's quite a complement."

I didn't know what to say. I liked Jillian, but she was definitely gone, and Nicole was here and seemed like someone worth getting to know.

"Look, Nicole, I don't know your situation, or anything, but we have a day game Sunday—would you like to get together after for a drink, or dinner?"

She paused, considering the offer.

I filled in the awkward silence, "I'd love to hear about the 'trouble' you and Jillian got into back in the day."

Nicole shook her head, her short hair swinging. "Ray, if you take me out for dinner, the last person we're gonna talk about is Jill Lowery. Gimme your phone."

I handed my old iPhone to her and she put in her contact information. "Call me, Ray, and let me know the plans. See you Sunday night." She handed me back my phone and rolled her cart down the aisle. And yes, I looked again. And yes, she caught me, and laughed, but not before giving her cute butt a little shake.

*

When I got back to the house, Terry was outside, generally straightening things up. Even though the Pullmans had gardeners and other workers to do the hard stuff, Terry seemed to be the kind of guy who liked to do things on his own, and I often found him moving items around in the yard. He came over when I got out of the car.

"How goes, it, Ray?"

"Good, Terry." He shook my hand with his vice grip shake.

"Good to know, good to know."

"Hey, Terry, I got a question for you."

"What?"

"So I, uh, met Nicole Carson in the market, and we're going out to dinner tomorrow. I assume you know her, right?"

He shook his head and grinned. "You seem to be finding all of the prettiest women in this little town. Yeah, I know her. She and Jill were thick as thieves back when they were in school. Nicole was maybe a little more of a wild one, but now she's settled down, moved home and is teaching at the kindergarten. Her mom passed a few years ago, and she helps take care of her dad."

"So, nothing to worry about?"

"Only worry that you can't keep up with her. Son, she runs marathons."

"No wonder that she looked down on my beer and frozen pizza."

Terry laughed. "Breakfast of champions, I guess."

"And lunch and dinner."

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Well, have fun. Good luck tonight."

"Will you be there?"

He shook his head. "Nah. Gave my tickets to Ally and Will. I guess my little girl is growin' up."

"Nothing to do about it."

Terry shrugged. "Guess not." He paused. "Just gotta make sure my shotgun is loaded and handy." He cracked up at the horrified look on my face before turning and walking toward the door of the main house. Truly hoping that he was joking, I brought my groceries into the apartment.

As it turned out, Nicole was pretty wild, especially for a kindergarten teacher. She was sexually insatiable, and experimental. Unlike Jillian, who spent most of her time making sure that she had the upper hand in our relationship, Nicole really just wanted to fuck. And train for triathlons. Which is not to say that she wasn't smart, or interesting, because she was, but there were no games at all, and it was clear to both of us that this was just fun, as long as it lasted. The only real down side was that she really didn't like baseball—she wouldn't even come to the games. Instead, she'd be out running, or biking, or swimming. At least she didn't try to get me to join her, because that was way too much exercise for a pitcher.

I never felt the same connection to her that I did with Jillian, but it was fun coming home from a game, or a road trip, and knowing a high likelihood that Nicole would be in my bed, naked and waiting.

*

Between my schedule, and Nicole, and her relationship with Will, I didn't really see Allison all that often, except occasionally before and after games. As the season moved into August, we were pushing toward the top of the standings, and everything was clicking. I was saving most of my chances, if not all, but there had been little letdown after Arroyo got called up.

It was a Friday night in early August, with a tiny hint of autumn in the air, when things, as they usually do in my line of work, changed. I was sitting out in the bullpen, goofing around with the guys, not really worried about having to pitch, because we scored 6 runs in the first inning, when there was a call down from the dugout. I paid no attention, because it was only the fourth inning, and I was, at that point, only getting into games in the ninth, or sometimes the eighth. So, I was surprised to hear Domingo, our bullpen coach, tell me that I needed to go to the dugout right away.