Big League Dreams Ch. 05

As for me, it seemed like I was in a sweet spot. Experienced, but not too old, and although I had gotten a substantial boost in pay once my arbitration rights kicked in, I was still considered a good value for my cost, so I remained. Jason hinted to me, too, that I was believed to be a good influence on the other pitchers, and they were counting on me to help bring along some of the younger arms.

We got off to a slow start, but by midseason, we had turned it around, and were playing pretty good ball, sitting in the middle of the pack, but not being an embarrassment. I was often acting as the main setup man, and doing pretty well, when things when to hell.

For the first time in my career, I had shoulder problems. It was a labrum strain, not a tear, so they tried pitching me less often, and having me do extra stretching, but ultimately, I was put on the injury list for the first time in my career. I spent a few weeks first resting, then doing physical therapy, until it seemed like time to come back. Because we weren't in the pennant race, the team decided to be cautious with me, and sent me to AAA for a few rehab appearances. Although I had both personal and professional reasons not to want to go there, I didn't have a choice, and it seemed to make sense, in case I wasn't ready, so that the damage wouldn't hurt the team.

So, I found myself again in the Marriott, and getting ready in a locker room mostly filled with strangers who treated me differently, because I was a fairly well established big leaguer. My first night, they sent me out with no men on, just to see how it went, and after a little tentativeness, I felt pretty good, although my control sucked. Feeling relieved about my shoulder, after the game, I did something a little rash.

No, I didn't call Erin. I wasn't sure I could handle that, especially if she blew me off. Instead, I texted Liam. He was surprised to hear from me, agreed not to tell Erin that I had reached out to him and agreed to meet me for lunch the next day. To help convince him, I offered to meet at the best steakhouse in town, which proved an irresistible inducement.

He arrived at the restaurant shortly after I did. I had almost forgotten how large a man he was, and he gave me a big "man hug" when he got to the table. I noticed that he was wearing a wedding band.

"You and Carmen?"

He smiled. "Yeah, last year. It's been great."

"I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. What about you?"

"No. Haven't really found anyone." What was unsaid brought the conversation to a halt.

"Look, Ray, let me get this out now." He paused. "Erin is engaged."

Despite the fact I hadn't seen Erin in years, my stomach dropped.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about, Liam. I'm happy for her." I tried to look happy for her.

"Sure, Ray," Liam responded, his tone indicating that I had failed to look happy for her.

"Who's the guy?"

"A professor at the college. Teaches comparative literature, whatever that is. His name is Alain Leblanc."

"French?"

"Nah, born here, but his parents are from Quebec."

I fiddled with my appetizer. "Send her my best."

"Sure, Ray."

"I guess some things aren't meant to be," I mused.

"I guess not," Liam responded.

We passed the rest of the meal talking about everything other than Erin. Grandma was in a nursing home. Sean's behavior was getting worse, and had spent some time in a psychiatric hospital. When he took his meds, he was OK, but he often refused. He and Carmen were trying to start a family. I filled him in on my situation, which, other than having my dream job, was actually pretty dull.

After the meal, we shook hands and did the man hug thing. "If you want to come to a game this week while I'm here, let me know."

"Thanks, man, but I'll pass. I'm really more of a football guy, and Carmen isn't that big a fan, either. Nothing personal."

"No offense taken. Be good, and send my best to Carmen."

"You, too, Ray. Get better."

"Thanks."

I made it through the rehab stint, and was back on the team as we staggered our way to the end of the season.

*

Happily for me, and for them, Teo and Jason did enough with the talent they had been given to survive another year, and with our young players having more experience under their belts, we hoped for a better season. For the first time, I saw my name mentioned in the press in various trade scenarios, but I knew that this was all speculation and that if a trade happened, I'd find out from the team. But I didn't want to leave, and kept my fingers crossed.

Before the new season started, Allison called me. After the initial pleasantries, she said, "I've been promoted, Ray. I'm now the assistant to the president."

"That's great, Allison."

"Yeah. I'm really enjoying it. And I finished my MBA."

"I'm impressed, Allison."

"Thanks, Ray. I learned a lot."

"So, how's your father doing?"

"Better, I think. He seems to be getting over Mom a little, and while sometimes he seems sad, he's started to come out of his shell a little more. He plays golf a little, and hangs out at the club doing god knows what."

"Well, he's earned the right to do nothing."

"I guess, Ray, but he seems bored."

"Maybe you need to find him a volunteer thing, or a board to be on. Something to keep him busy."

Allison paused, and I could sense her thinking. "Yeah. Good idea, Ray. Thanks."

We chatted for a while longer, until we ran out of subjects, before ending the call.

*

The team improved a little that year, and while my numbers and effectiveness were consistent with the past, I found myself being passed over occasionally for younger guys, as the team continued to focus on the future. Jason reassured me that I was fine, and that my flexibility allowed them to get work for other pitchers. While I knew that a lower profile could cost me money in the future, I was happy that I had signed a two year contract. I was still making more money than I ever expected playing the game I loved, and was trying to live relatively frugally, while my dad's firm carefully invested my money for the inevitable day when my baseball days were over.

During that season, I let my defenses down a little, and actually dated a woman for a couple of months. Alana was a nurse, and while she didn't totally love baseball, she liked it well enough. It was fun, but by the end, we both realized that our jobs wouldn't let us have a long term future without a lot of work, which neither of us were willing to put in for the relationship. We mutually parted as friends, although the type of friends that never actually speak after the breakup.

Interestingly, Allison told me that she had a similar relationship with someone in town, who was the older brother of one of her high school friends, but it never sparked, and they also broke it off on good terms.

It was another mediocre season for the team, but there was some improvement and hope for the future. I again was mentioned in trade talk online, but Jason assured me nothing was imminent as I prepared for another season in the bullpen.

*

Before spring training, I got a call from Allison, and she sounded excited.

"Ray, Daddy and I bought the team!" she exclaimed.

"Wow."

"Yeah. I ran some numbers, and while it won't make us rich, we should do almost as well as we have been with investing the money that Daddy got in the sale. And if we decide to sell, we could do pretty well."

"That's great."

"Also, we both love the team, it's been such a part of our lives." She paused. "Daddy will be the chairman of the board, and although it will mostly be a ceremonial role, it will give him someplace to go when he's bored."

"Perfect. I can see him wandering around the stadium talking with people and crushing their hands."

Allison laughed. "But, Ray—this is the best part. I'm going to be team president."

"Wow, Allison. That's exciting."

"Yeah, Pete Howard was retiring anyway, but I sweet-talked him into staying on as a consultant for another year, to help me transition."

"I can't believe you own your own team."

"I know, Ray. It's incredible. I mean, I'm already buried in work. Pete was great, but his idea of recordkeeping. Ugh. Let's just say, I'm gonna have to modernize a lot."

There was a pause. "So, Allison, will this be enough for you, or do you still have your eyes on a big league GM job?"

She sighed. "I don't know, Ray. I mean this is a big deal, right? Maybe I'll be happy trying to run this team well. I don't think there are many other female team presidents in the minors, either. I really don't know. But right now, my focus is the team, and the future will take care of itself."

Once again, I marveled at how bright and perceptive Allison was, and how well she seemed to know herself. "You continue to amaze me, Allison Pullman."

I could hear her breathing on the other end of the call. "Thanks, Ray," she said softly. Then, she perked up again. "Y'know, it was you that gave me the idea."

"Really? I don't remember that."

"You told me to find something for Daddy to do, and I thought about what he liked. He liked running the factory, but that's gone. He loves his family, but Mom is gone, and I'm not a child anymore. He likes people, and he loved the team. So it struck me, that if it made economic sense, we should buy the team. And when I did the analysis, Daddy was all in from the start."

"I'm glad I could help, even if I didn't know what I was doing," I said, chuckling.

Allison laughed. "We can call ourselves even now. Y'know, for me giving you a career."

I knew she was kidding, because I knew that she understood that it wasn't just the pitch that gave me the career, but what I was able to do with it. "Well, thank god, Allison. I'm glad that I finally paid that debt."

"Yep. Took you long enough."

"Good luck, Allison. See you at spring training, then?"

"You can count on it, Ray. See you in Florida."

*

Team President Pullman was incredibly busy during the spring, and generally looked frazzled. She only spent part of the time there, before she had to get back home to do all sorts of organizing and planning. Terry came by for a couple of weeks, and spent the time wandering around the fields wearing a team polo and hat, occasionally in places where he shouldn't have been, shaking hands, asking questions, and generally acting like the genial baseball loving guy that he was. I had a couple of dinners with Allison, during which she spent more time on her phone than talking to me, one with her and Terry, and one with Terry alone after Allison went home, in which he told me a couple of funny, cute stories about Allison as a child. I think he really was enjoying himself in his new role, and I was happy that Allison had figured out such a good plan for both her and Terry.

To everyone's surprise, we got off to a fast start and were in second place only a game and a half out of first at the All-Star break. As always, I had done everything they asked of me. I pitched when called on, and tried to mentor some of the younger relievers, although it might have been easier if I knew more Spanish than a handful of curses.

And then I blew my elbow out.

Our medical staff didn't waste any time deciding how to treat me, because they knew exactly what it was—a torn UCL, which is what you get Tommy John surgery for. When I was a kid, that was likely the end of a pitcher's career, but these days, most guys come back from it, often throwing harder. But it usually takes a year. I had the surgery, and started the slow process back. I spent my time away from the team, mostly, so I wasn't a part of the playoff run, which again ended short of the World Series. But there was so much excitement about the team again, and I wondered if there'd be a place for me after having to take most, if not all, of the next season off.

I didn't have to wait long for the answer. I got a call from the team's pitching coordinator, Hal Perciballi. I knew that Hal had been a big supporter of mine, for whatever reason, and had always helped me out. With as much sympathy as he could muster, he told me that I was going to be designated for assignment. Basically, that meant that if there was interest from another team, I'd probably be traded, but there wasn't likely to be much interest, due to my injury. At the end of the process, if no one was interested, I'd be sent to the minors, although because of my service time, I could reject the assignment and become a free agent, sign with another team, or move on with my life.

I listened in silence and asked a few questions, glumly. Then he said, "Look, Ray, you've been one of our guys for a long time, and a great member of the organization. So, if you don't get picked up, you'll get a minor league contract and be welcome to use the team's facilities to rehab, and if things get better when you recover, we can talk about signing you.

"Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Or, let me throw out one other idea, OK?"

"Sure."

"Even if you come back, you'll be, what, 34? You might have a few more years left, and I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to give it a shot. But we need a pitching coach in the organization, and you'd be great at it. You'd still be around the game, you could rehab with the team. It's less money than a player contract, but we could talk about that. If you decide to try to pitch again after this season, no hard feelings. But if you enjoy coaching, you can try to work your way back up here, again."

"That's intriguing," I responded. "What level are you thinking of?"

"High A. You played there, right? Well, Al Flemons finally retired and is moving to Arizona, for some reason."

I laughed, knowing who the team owner and president were. "Let me sleep on it, but I'd be inclined to accept that offer."

"Great. Give me a call. I know this sucks, but coaching really might be something you like."

*

It was the strangest spring training that I'd ever attended, and the most exhausting. Most days, I'd get up early and meet with the coaches and work with the younger minor league pitchers. I also spent time talking with Billy Compton, who would be the manager. I didn't know Billy—he was a veteran catcher who had briefly joined the organization when I was in AA, but had quickly retired and started coaching, so we never crossed paths. By all accounts, he was considered a good baseball guy, who knew both traditional and modern methods. After I took the job, I reached out to Al, who had wished me luck, and told me that after Teo, Billy was the best young manager he'd worked with.

Then, when we finished our workouts, instead of having time off, I worked on my rehab with some combination of the big league training staff, and my team's staff, our performance coach, Juan Ramos, and our trainer, Callista Loukanis. Only then could I return to my hotel and pass out, sometimes in the pool.

Of course, Allison was there, to meet with the player development and marketing folks for the major league team, to network, to learn, and to keep an eye on the players who might be assigned to the team. She seemed much more confident and assured in the job than she had the previous year. I felt bad that we hadn't spoken much. She was so busy trying to learn how to run a baseball team, and I was focused on my injury and rehab. I missed the calls, and was happy that we'd be together in the same town.

After the first few days, Allison and I fell back into having dinner together on a regular basis. Although she offered me the use of the apartment at her house during the season, I told her that should be used for one of the players. I had arranged with a local realtor to rent a small furnished house not far from the stadium for the season. She was an old friend of Jillian's who knew that we had dated, and told me that Jillian and her husband had a little boy. That kind of surprised me, but I guess if you have money and the inclination, you can still work investment banker's hours and raise a child.

The strangest thing for me was that I found myself attracted to Allison. She was no little girl anymore; by now, I knew that she was a smart and beautiful woman. She was in her late 20s and owned and ran a baseball team. But despite that, I was working so hard, that all I wanted to do at the end of the evening was pass out. Not to mention how awkward it would be if she no longer was interested, and we'd be spending the season together.

When we went north this time, I was driving a nice car—not a big Mercedes like Allison, but a perfectly acceptable Lexus SUV befitting an at least temporarily former major league pitcher. Although it was a couple of years old, because I'm frugal. Or cheap, depending on who is talking. I settled into the rental house, unpacking some clothing and other personal items. I had a couple of days before the players arrived, planned to get my work in early, and I was supposed to meet with the other coaches to go over our plans for the next few weeks.

One thing that I liked about Billy was that he had both a short term and a long term plan. He broke the season into small chunks, and he had specific goals for each chunk, which could be modified, if necessary, with the ultimate goal of competing for a league championship. And once we knew which players were being assigned to the team, he had data sheets for each player with individualized goals and plans. My job, of course, was to implement the plans for the pitchers and to keep track of their progress so that we could periodically review where everyone stood. It seemed to me, based on a small sample size, that he intended to give us responsibility, but also require accountability, which made sense to me.

I cracked open a beer and began exploring the TV to see if there was something worth watching, when my phone dinged. It was a text from Allison: "Betty's tomorrow? 7?"

She knew that I needed to get up early to do my rehab work, and while I expected that breakfast would require a bunch more time on the elliptical trainer, I couldn't say no. And I didn't want to say no, so I sent her a thumbs up emoji. I got caught up in some weird food show, where a guy ate a burger the width of a pizza, finished my beer, did a little more unpacking and went to bed.

*

A month into the season, things were going remarkably smoothly. We had a good bunch of kids. For the most part, they were willing to work, willing to listen, and were competitive. Billy seemed able to make all of the players, from the top prospects to the organization filler, feel valued and a part of the team. I, of course, had more sympathy for the less heralded guys, having been one myself. It turned out that I appeared to be good at spotting pitchers' issues and fixing them and also spent a good deal of time acting as a big brother figure to some of them (I was not old enough to be a father figure. Not even close).

Although the coaching staff were all good guys (and Callista), I gravitated toward Carlton Weems, our hitting coach. Another former fringe major leaguer who had been brought in from another organization, he seemed to have a knack for knowing which young hitter needed to look at data, and which ones needed a more mental or physical approach. He was also a lot of fun, but not in a crazy way, and we spent a few nights hanging out together at my house, or his apartment, or at the bar, where I told him about the night that Jillian Lowery hustled me at pool, but I ended up winning a bigger prize.

Allison turned out to be very good at her job. The team ran efficiently and well. We had everything we needed, the place was well maintained, the concessions were upgraded, and her promotions staff did a nice job filling seats and creating a fun environment at the park.

We made sure to get together for a meal, or a drink, occasionally, when our schedules made it possible, but we saved Betty's for special occasions. I found myself looking forward to our get-togethers, maybe more than I was willing to admit. On those rare nights when Carlton and I were at the bar, and I noticed a woman giving me a second look, I surprisingly found myself uninterested. Carlton, on the other hand, had fewer compunctions, and I was glad that we each had arrived in our own cars.