[Tib]

Rollercoaster, Part Two

Do you believe in omens? I don’t, but by God sometimes I think I must be mistaken. I had a double and two RBIs in the first game of the season. We were crushing KC 7-1 in the 5th en route to an opening day 11-3 victory when I drove a ball into the right center field gap and hit second at full speed going for three. It was going to be close. Milt Benofski, our third base coach, went to his knees, slapping the ground with both palms, yelling at me to get down. I dive, stretch as the throw comes in.

Safe! A triple. The crowd erupts for me and I try to get up to brush the dirt off, but I can’t straighten up. Pain hits me, wrapping around my waist like a loop of hot barbed wire. Louis Schooley comes in to run for me as I’m escorted off the field. Pulled abdominal muscle. Out for two weeks.

First game of the season. And the rollercoaster goes up and down, up and down….

I stayed home the rest of the week and for our first road trip to Miami and Washington. The team went 7-7 without me. On April 13th, during the rubber game in Washington, Glenn Maurice slid into the rain tarp down the left field line going after a foul ball. The ball bounced into the stands and Glenn collapsed, curling up into a ball himself. His left leg went under the curve of the tarp and had twisted back upon itself. Torn posterior cruciate ligament. Season over.

Five days later at home against Boston Steve Moronta fell to a knee after a pitch to Gary Shadrick. He walked gingerly off the field to the trainer’s room for x-rays. A ruptured disc in his lower back. They said the vertebrae were misaligned by almost two centimeters. Season over. Back surgery necessary, for the second time in his career. A week later the 34-year old retired.

Meanwhile, Ross Watts hit his 500th homer and the team traded Louis Schooley (who hit .241 as my replacement) to KC.

On May 1st I had been back with the team for about two weeks, raising my average to .323. We were 15-12, a half game out of first place and were playing a struggling Detroit team. I was 2 for 2 with a double when I aggravated a hip muscle on a swing. I ran out the grounder but had to come out. The strained muscle cost me another two weeks. Tim Marucci, the team’s first round pick in 2012, took over for me, getting seven hits in the next four games and helping the team to first place in the division (18-12).

And the rollercoaster goes up and down….

I came back in mid-May, and just in time, because Ramon Guerra, my sometime backup, got hit on the hand by a pitch and broke a finger. Even with me hitting well at the top of the lineup we still went 4-8 and dropped into a tie for fourth place. We rebounded at home against first place Dallas by taking two of three. Me and my New Data ceramic bat hit a 427-foot homer. My muscles had healed, but my long-suffering knee was flaring up now. I also had nagging pain in my shoulder and left wrist. Nothing to take me out of a game, but these aches were bothersome. Marucci’s nine game hitting streak was also bothersome because Thune was starting him at short on Sundays.

Nothing says, “You’re getting old” like “Gonna get you some rest, Davey.” At least he didn’t tell me “the front office wants to take a look at him.” With me in the last year of a contract I expected Chicago might try something like that. It was the way business works in the Bigs. As the team hovered around .500 for most of the next month, I got subbed early, usually in favor of Marucci. At the end of May I was still hitting .326 with 7 steals and 6 errors. Gwen kept telling me to keep it up. “You’re strengthening your case,” she would say to me.

On the first day of June Sam Dixon, one of our best relievers, was shut down for the season with elbow problems. Two weeks later Daniel Miller, one of the arbitration starters, tore a wrist ligament and was gone for at least nine weeks. This season was turning into a bloodbath, and we couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. One of the few remaining starters we had, Ron Hoyos, was having a rollercoaster year of his own. He was 4-4 for the season and had given up 27 earned runs in his five May losses.

In mid-June Hoyos’ freefall continued (11 earned runs and four homers allowed in two starts) and the team seemed to take it as inspiration to play poorly. We closed out June 3-9 (37-39 overall). I knew it was bad when I was getting attention for my hitting (.294 and .421 the last two weeks). I had been working hard on my swing, trying to overcome the nagging pains, and it was paying off. As the All-Star Break approached, I felt I had earned a part of the conversation.

No Comanches were selected for the All-Star Game, not even Benji Gillingham, who was hitting .327. In fact, the only shortstop selected in the UL was Mario Rowlett from the Colts. I was told I got votes, but not enough, apparently. Ah, well. It would have been nice, but it wasn’t what I played for.

You know who made it? Steve McCammon. Arbitration Steve McCammon who the Blue Sox didn’t think was worth the money, who was leading the team in hitting (.327) and was fourth in the league in average and runners thrown out stealing. I wanted to call him and tell him to kick ass out there, but I realized I didn’t have his contact information. I could’ve got it from the players’ union, but I didn’t.

And the rollercoaster goes up and down…

We were nine games back of Denver, and in the middle of a five-game losing streak when the Break came. I confess I need the rest. What I didn’t need was seeing Rafael Nieves when I got back. Nieves was a 3rd rounder in 2010 who was moving up the ranks very quickly. Quick bat, good defense, speedy. Sound familiar? When I didn’t get the start in our second game against a 33-48 Kansas City team I went into Thune’s office. I was a teensy bit peeved, not that he could tell…

I placed my palms on Thune’s desk. “You know I’m good, right?” I said.

“Sure, Davey.”

“I mean, I’m all healed and everything. I’m hitting .294.”

“I know.”

“Nine steals.”

“I know.”

“Ten errors. Ten.” I held up ten fingers in case he forgot how many that was.

“I know,” said Max, throwing up his hands in surrender.

“So what’s going on? Is there something I should know about, skip?”

“Nope. You’re still my guy. It’s just that Nieves has hit at least .340 at every level so far. The front office just wants to take a look at him.”

Son of a bitch. “Should I be worried?”

“Nope.”

“Should I? You won’t hurt my feelings.”

“No,” said Max Thune. “You should not be worried.”

It turned out I really shouldn’t have been worried about Rafael Nieves because the team was the bigger issue. We were tanking big time. We lost the next six games to run our losing streak to eleven. All of a sudden it was mid-July and we were 13 games back. Ron Hoyos, our best remaining arm, was 5-10 with a 6.82 ERA.

And on July 29th, in case we needed reminding, the team was 44-57 and in last place, hurtling toward a trade deadline with seven players under arbitration contracts and one lame duck shortstop. I realized if I was ever going to be traded in my career, it was going to be now. My offensive numbers were up, my defensive numbers were up, my contract was up, and Rafael Nieves was up.

Lane Fenn, Matt Nuttall, Bartolo Gomez and Harold Dwyer all went on the block. My name did not appear. Apparently, Max Thune was right when he told me I didn’t need to worry. Nuttall was traded to Boston for pitching. We got Ron Bankston from the Cougars to replace him. Baltimore traded for Ken Heuser, prompting six-time All-Star shortstop Terry Ruddy to speak with Theo Garner about his future with the team. Baltimore released Ruddy later that day. I nodded to myself when I read it. “Spoke with Theo Garner about his future with the team.” I knew all too well what that meant. The thirty-eight-year-old future Hall-of-Famer refused assignment, of course, and retired, taking his 2,865 hits, four Defensive Ace awards, and three championships with him. Good luck replacing Terry Ruddy, I said to myself.

On July 30th Al Gills became the all-time hits leader in the CBA, blooping a weak single over first base for number 3,177. Forty-three-year-old Al Gills, who three seasons ago still believed he had something to offer.

A day after the deadline I got a call from the Magic Man. “Heuser and Ruddy are off the market now,” he said by way of greeting.

“I read that.”

“They are shortstops, you know.”

“A fact not lost on me.”

“Mario Rowlett will sign an extension in the next two days. So will Bozek. That’s two more off the market.”

“I know.”

“That leaves you and Pangle and a bunch of guys nobody knows. You need to make a decision, bud.”

“I know. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Thinking time’s over. You can’t wait much longer. Early extensions will be signed in the next four to six days. If I don’t get a call from the Comanches by Thursday I’ll know they’re going to stonewall you while they go after Pangle. We’ll have to file.”

“Jesus. The season’s still going on.”

“This is the business, bud.”

“I’ll talk to Gwen.”

“Don’t take forever.”

Forty-five minutes later I got a call from Fontillion. “I just wanted to call you and tell you we still have you in our plans, Davey.”

“That’s good to know,” I said in my best non-committal voice.

“But we have particular financial problems in front of us with so many players under arbitration contracts. We are working around the clock trying to anticipate future salary expenses.”

“And?”

“And we’re setting some money aside for you.”

“That is also good to know.”

“Of course, you can do whatever you feel is best for you. We realize that. But we hope you will consider staying in Chicago. You’ve been good for the team. A solid presence, etcetera.”

Etcetera? “So are you calling to talk extension?”

“Actually, I’m calling to tell you that the team is not prepared right now to offer an extension in the amount you deserve. Do what you must, but let’s at least see where we are at season’s end.”

“Keep my options open with you, you mean.”

“Yes. If you can. If you want to, I mean.”

“I’ll talk to Gwen and let you know.”

“Thanks, Davey.”

That night I got an unexpected reaction from my wife. “They are playing you.”

“In what way?”

“You are the hedged bet. If they go after Pangle they are going to have to spend money. A lot of money. That means another eight-man arbitration circus might kill their budget. If they get killed in arbitration before they get to Pangle, they’ll have you waiting in the wings for half the money and a family already anchored in Chicago. Either they get some pitching and you or Pangle and no pitching. Either way it doesn’t look rosy for their chances at a title.”

“But free agency,” I said. “I’ve never done that.”

“You’ve been in negotiations before,” said Gwen. “And you’re making a strong case for yourself this season, like we talked about. What’s the problem?

“We have a life here,” I said. “Your career is here. I don’t know about having to start over. I could sign and stay in Chicago and cruise into retirement and you could continue your career here.”

“Forget about me for a second. Is that what you want? To cruise into retirement?”

“No,” I admitted. “I want to win a championship.”

“And do you think Chicago is ready to win a championship?”

And wasn’t that the golden question? Wasn’t that the question I was afraid to ask myself? I realized I had to decide how I felt about Chicago’s chances to win. In fact, in that moment I realized I had known the answer for more than a year.

“No,” I said. “They don’t have the money for all the pitching they’ll need and Pangle, too. That means they’d be satisfied with me and whatever mediocre pitching they’ll get in arbitration, and that’s not how to win a championship.”

“I agree,” said my wife. “Plus, you’d probably just go insane waiting for a team like that to win.”

“Probably,” I admitted. “But what about you? Your career?”

“My career?” said Gwen with a sly smile. “Let me tell you about my career. GCC, who owns my station, is owned by Valor Communications, which is owned by the Re-Pac Group, who owns over two hundred television and radio stations across the U.S. and Canada. I have only to request a transfer and I’ll get it.”

“Just like that? To anywhere?”

“Anywhere. It’s in my contract. There’s nowhere you can play that I can’t work.” Then she gave me a peck on the mouth. “See? You’re not the only one who knows how to negotiate.”

The next day I called the Magic Man. “He’s not in, Dave.”

“I figured. Can you leave him a message, Delia?”

“That you’re filing for free agency?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I have been authorized to forward you the paperwork. There. It’s on its way.”

“Thanks.”

“I have to have it back by end of business today.”

“Got it.”

“He wanted me to tell you something else, too. He said, ‘tell Dave this is a good year to be a free agent shortstop and I will be a monster for him.’”

“Ah. Okay then.”

“And Dave?”

“Yes?”

“Tell your very smart wife hello for me.”

“I will. Thanks, Delia.”

I hung up the call, put my phone back in my locker, and sat quietly on the bench for a moment before finishing dressing for batting practice. What have I just done?

Max Thune walked up to me. “Hey, Davey. We’re going to give Nieves a few more swings tonight, okay?”

“Sure,” I said. “I understand.”

What have you done? I’ll tell you what you’ve done, I said to myself. You’ve done the only thing you could have done, if you want a championship.

And the rollercoaster goes up and down, up and down….