CHAPTER 13:
Goodbyes
From: Dave Driscoll (ddriscoll@CBPA.org)
Sent: July 30, 2004 11:46PM
To: Don Driscoll (dondriscoll@familynet.com)
Subject:
Dear Dad,
I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while but something big has happened. I’m writing you right now from a hotel room in Little Rock, Arkansas. Why am I in Little Rock when the Gents are in the middle of a homestand? Because I was traded to Little Rock yesterday.
Believe me, I’m as surprised as you. What team trades away their first round pick? I was really angry at Theo, but I think this might be the best thing for me. I’m going to call you tomorrow and explain everything. I went 0 for 4 tonight in my first game, but overall my hitting is coming around. Got interviewed by some local paper. Little Rock is at the bottom of the Heartland League, so I know they’ll play me. I feel pretty optimistic. The toughest part was saying goodbye to everyone.
Talk to you tomorrow.
Dave
The Newest Little Rock Hound
I thought I was going to Durham. How could I not? I had been hitting well, scoring runs, stealing bases, not to mention I was working hard on showing some maturity.
“You’re not going to Durham,” were the first words out of Theo’s mouth.
I just sat there for a moment. Theo looked uncomfortable. He lit up his second cigarette in the last minute.
“Then what’s going on? Have I pissed you off?” I say.
“No, Dave,” he says. “Just the opposite. I’m very happy with how you’ve been developing. You’re going to be a great ballplayer. You have good instincts, good bat speed, a good eye and phenomenal hands. You’re smart and you play the game the way it should be played.”
“And?” I say.
“And you’ve been traded to the Kansas City organization.”
At first I didn’t know what to do. It was like a called third strike. My first thought was:
you mean I can’t play ball with Moose and J.R. anymore?
“How come?” I finally asked. Here’s what Theo told me:
“Dave, I told you I would never lie to you. The organization feels Lino Lopez is going to be their guy at short for the foreseeable future. He’s just been killing wherever he goes. Did you know he went home during the off-season and hit .368 in Winter League? He’s leading Durham in homers and RBI, for Christ’s sake. I told you he was hot ****.”
He took a long drag of his cigarette.
“They were talking about keeping you here for another year because they anticipate Lino moving on to Raleigh. They wanted you to follow him to Durham. Believe me, I want you here, in this organization. Realistically for me, I’m not going to get back to the bigs with Jose Landeros at short. But I can’t do that to you. You’re too good a ballplayer to keep you in a dead end situation. You deserve to be someplace where you have a shot. Plus, you’re ready for AA now. So I called Martin Kellinger, the Knights’ GM. I called in a marker and worked out a deal to send you and Pridgen to Little Rock for two bodies. I don’t even know who we’re getting – all I know is one’s a shortstop. The truth is, Dave, I really didn’t care who I got. I let Marty pick who he wanted to send me.”
I tried to let it sink in, but the news was still buzzing around my head like an angry bee.
“Why Little Rock?” I asked.
“Because Kansas City has no shortstops. They haven’t had a decent shortstop since Munoz, you know that. When he retired early it left them in the lurch. They weren’t expecting to have to replace him so soon and they had no one ready on the farm. I know this because I was partly responsible for the situation. Munoz told me he wanted to play four more years. I told the team not to bother drafting any shortstops. They didn’t draft any shortstops. Horatio quit. Now they’re hurting.”
Theo took another long drag of his cigarette, finished it, and lit another. He took a long drink out of a Diet Coke can. He held it out to me.
“Scotch?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“It’s Blue Label.”
“I’ll pass.”
“I never heard the end of it, even after I left,” he continued. “The Knights felt like I shafted them somehow. How did I know he wanted to go back to the Dominican and become a missionary? He was only 35, for Christ’s sake. He never mentioned anything about it to me. Now, I’m carrying the cross on that one. ‘You owe us a shortstop, Theo’ Kellinger says to me. Jesus.”
He shook his head slowly, took another long drag on his cigarette and went on.
“Did you know we almost sent them Lopez last year? The team came to me and said ‘can we move a shortstop?’ Yeah, I said. Move Lopez. There was a deal in place: Lopez for some kid named Finnie. You know why it didn’t happen?”
“I got hurt.”
“You got hurt.”
This was not really happening, was it?
Theo went on: “The bottom line is you’re going to a place where you’ll be the number one shortstop in the whole farm system. They won’t trade you. You’ll be starting, batting in the one or two spot. It’s a better chance than Atlanta will give you now. That know-nothing prick Van Alten wanted to keep you as insurance. He told me to tell you he liked you more than Lino. You know, to get you to stay. I told him I wasn’t going to lie for him. I told him to move you.”
“You pushed to trade me?”
“Yep. Best thing for you.”
“Best thing for you, you mean,” I said angrily.
“What?” said Theo. His eagle eyes bored into me.
“You screw up and KC is out of a shortstop. A world class shortstop, in fact. Now you figure you can get square with them by sending me. Let’s face it, Theo, you want to get back to the bigs and if I work out you can remind them where they got me, get yourself a better job than managing in Hinesville.”
Theo gave me a hard stare. Once upon a time it would have intimidated me.
“It ain’t like that at all, kid.”
“No? It sure feels like it to me.”
Theo and I stared at each other for a long moment. His goddamn cigarette was dangling from his lower lip. I wanted to smack it away.
“I burned too many bridges in Kansas City, kid. I won’t be back as long as Frank Faraday’s in the front office. But fine. You think I’m playing you? You want to call Van Alten?” He lifted up the phone receiver and held it out to me in one fat fist. “Let’s call him. I told you I’d never lie to you and I meant it. I may be a lot of things, but I’ve never left a player wondering why.”
I wanted to take that phone, but I didn’t. “No,” I said. Theo set it down and sat down again.
“I’m not denying that this trade will set me right with them,” he said. “It will. You’re going to be very good, Dave.”
“Oh, now I’m Dave,” I snorted.
“Just listen. Does it matter? You want to go to LA? They want you, too. But they have four outstanding shortstops there. You want to fight it out with those guys? You want to make your case in San Bernardino, riding the bench? I can make it happen.”
He ran his hand over his flattop and gave a long, loud exhale.
“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to Little Rock. They need a player like you. You need a situation like this.”
I knew he wouldn’t lie to me. Theo didn’t care enough about people’s feelings to consider it.
“When do I have to be there?”
“You start tomorrow against Burlington.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. It’s a night game.”
“I can’t wrap up everything in less than twelve hours!”
“Try.”
“What if I don’t show up?”
“They fine the hell out of you.”
Goddamn, I was pissed.
“How much?” I growled.
I told the guys right there in the parking lot. No point in wasting time. They didn’t know what to say either. We all just stood there. Nobody knew what to do next. Then Moose, good old Moose, shakes my hand and says, “Make Atlanta regret it.”
I put on a pot of chili and they all helped me pack. We made a party out of it. I called Miss Draper and told her. I said Moose and J.R. wanted to continue as tenants. She agreed and wished me luck. She told me she’d send over the lease in the morning. She told me I was a good young man. “Keep the Lord in your life, David,” she said.
I don’t know who called the team, but one by one they began to show up at the house. Pretty soon we had just about everybody there, helping, talking, and joking. Bradley Sing even showed up. I couldn’t believe it. It made leaving hurt even more because I never really hung out with them, yet here they were showing up to say goodbye.
Pridgen was as surprised as everyone else. “I just got here,” he told me. “Now I’m gone.”
“It’ll be all right,” I said.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “With Kearse gone from Hinesville I thought I’d get a shot to start. Now I’ll be playing behind Tony Finnie.”
“Is he any good?”
“He only leads the Heartland League in every offensive category. I’ll be sitting the bench.”
“Lopez for some kid named Finnie”. Some kid, my ass.
“How are you getting to Little Rock?” I asked him.
“I’ll drive. I’m leaving in about fifteen minutes.”
“Why not hang out here for a while and we’ll go out together?”
“Nah,” he said. “You should stay, say your goodbyes. You knew these folks a lot longer than I did. I don’t mind driving at night and I--.”
“What?”
“I really want to get out of here.”
Who could blame him?
There was a familiar
rap-rap-rap-rap at the door. I admit my heart stopped for a moment because there was only one person who knocked like that. When I opened the door, Cliff stood there with a shiny black bat I had never seen before in his giant hand. We just stood there like a couple of idiots. I don’t know how he knew, but he knew. Maybe it was the noise. Maybe it was the cars out front. Maybe when you live next to rookie ballplayers you get to know when someone’s leaving.
He held up the length of gleaming black wood. His soft voice was in calm contrast to the noisy house behind me.
“This is Beatrice,” he said. “She’s the bat I used in 1950 when I hit 50 home runs.”
“Oh no, Cliff. Man, I can’t-.”
“It’s okay. Take her,” he nodded. “For luck.”
He held her out to me. She was beautiful.
“Thanks, Cliff.”
Cliff gave a simple nod. We stood there for a moment.
“I’ll miss your chili,” I said.
Cliff nodded again. “I’ll miss watching you play,” he said.
We shook hands there in the doorway. “You’ll see me again,” I said, forcing a smile. “On TV.”
“Shoot, Davey,” he said. “I’ll drive to Kansas City if I have to.”
“You want to come in for a while?”
“Thank you. I believe I will.”
“You’ll never guess what I made for dinner.”
I was traded to Little Rock at 9:45pm and on the road to Arkansas by one. It was a twelve hour drive and I could have left the next morning, but I just wanted to get out of there. Like Mark Pridgen, I felt like I didn’t belong there anymore. It’s a strange feeling to know your team doesn’t think they need you, when the day before you were the starting shortstop. Moose and J.R., Dex and Yoogie, they all had handshakes and hugs for me. J.R. told me to kick ass. Dex said he was upset I was going because they were going to have to get a new Playstation.
I shook hands with Yoogie.
“Watch yourself,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said. “You too. Thanks for all the-, you know.”
“Yeah.”
Moose practically lifted me off the ground.
“See ya, ****head.”
“See ya, ****head.”
“Give me your number when you get there.”
“I will. Thanks for everything, Moose.”
“Always, man. And remember to lighten up.”
“I’ll try.”
The guys waved at me as I pulled out onto Bagley Street. I waved back and popped my AC/DC disk in the player.
Highway to Hell blasted into the cab of the truck. In the rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of an old man and a little dog walking in the dark.
Next week:
Welcome to Little Rock