[Tib]

CHAPTER 15:

Buddha, Brunettes and Biorhythms

My shoes made a squishing sound when I walked. I actually left a little mud puddle out at short. My wallet was ruined. My glove weighed about two extra pounds and made the ball dangerously wet each time I caught it. I had to use Pridgen’s hair dryer to try to get it dry between innings. I had four hours of sleep after a twelve hour drive. The first girl I met, whose name I didn’t even know yet, thought I was an ass. Is it any wonder I went 0 for 4 my first game? I was actually nodding off by the seventh inning. At least everyone called me Dave.

When the game was over (we lost 6-2), I had barely enough energy to shower and change, much less talk to anyone. They came anyway. The local and college papers surrounded me in the parking lot like I just hit a game-winning 5-run homer. Here’s a re-print of the “interview” as it appeared in the Arkansan the next day. Keep in mind I was very tired.

How does it feel to be coming from a deep Atlanta organization to the Hounds?
“I’m excited to be playing in the Kansas City system. You know, my hero was Horatio Munoz. He played here. Well, not here in Little Rock. He went right to Santa Fe, but you know.”
Have you met any of the team yet?
“Yes, I’ve met some, but I’ve been so busy I haven’t had a chance to introduce myself to all of everyone.”
What do you think of Little Rock?
“I like it. It’s the biggest city I’ve lived in.”
But you’re from L.A.
“Yeah, but I didn’t live in the city city. I’m from Mount Rose, which is a little community just outside the L.A. area. I mean, it’s in the L.A. area. Everything’s in the L.A. area. But it’s kind of apart from there.”
You went oh for four. Are you in a slump?
“Slump? I don’t think so. It was just an off night because I was so tired from driving and everything. I was trying to play through it, like they used to do in the BBA.”
You’re known for your great defense. Do you think it makes up for your low batting average?
“I’m not hitting .350, but .263 is not what I would call low. .230, now that’s low.”
That’s what Billy McLaurin is hitting right now.
“Who’s Billy McLaurin?”
Your backup shortstop.
“Oh. I wasn’t referring to him specifically.”
You’re a small player. Why don’t you steal more bases?
“I don’t know. Probably because of my --. My, uh, leadoffs. I should take bigger --. I go when they send me.”
Have you met Coach Palmer?
“Yes, he’s a nice guy.”
Do you think he’ll fine you for that comment about Billy McLaurin?
“I --, it wasn’t about Billy McLaurin. I didn’t know he was in a slump. I mean, I’m sure he’s a good person. I’ve never met him.”
Are you single?
“So far.”
Do you have a girlfriend?
“No, but I had an argument with a pretty girl today, so that’s close.”
Good luck with the team, Dave.
“You, too. Thanks for the Dave thing.”

That stellar exchange remains my all-time favorite interview. But there was an end to this interview that didn’t appear in the paper. As I was bobbling the final questions from the sports editor of a high school paper, I heard this:
“How do you like the food here in Little Rock?”
“I haven’t had a chance to go any--.”
And there she was, the Attitude Girl in the purple bikini. She stood outside the circle of reporters. I never saw her walk up. Jeans. White top. Boots. Her hair was down. Nice. “—where. Yet.”
She smiled. I saw she was holding the ticket envelope.
The kid from the high school paper asked me something about my truck, but he was long forgotten. I walked over to her.
“I don’t know any good places to eat yet,” I said.
“I do,” she said. “Hungry?”
“Very.”
“Good. My girlfriends dropped me off, so we’re taking your truck.”
We started walking. “They didn’t want to see the game?” I said.
“You didn’t leave them tickets.”
“They weren’t as nice to me as you were.”
“Nice interview,” she said. “By the way, can I get a copy of that for my public speaking class?”
“You are sooo funny.”
She held up the ticket envelope. “And what the hell is this?”
“What?” I feigned confusion.
“I’d know it was for me, huh?”
“Well, you did, didn’t you?”
“’Sandy Britches’? Cute.”
“You wouldn’t have given me your real name, anyway.”
“You came on like a goofball.”
“I was stunned by your beauty.”
“That is such crap.”
“You’ve really got to learn how to take a compliment.”
“You’ve really got to learn how to keep your right elbow in when you swing.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes,” she said. “Really.”
I stopped in my tracks. There was something behind what she said. I looked her over again. Her ease of movement, her confidence. I remembered her handshake. She was staring at me as if to say now do you get it?
“You’re a player,” I said finally.
“Two years varsity softball.”
Well I’ll be goddamned.
“You said you hadn’t been to a ballgame.”
“No, I said I didn’t need a man to take me to one.”
“You said baseball players are dicks.”
“I meant it in a good way.”
Was my mouth hanging open?
“What’s the matter, chief?” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.
“You’re amazing.”
“And you’re a hell of a shortstop. Now can we go eat? I’ve got three friends waiting up tonight for a full report on you.”
We got in my truck. I started it up and backed halfway out of the space before hitting the brakes. I turned to her.
“What’s your name?”
“Tell you what,” she said. “You can call me Sandy and I’ll call you Dick.”
And that’s how I met my wife Gwen.

From the #2 spot I hit in 20 of 26 games for the Hounds (.282) and made all of three errors. It didn’t help. We finished dead last at 52-78, but at least we were 12-15 in August. The local press actually considered it a good month.

The big hitters for Little Rock were Darwin Storey (.365/35/85), Tony Finnie (.334/30/85) and Justin Novoa (.315/14/65, 30 SB). Beyond them there was nothing. Mark Pridgen (.197, 0HR) struggled behind Finnie and had very little playing time. I tried to cheer him up as much as I could, but he stayed depressed.

It wasn’t all gloom, though. This team was very resilient, in spite of losing so much. They kept a positive spin on things. A lot of that was due to Coach Palmer. Palmer was a thin white guy with a balding head of blond hair and these small thick glasses that made his eyes look bigger than they really were. He had this reedy, nasal voice. He sounded more like a music teacher than a baseball coach. He was a nice guy, just like everyone said. He was so nice he got walked on by some of his players. He genuinely wanted to see his players do well, but he would not tell them directly what they were doing wrong.

Palmer was not one for confrontations. He didn’t get in his players’ faces like Theo did. Instead, he had Player Development charts and Personal Growth Plans and even something called a Professional Success System. He had graphs and stats and situational reports. He had research and analysis and performance projections. Getting called into his office wasn’t like getting called into Theo’s. Palmer would have you filling out forms. He wanted to know what your favorite color was, how much you slept, what “commitment” meant to you. I’ll tell you, after a few of these “player performance meetings” I was longing for a good old Garner ass-chewing.

Palmer told me once that I hit better in games I made an error. I told him I was probably just angry about it and it made me focus on helping the team at the plate. He told me I should pretend I just made an error each time I went to hit. Are you kidding me? I thought. He just told an infielder to think about making errors! When he said that, at that exact moment, I knew I wasn’t going to learn anything from him.

He once said my “hot zone” was belt-high middle-to-in. Wasn’t everybody’s? He said I was batting .364 when I hit balls in this area. He suggested hitting only pitches in this zone.
“What about with two strikes?” I asked.
“Especially with two strikes.”
This was Palmer. He had no clue how a ballplayer’s mind worked. I did get a nice color printout of my biorhythms from him, though.

Toward the end of August I retired the Clifford Tyler Special. I had been hitting sporadically and wanted a change. I bought a Silver Slugger Redwood 1 from Sportsman’s Planet and went on a six-game hitting streak (.400). I wrapped the Special in bubble plastic and put it in my closet next to Beatrice. I remember it made me think of Cliff and Hinesville so I gave Moose a call. It was good to talk with him; I didn’t have that kind of rapport with anybody on the Hounds yet. He said the Gents were doing well but they needed a shortstop.
“They had one,” I said.
“Don’t remind me,” he said. “I wish you were here, Dave. This new guy has Theo pulling tiny gray hairs right out of his skull.”
“I’ve been following the Gents. How come you guys haven’t moved up?”
“Don’t know, man. There’s talk of a bunch of us moving up after the playoffs. Things are tight in the organization right now. Hey, you can only do what you can do, right?”
“You’ve hit 71 homeruns in two seasons. That has to be worth something.”
“It is to Theo. He really wants to win the playoffs this year. You know, get everybody noticed.”
“Himself, too, no doubt.”
“No doubt. But he has been pissed at the organization for not moving us up sooner. I’ve heard him on the phone yelling at somebody in Atlanta. Now it’s so late in the year he wants to keep us for the post-season. All he says is that somebody needs convincing. How’re the Hounds?”
“We ain’t exactly playoff material.”
“Yeah. Well, you’re doing well.”
“I’m hitting .268 and I’m third on the team. We suck. Met a girl, though.”
“Cool. Is she hot?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Outstanding. Me, too.”
“You’re hot, too?”
“No, dickweed. I’ve got a girl now, too.”
“No, ****! When you go for walks does her white cane get in the way?”

Before a game at the end of the month against Abilene, I walked into the sauna and saw Aurelio Barrios, our left fielder, sitting cross legged on the floor of the whirlpool with his eyes closed and his nostrils a half-inch above the waterline.
“If you’re trying to drown yourself, you’re doing a half-assed job,” I said.
He raised his lips above the water just enough to say: “The physical mirrors the spiritual. The calm of the water is a manifestation of the peace of the soul.”
“What’s that? Zen?”
“It’s Buddhism.”
“That’s not Buddhism,” I said. “That’s some kind of weekend retreat bull****.”
“Mock if you must, but it helps me stay calm and centered at the plate.”
“You need to get laid, dude.”
“I don’t see you hitting up a storm, Driscoll.”
The water was quite relaxing, but it tickled my nose and my knee hurt after sitting cross legged for so long.

Come September our season was mercifully over. I hit .265 combined for Hinesville and Little Rock with 29 doubles, 6 homers, 50 RBI, 79 runs and 22 stolen bases in 130 games. On the 4th I got word from the Gents that I had again won Defensive Player of the Year for the Eastern Developmental League (.972). I found out later it was the first time in the 66-year history of the EDL the award was given to a player who finished the season in another league. Should they send the $3,300 bonus to my new address in Little Rock?
Yes. Yes, they should.

Palmer told me the organization wanted me to play winter ball in Mexico. I didn’t want to go anywhere. I was looking forward to visiting my folks and spending more time with Gwen. The Admirals beat the Tornados in the Championship that year. Gwen and I went to St. Louis to see one of the divisional playoff games. We had a great day together. Come to think of it, that night wasn’t too bad, either.

Next week: Chapter 16, "Dabeed Drisco" y La Liga Nueva