Diary Of A Can't Miss Prospect

[Jason]

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I thought this was lost in the Big Server Crash Of 2005. However, I was able to find most of this dynasty thread cached on Google. It looks as if we only lost one significant post. So I'm going to repost the entries I could find and start fresh from that point.

Thank you to everyone who shared encouragement on this dynasty. I hope to not disappoint as I continue to go forward.

[Jason]

June 1, 2005, 7am:

I guess that before I talk about what's going to happen today, I should introduce myself. Years from now when I'm a superstar (if what my parents and coaches keep telling me is true) then this will probably be worth a ton of money. I asked my new "advisor" why I'd need to make money off a journal if I was going to be "the next Babe Ruth" but he just said to shut up and do it.

So here goes. My name is Dale Ellison. I'm 17 and I just graduated from Shippensburg High School in Shippensburg, Pennsylvania. I play third base because of my baseball hero, Mike Schmidt. Some of the guys on the team used to make fun of me because I have a hero I never saw play.

Schmidt was my dad's favorite Phillies player of all time and he used to put me to bed at night with stories about Schmidt. The home run that clinched the pennant over the Expos in 1980. How he and mom almost broke up because he was late for their date because Schmidt had three home runs in a game and dad wanted to see if he would hit four...and he did. (Mom later said that I wasn't named Michael Jack Ellison because of that night.)

Since I was little I had a gift for playing baseball. I don't know how I was given the talent I have because my dad can't hit at all. He can catch it if you throw it at him but he's not much in the way of movement. I guess God was listening when dad prayed over my crib!

I wasn't happy with my year even though my parents and coaches and Sid, the "advisor" my parents hired, say it was a great year. I only hit .755 with 30 home runs. Last season I hit .820 although I only had 24 home runs. I'd rather hit a few less home runs and have the higher average but my dad keeps saying "chicks dig the long ball." I think Tony Gwynn did just fine.

It's June 1 and today is the First Year Player Draft. I've been told by my folks and their "advisor" that I shouldn't say I prefer one team over another but I really want to play for the Phillies. However, with the Phils winning the NL last season, there's no way it's going to happen. All the "mock drafts" have me going in the top 5 and Baseball America thinks I'll be the top overall pick.

I guess I could still go to college. All the teams that made it to Omaha last year offered me a full ride. Still, it's going to be hard to turn down almost a million dollars if it's thrown my way. I hate going to classes anyway...they're so boring. I'd rather just play ball.

So in a few hours I'll be a switch hitting third baseman for the Diamondbacks, Orioles, Tigers, Brewers or Astros. I really don't want to play for any of them although if I play for Baltimore I might get to work out with Cal Ripken.

My "advisor" is yelling at me to hurry up because we have to go to the "draft party" with his other clients. I'll write tonight once I know where I'm going to go. I know whoever takes me it'll be part of the deal that I don't report until next spring training...I want time to get ready. Sid seems to think that I could end up going straight to the major leagues depending on who drafts me.

[Jason]

June 1, 2005 9:45pm:

So this is what it feels like to be a multi millionaire. The Detroit Tigers just gave me almost three million dollars to not go to college. I think it's a fair trade.

I was taken third in tonight's draft. Hyakutarou Mashai, that Japanese center fielder who came over in the off-season went first to Arizona. He's a proven commodity so I guess I can't really say they made a mistake under conventional wisdom. I know I'm going to be better than him but if Arizona didn't want me then I'm glad I didn't go there.

The Orioles are just a bunch of morons. Angelos calls me and says they want to pick me but they don't want to pay me a huge bonus. Sid tells passes me a note that says "he's a cheap liar." I tell him that I want a fair market deal and nothing more. He says "Thank you very much." Then ESPNews says the Orioles take center fielder Santos Jimenez. Sid's immediately on the phone and a minute later hangs up with a smile. "They're going to be asking for three million and they'll get it," he says.

Then the phone rings and it's Michael Illich, the owner of the Tigers. "We're not Baltimore. We know what you're worth." I was hoping for a million. They offered me two point nine. My mom, listening on a speakerphone in the next room, starts screaming "YES! YES! YES!" I guess if all else fails I know I'll have enough money to go to college.

Dave Dombrowski called after my pick was announced and tried to push me into reporting to Oneonta, New York and their single A minor league team. Sid, who is suddenly my agent, informs Mr. Dombrowski that we told him I wouldn't report until next year's spring training and we meant it. After a rather heated exchange Mr. Dombrowski said I could wait until next season.

I really wish Sid didn't insist to my parents I hold out until next season. He's of the opinion it's better to wait then to take the job of a guy who came out of spring training on that team. I'm thinking that I just want to play ball. Sid says that I'll be working this off-season with some of his clients including last year's home run champion.

I still would like to be playing this season. The earlier I can get to the show, the earlier I can go free agent and sign with Philadelphia.

[Jason]

February 20, 2006, 9pm, Lakeland, FL:

Well, it was an eventful first day of my professional baseball career.

I never told anyone in the Tigers' organization that I planned to leave as soon as I could become a free agent but they sealed the deal less than ten minutes into my first day. Skipper Alan Trammell calls me into his office and says that we need to talk before I head out for drills. I'm thinking it's going to be some pep talk about not letting the big bonus go to my head or how it's a long shot to make the major league roster.

Instead, the first words from Trammell's mouth are "you're not going to be the third baseman for this team." I was stunned and didn't know what to say. It's as if Trammell was getting off on bossing around the young kid with the big money. Skip then starts talking about Darrell Weatherly and how he's a true professional baseball player, how he's valued by his teammates, how the fans love him, etc.

I tell him that's fine and to trade me as soon as possible. Trammell laughs and calls Kirk Gibson into the room. Skip then tells Gibson and they both laugh. I really felt like crap and I could tell these guys were enjoying themselves immensely. Once they stopped laughing, Gibson turns to me and slaps me on the shoulder.

"Kid, you have no idea the great s*** ahead of you," Gibson says and he walks out of the room.

"You're moving to second base," Trammell says. "How would you like to be the starting second baseman for the Detroit Tigers?"

I'm stunned. Sure, I'd played a few games at second base during my high school days but I was mostly a third baseman. I told Skip that I would be lying if I said I didn't want to play in the major leagues right away but that I didn't know if I could make the change that fast.

"Sure you can," Skip said. "Your speed and glove will get you to balls up the middle most second basemen could only dream about."

So now instead of competing with Weatherly, I'm up against last year's starter Guy Schott and Erik Colgan. Drills today went well and I only made one real mistake fielding a ball up the middle. I should have just hung onto the ball instead of throwing but I wanted to try and really impress my new teammates.

I can say on day one, I was the best second baseman out there. I'd still rather be playing third. Maybe Skip will come to his senses.

I wasn't ready for the press. Heading out for the workout no one bothered me but as soon as I walked off the field there were a dozen cameras in my face and people were shouting questions about why I was at second base. I really didn't know what to say so I just said I was happy to be a member of the Tigers organization and I'm happy to be playing baseball again. I looked like an ass on SportsCenter. Peter Gammons said it wasn't a good beginning if I was moved out of my natural position already and that I might be another in a long line of Tigers busts.

Then I get to my locker and find that the crotches of the four pair of pants in my locker have been cut out. There's a typed note sitting on top of them that says "welcome to the big time, Bonus Baby."

So I'm sitting there in my uniform just staring at the pile of pants. I felt like crying but I didn't. I felt like shouting and ranting and raving but I didn't. After about five minutes, someone hangs a new suit in my locker. I look up and it's eight time All Star Wilfredo Salinas.

"Over the next twenty years you're gonna take a lot of crap if you're as good as we all think you are," he looks down at me and says. "If you react to every bad surprise as well as you responded to this you'll be just fine."

I turned around to see pitchers Marzano, Centers and Sparks along with starting catcher Croteau and Gibson standing there smiling. They took me out to the Texas Cattle Company for a steak dinner...and made me pick up the tab. Rookie initiation, they said. Considering I was able to spend three hours talking to Kirk Gibson about being a professional baseball player I think it's money well invested.

Still, I'm ready to get to bed and sleep. I have to be in by six tomorrow morning because I'm taking extra batting practice. If I have to go to the minors I'm going to make it as hard as possible on Trammell to send me down.

[ifspuds]

You're saving offline copies of each post now, right?

[Jason]

February 23, 2006, 9pm, Lakeland, FL

It didn't take long for me to make my first real enemy.

As I was standing near the batting cage waiting for my turn, I heard a voice behind me say "Enjoy Toledo, rook." I turned to see Erik Colgan standing behind me with a less than friendly look on his face.

"Excuse me?" I said to him. "Did you say something?"

"Yeah, rook," Colgan said and then spat at my feet. "I hope you enjoy Toledo because I'm going to be the starting second baseman of this ballclub. You'll be in the minors where you belong."

Fighting off the urge to tell him off, I just turned around and started to walk into the cage.

"Yeah, go pretend you're a ballplayer," Colgan said as he ran past me toward second base. I didn't even look up as he ran past. Instead, I looked over to the back of the cage where Skip and Gibson were standing.

"You gonna take that?" Gibson asked. I looked down at the plate in front of me and then back to Gibson.

"No," I said. "I'm not."

The first pitch came in waist high and I hit a bullet right at Colgan. He apparently wasn't expecting it to arrive so quickly and it skipped right past him into right center field. The next nine pitches all went to the same way...hard line drives right at Colgan. He was able to field three of them.

"All right," Skip said. "You made your point."

"Made him look like an ass, actually," Gibson said and the guys around the cage roared in laughter. I looked at Colgan and I believe if it would have been legal for him to shoot me he would be looking for the nearest gun. Instead, he flipped me the bird and started walking off the field. I stepped back into the cage and sent the next five pitches over the wall.

"Ignore Colgan," Skip said as I was leaving the cage. "He doesn't realize that he was ticketed for Toledo before we even arrived here. The only person you have to beat out is Schott."

"And I'm going to make you work for it," a voice behind me said. I turned to see Schott standing there with a smile on his face. "Look kid, I'm not going pull a Colgan on you but if you aren't out here busting your ass each day I'm going to make sure you don't end up on this team."

"Fine with me," I said. "If I'm not busting my ass I shouldn't be here."

"Damn right," Gibson muttered.

I grabbed my glove and headed out to the field where I didn't miss a single shot that came my direction. It still feels very funny to be playing second base because the balls come off the bat at a different angle but I'm getting used to it quickly. I guess I don't have much of a choice there.

When I went to my locker after practice, I found a pile of dog crap sitting on the shelf next to a copy of the Toledo Blade opened to the apartments for rent. I turned to where Colgan should have been and noticed that he had already left for the day. What a coward.

I guess this won't be the first time I have someone upset at me because of my contract or my talent...I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly. I guess I can understand it because if I wasn't here Colgan would likely be the backup second baseman and utility guy off the bench.

Still, better him to Toledo than me. Maybe I can have him send me some hot dogs from Tony Packo's.

[Jason]

February 27, 2006, 11pm; Lakeland, FL

I've been throwing up for two hours now. To steal a little from that jerk helicopter guy in Hunt For Red October, it wasn't lightweight stuff. It's that chunky, industrial waste puke. I threw up in the elevator on the way to my hotel room. I threw up in the ice machine at the end of the hall. I threw up in the sink, bathtub and toilet.

I never thought I'd be this nervous for my first spring training game. It's not like the game really matters much. I could go 0 for 5 with 10 errors and it would just be the first game of spring, right? So why can't I sleep and why I can't eat anything?

I had a good day on the field today. I only booted two of the hundred or so balls that came my direction. I hit all but three of my BP shots out. I've been swinging the bat pretty good but I also know it's going to be a lot different when I'm not hitting against coaches.

I had an awkward moment on the field today, though. Right after I booted a ground ball I looked up to see an ESPN cameraman who had been apparently filming me with a big smile. He was talking very excitedly into a headset and a moment later some little weasel looking guy came over and looked at something on the camera and wrote it down. I didn't watch Baseball Tonight because I'm sure Gammons is going to be on there being an idiot. I guarantee he wouldn't be bad mouthing me if I was signed by Boston.

Colgan's still acting like an a******. Jim Price, our radio guy, pulled me aside yesterday and said he was talking to a reporter from Baseball Weekly who was making jokes about me "not liking the O.C. because of the girls." Price said he cornered the guy and he admitted that he spoke with Colgan yesterday and that Colgan said he didn't think my main interest was girls because he hasn't seen me with one.

I told Gibson who told me to wait in Skip's office. A minute later in comes Gibson laughing with Colgan. As soon as Erik saw me, he looked at Gibson and said "what's the baby in here for?" Gibson closed the door and out of respect to him I won't write what he said to Colgan. Colgan kept saying over and over he didn't say anything like that and that the f***ing reporters had it in for him. He didn't even bother to apologize. He just looked at Gibson and asked if he was done and walked out.

"Don't worry kid," Gibson said to me. "He'll be gone in the first round of cuts next week."

Skip then came in and told me that I would be playing at least three innings in every game this spring so expect to play every day. I'm excited about it. And nervous. And about to throw up again.

[goroyals]

Great dynasty...good to see it made it through OOTP Dev's self-induced meltdown.

[Jason]

March 1, 2006, 10 pm; Lakeland, FL

I once heard my mother talking with a friend of hers about her aunt dying on the way to my mother’s wedding. She said she’d never forget going from the highest of highs to one of the lowest of lows. I never really understood what she meant by that until today.

I was sitting at my locker thinking about the game when I heard a very loud bang to my right. At first, I didn’t realize what had happened because I was so focused on my thoughts of the game. I looked to my right and noticed that there was a bat lying on the floor. I reached over to pick it up when I heard someone yell “S***!”

I turned to see Wil Salinas throwing Erik Colgan to the floor while keeping a hand wrapped around Colgan’s throat. Wil bounced Colgan’s head off the floor while Colgan begged him to stop. Wil leaned back and then punched Colgan in the nose. We could hear the crack as Colgan’s nose broke and blood began to rush down his face, onto his jersey and then the carpet. Croteau and Thompson swung in and pulled Salinas off the bloody lump that was once supposed to be a professional baseball player.

“You’re a worthless piece of s***,” Salinas yelled at Colgan. “You don’t deserve to wear that uniform!”

The other guys started to voice their agreement with Salinas when it finally dawned on me what had happened. I looked at the bat in my hands and saw “Colgan” written with a Sharpie on the knob. The bastard had thrown a bat at me from just a few feet away. Just like every other throw he seemed to make this spring, it went wide right of his target.

Skip came running into the room with Gibson and Bruce Fields, the bench coach. He started toward Salinas when Gibson slapped him on the shoulder and then pointed to Colgan lying on the floor. Skip walked over to where Colgan had made his way onto his hands and knees and just slowly shook his head.

“What the hell happened in here?” Skip said out loud to no one.

“That a****** walked in here, grabbed a bat and threw it at the rook,” Ben Marzano said. “Salinas saw him do it and took care of the situation.” The statement was met with quite a few subdued chuckles from most everyone in the room.

“Did you do that, Colgan?” Gibson said loudly. “Threw your bat like some spoiled eight year old?”

Colgan rose to his feet but wouldn’t look Gibson in the face. He just stood there with his head hanging down as blood dripped off his chin onto his white Reebok cleats.

“You were just off this club,” Skip said evenly to Colgan. “But now you might as well forget ever being a part of the organization. Pack your crap and head back to West Virginia. I doubt anyone will be calling you soon.” Skip then turned and started to walk out of the room with Gibson and Fields behind him.

I glanced down at the bat and then back up to see that Colgan was looking right at me with an enraged look. It then hit me that everyone in the room was looking at me as well to see how I would react to the situation. I did the only thing that came to mind. I walked over to Colgan with his bat held out before me in my hands. As I reached him, and he lifted his arm to take the bat, I let it roll off my fingers and onto the floor. The loud sound caused Skip and the coaches to stop and look back at us.

“Here’s your bat back,” I said. “You’ll probably need it at whatever backwater Junior High school you end up as a part time phys ed teacher.”

The room erupted in laughter and I glanced over to see Gibson with a huge smile give me a thumbs up. I turned to head back to my locker as Colgan threw a “f*** you” at me.

“Hey Erik, I’d love to chat,” I said looking back at him. “But I have my major league spring training debut to prepare for right now.”

“Damn right you do, kid,” Salinas said.

Colgan bent down and picked up his bat. No one said a word to him as he went to his locker and packed all his belongings in a giant duffel bag. Colgan stood up and looked around as if he expected someone to wish him good luck but the entire team acted as if there wasn’t a human being standing there whose life’s dream had just vanished with the fling of a bat. Colgan slung the bag over his shoulder and walked out of the locker room.

I know I shouldn’t feel this way but I feel for Colgan despite the fact he treated me like complete crap. I hope that I never make the kind of decision that puts me in the middle of a room of people that don’t even acknowledge I’m there. I probably shouldn’t have made the crack about being a Junior High gym teacher because that’s likely what Colgan will end up being a year from now. Still, he did bring it on himself.

The game began and Skip had me batting fifth in the lineup and playing second base. In the top of the first, Marzano struck out the side. I was glad that happened because I had butterflies in my stomach so bad I felt like throwing up all over again. I almost sprinted off the field after the third out and grabbed my spot on the bench. I expected I’d have the bottom of the first to calm down and be fine when I went back to second for the start of the second inning.

Ramirez and Canfield both grounded to short. Salinas showed why he’s an All Star by hitting a shot into the right center gap and trotting into second with a double. Pedro Torre, our DH, was hitting before me and he wasn’t swinging a good bat. I slowly grabbed a bat and helmet to head for the on deck circle fully expecting not to hit this inning when Skip grabbed my arm.

“Look,” Skip said in my ear, “this isn’t advice I’m ever going to give you when the games really matter. Since this is your first professional at bat ever and I don’t want it to be insignificant, swing for the fences.”

I turned my head and looked at Skip with what had to be a funny look because he shot me a thin smile.

“Get up there and give ‘em hell,” he said and pushed me toward the on-deck circle as I heard a crack. Torre had sent one deep into the hole at short and while Indians shortstop Trejo was able to get a glove on it there was no chance for a play at first.

So my debut was going to be with two on and two out in the bottom of the first inning. I put on my helmet and walked past the on-deck circle and right to the batter’s box. I took just outside the box and took a look around Joker Marchant Stadium. There was only a crowd of about two thousand but they were all cheering and yelling.

“OK Rookie,” the umpire said. I turned to look at him and he smiled. “Let’s play ball.”

I stepped into the box and set myself for the first pitch I’d see as a professional baseball player. Jim Mantz was getting the start for the Indians and was supposed to be their wonder boy of the future. The first pitch was a fastball that missed my chin my about two inches. I went diving into the dirt as the Tribe’s catcher giggled.

“Welcome to the show, kid,” he said as I turned and glared. I stood up without brushing the dust off my uniform. (I would later find out that when I did that Gibson turned to the guys on the bench and said “That’s the way you show a chickens*** pitcher you’re not afraid of him!”) The second pitch was a nasty slider that cut away and hit the corner of the zone. Strike one.

“Hell of a pitch,” I muttered.

“You want another one?” the catcher asked me.

“No, I don’t,” I said as I prepared for another slider. Laguna may be a decent defensive catcher with a great arm but he seems as smart as a rosin bag.

The slider came just as I thought it would but it wasn’t in my wheelhouse. I knew there was no way I could turn on it and pull it out to left so I went with the pitch and smacked a line drive over the head of Sanger at second. Salinas scored easily but I had to hold at first when Torre slipped and fell rounding second base. Still, I began my career one for one with an RBI. I couldn’t stop smiling as I stood at first base. Fred Orosco, the Indians’ All Star first baseman, came over to me and was smiling too.

“Enjoy the feeling, rookie,” he said and winked. “You only get that first pro hit once.” It was the best feeling of my life and a high from which I didn’t want to come down.

When I walked back to the dugout, Skip grabbed my arm and asked me why I didn't swing for the fences like he told me.

"It was low and outside, Skip," I said. "I couldn't turn on it so I thought it would be better to take it the other way and at least try to knock in Salinas."

"Kid, you keep thinking like that," Skip replied, "And you're gonna go a hell of a long way in this game."

At the end of the day that single to right was the only hit in my stat column. I ended up one for three with a couple of walks. I think if it wasn’t for what happened with Weatherly it might have been a different story. The two outs I made came after I had to move to third.

Yeah…third.

I had just earned my second walk when Darrell Weatherly came to the plate in the bottom of the fifth. I had been watching Mantz and thought I had his timing down so I asked Skip if I could try to steal given the chance. Skip gave me the green light so I was focused on running with the first pitch. Mantz was paying no attention to me and I was able to get a hell of a jump. As I prepared to slide into second, I noticed that Trejo slowed up and wasn’t even preparing to take a throw so I went in standing up.

I turned to see Weatherly rolling in the dirt around the plate. At first I thought a pitch had hit him but Mantz already had the ball back and was standing with a concerned look on his face. Skip was at the plate already along with the trainers and Gibson. The trainers started waving their arms toward the ambulance crew at the bullpen gate and they started rushing toward the plate with their stretcher.

Weatherly continued to roll around and I heard his screaming. It was a scream I had never heard in my life and it caused me to shudder. It sounded almost inhuman…like an animal dying. The trainers and the ambulance crew continued to work on Weatherly for a few minutes while the Indians players gathered in a group and I heard one of them praying for Weatherly.

I asked Trejo what happened to Weatherly.

“I don’t know,” Trejo said in English with a heavy Puerto Rican accent. “But he fell like a stone.”

The trainers put Weatherly on the stretcher and walked with him as the ambulance crew rolled him off the field. The fans stood up and applauded for Weatherly as they took him away but he seemed to have passed out from the pain. I just stood on the bag and watched as Carlos Palomo came off the bench to strike out in place of Weatherly.

I ran to the dugout and Skip pulled everyone together.

“It looks like Weatherly ripped his bicep,” Skip said. “And I won’t lie to you. It looks really bad right now. But we can’t worry about that. Ellison, you’re a third baseman so get to third. Schott, you’re in at two.”

Somehow I made it through without making an error but the excitement was completely gone. We won the game 4-3 but when it was over there was no high fives exchanged or handshakes among the players. We just migrated toward the clubhouse and changed clothes without saying much of anything. There was an eerie silence through most of the clubhouse and no one appeared to want to break it.

I asked Gibson where they had taken Weatherly and he told me Lakeland Regional Medical Center but advised me not to go. Salinas and Thompson were standing nearby and said the same thing. I went anyway because I just felt like it was something I had to do.

A very cute nurse showed me to the room Darrell was in and left us alone.

“Well rook,” he said as he turned glassy, bloodshot eyes in my general direction. “Looks like you’re going to play where you want to play now.”

“Appears that way,” I said quietly.

“Bet you’re happy as hell,” Weatherly said slowly through a cloud of painkillers.

“Not really, no,” I replied.

Weatherly slowly turned his face toward me and took a minute to allow his eyes to focus. I don’t know what my face said to him but his eyes narrowed into a glance that drilled through my head.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“I want to know how to play third base in the major leagues,” I said. “I’ve been playing second all this time and while I’ve played third before I know it’s not the same up here.”

“F***in’ A it’s not,” Weatherly said and laughed. “Sit down rookie.”

We spent the next two hours talking baseball and I think it helped Weatherly feel a little better. It’s also possible he was just on some really good drugs. Nurses kept coming and going bringing water and pills for Weatherly. Finally, a really pretty redhead nurse came in and announced that visiting hours were long over and I needed to leave before the attending doctor yelled at her. I smiled and said I’d be happy to leave when she came over and slid a piece of paper into my hand before she walked out.

On the paper was the name “Michelle” and a phone number. I looked up to see Weatherly smiling at me.

“Welcome to the major leagues, rookie,” he said. “Now get the hell out so I can sleep.”

[Jason]

March 6, 2006, 6pm; Lakeland, FL

I thought my week was pretty crappy.

It was very quiet when I arrived at the park this morning. I had decided I would come in an hour before we were supposed to report so I could take a few extra swings in the batting cages. I wasn’t happy with my .263 average through five games.

I walked down the hallway toward the locker room wrapped up in my own thoughts. I was still stinging from Friday when I struck out chasing that nasty slider from Toronto’s Amaral. I knew he was going to be throwing it away and I still couldn’t hold myself back from swinging.

I was still mentally checking my bat when I pushed open the door to the locker room and hit someone hard.

“What the hell?” General Manager Dave Dombrowski said as he turned to look at me. He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Abruptly snapped out of my dreamworld, I looked around to see Skip, Assistant GM Al Avila and our owner Michael Illich.

“I only hit .263 last week,” I said. “I came in early because I thought the cages would be empty.”

Immediately images of the late Chris Farley flooded my head. I can’t remember the name of the character…but it was the guy who kept hitting himself and yelling “Stupid!” after he said something particularly stupid. Considering all four of these men could send me down to single A with a word, it probably wasn’t good to point out I had only hit .263 against Spring Training pitching.

“Only .263, huh?” Avila said with a smirk.

“Wish there were more guys on this team that wouldn’t be happy hitting .263,” Illich quietly said then lifted his head and looked at each of us. “We can finish this in the back office.”

“You dipped your back shoulder on those lazy fly balls,” Skip said to me. “Work on that.”

Without another word the four men moved to the back office and closed the door. I quickly went to my locker, changed and quickly walked to the batting cages where to my surprise I found Salinas already there. He turned around and smiled. He had apparently been there a while as the T-shirt he was wearing was soaked in sweat.

“Well,” he said. “Look who’s here.”

“I’m sorry,” I replied. “I didn’t know I had to reserve a time for the cage.”

“You don’t,” Salinas said with a laugh. “I’m just not used to someone else showing up and doing more than they have to do.”

I put my bag down in the cage next to Salinas and started pulling out my bats.

“Doesn’t everybody come down for some extra work?” I asked.

“Not unless the coaches make them,” Salinas said as he smacked a line drive against the back of the cage. “Most guys think what they get during team workouts is enough to make them professional baseball players.”

“If that was the case everyone on this team would be an all star,” I snapped sarcastically.

TH-WAP!

I heard the distinct sound of a baseball hitting the mat at the back of the batting cage. I looked up to see Salinas standing in the batter’s box, bat on his shoulder, staring down at me. I felt the bottom fall out of my stomach. I didn’t mean to insult him but I had the feeling that insulting comment about the guys he’s played with his entire career added me to the s*** list.

TH-WAP!

Salinas slowly lowered his bat and turned to shut off the pitching machine.

“I didn’t mean…” I began but Salinas held up his hand to cut me off. He leaned his bat against the side of the cage and walked over to the Heavenly Netting From God that separated the two of us. I really didn’t feel like seeing what my spleen looked like. Salinas went into a squatting position so that his eyes were on the same level as mine. The look was all business. I began to think it would be a good moment for someone else to come walking into the room.

“You seem like a good kid,” Salinas said. “So I’m going to share something with you. Listen, don’t listen, it’s up to you. But it’s for your own good.”

[Cubsgnrlmngr]

Great job so far. It feals like I'm a fan in the stands of the baseball game.

[Methusalah]

I really loved that last entry. Good work.

[Jason]

March 6, 2006, 6pm; Lakeland, FL continued

Salinas took a deep breath and looked toward the door as if he was expecting someone to come bursting in at any minute. Either that or he was hoping there would be no witnesses.

“You may have been sarcastic,” Salinas said. “But you were exactly right.”

I’m sure I had a complete look of confusion on my face because Salinas began to laugh. When I realized he wasn’t about to rip the netting in two because he wanted to kill me I started to laugh as well.

“Look, there’s a reason I’m the only All Star on this team,” he said. “There’s a reason that I’m in the top 10 in home runs and batting average each year. It’s because I’m here in the batting cages two hours before everyone else shows up.”

“I noticed that the guys start to trickle in about 15 minutes before we’re supposed to be here,” I said.

“And how many of them are on the field ready to go when we’re supposed to be?” he asked.

I sat down on the concrete and closed my eyes. I pictured the clubhouse and the guys getting ready for each game. I was always out on the field on time because as a rookie I can’t afford to be late. The only other guy I could picture out there was Salinas.

“You’re having to think way too hard,” Salinas said with a laugh.

“Yeah, I am,” I said.

“There’s a reason this team hasn’t been close to winning in almost a decade,” Salinas said. “They don’t have players who want to go the extra mile. They’re happy just to be here and get all the perks of a major league baseball player.”

“Well, I can understand that,” I said.

“Understand it,” Salinas said evenly. “Don’t get sucked into it.”

“I’ll try,” I started to say when I noticed the look on Salinas’ face and shut up.

“Don’t try,” he said. “Don’t get sucked into it.”

“I won’t,” I said as my voice trembled.

“Now get up and hit,” Salinas said.

I was up like a shot and grabbed my bat. I set the machine to throw me 75 mph fastballs to warm up and slapped ten line drives. I hadn’t noticed that Salinas had come around the netting into the back of the cage. The eleventh pitch took a nasty dip and I looked like a fool swinging a good foot over the pitch. I turned around and Salinas was smiling.

“How often do you think you’ll know what’s about to be thrown to you?” he asked.

“I study films of the pitchers I face,” I said.

This wasn’t the answer Salinas was expecting because his face changed for just a split second. It wasn’t a look of anger. It was more a look of curiosity about where someone like me would have an answer like that.

“That is the right answer,” he said. “But the best pitchers know their tendencies as well as you will know them. Randy Johnson may tend to throw the slider when he’s up oh two or one two in the count but he’ll also know you know that. That’s why the first time you see him you’ll get the slider and the second time you’ll get the fastball.”

“So be ready for anything,” I said.

“Yeah,” Salinas said smiling. “That’s exactly right.”

I turned back around and Salinas spent the next half hour changing the pitches. Every time I thought I had a pattern figured out and adjusted to prepare for it Salinas would change his pattern. I only missed about five of the hundred pitches although I fouled off almost half.

Sweat pouring down my face I stepped out of the box and looked toward Salinas. He had a smile like dad would have after he watched me have a great game. That smile that just says I confirmed what they were thinking about me.

“Get your stuff,” Salinas said. “We’ve got ten minutes to get out on the field.”

I gathered up my bats and shoved them down in the duffle and turned toward the door to see Salinas waiting for me there. The two of us made small talk as we walked back to the locker room. Turning the corner, we saw Ben Marzano and Bill Sparks in a heated discussion. As we approached, I could see from their faces they were really angry.

“Where the f*** have you been?” Marzano said to Salinas.

“In the cage,” Salinas said. “I was putting the rook through his paces.”

“Well, you missed the big announcement,” Sparks spat out. “They canned Skip.”

[GForce]

A fun read so far. But why are there so many fake guys yet still some real guys? Not a criticism by any means, just curious why you chose to handle the actual players that way.

Keep up the great work.

GH

[Jason]

The only real guys are the coaches. The fake players are the ones in the game. As it goes on the real guys will appear less and less. Maybe roving instructors at the minor league level. You won't see real players.

The next coach of the Tigers may not be a real life guy or a character based on a real life guy. You'll have to keep reading to find out.

[GForce]

Sounds good. I'll certainly be sticking with it.

GH

[ifspuds]

Nice little addition of real life into the thread. This is a lot of fun to read, DAED. You've got a good voice going with your posts.

[GoCubsAndJays]

Originally Posted by Dale And Eli's Dad

The only real guys are the coaches. The fake players are the ones in the game.

Did you make a bit of a mistake then when you mentioned Randy Johnson?

[Jason]

Originally Posted by GoCubsAndJays

Did you make a bit of a mistake then when you mentioned Randy Johnson?

Nope...it was intentional. It was more of a reference to a legendary pitcher than someone who's playing right now. He could have said Nolan Ryan or someone else. I just happened to hear Randy's name on the radio when I was typing it.

[GoCubsAndJays]

Originally Posted by Dale And Eli's Dad

Nope...it was intentional. It was more of a reference to a legendary pitcher than someone who's playing right now. He could have said Nolan Ryan or someone else. I just happened to hear Randy's name on the radio when I was typing it.

Oh, Ok.


By the way DAED, I'm really enjoying this so far. Keep up the good work!