55 bravo

[vrobx1]

"Hey, pitcher! Who stole your meal card?"

I never knew who it was who yelled it out, but it totally changed the game against Frankfurt.

Not the score, mind you. They were up 24-6 and would end up winning by even more than that.

But the seriousness of the game changed completely.

I was playing first base for the Wildflecken military base and we were the worst team in the Army softball league in West Germany. The league also included Mannheim and Frankfurt and Fulda among others.

We had beaten Fulda a few times so there was that.

Mostly, the team was composed of guys who were looking to go somewhere off base and drink beer on the way.

There was a girls team too. And they would not win a game the entire two years I was there.

Frankfurt was the league champion and was pretty much kicking our ass when the heckler called out our pitcher, Roy "Rufus" Matlin. Rufus was about 6'4" and if he weighed 140 pounds it would be with a pocket full quarters. He had an unorthodox delivery on his underhand pitches but they lacked real power and, when hit, they flew into the streets of Frankfurt somewhere.

This time the pitch never made it to home plate.

Rufus was in his wind up when the heckler called out and he paused for a second and then dropped the ball and fell to his knees laughing. Soon, most of the infield had joined him on the ground rolling as a highly agitated Samoan Staff Sergeant Lafao screamed profanities at all of us.

And this was how I spent my Saturdays in the United States Army.

I had signed up and left right after graduation in 1985. Went to Fort Jackson and then to Red Stone Arsenal before being stationed in Wildflecken.

I had joined the softball team originally because this kinda hot Second Lieutenant named Amanda Brooks was on the girls team in 86. She had gone on to Korea by January of 1987 but I kept playing. I was a pretty big guy and had always liked lifting weights and working out and the military was great for that sort of thing. I had just never thought about being in team sports before.

But this was a blast.

Even if we did lose most of our games.

I did lead our team both in 1986 and 1987 in home runs and RBI. Which was not that big of an accomplishment as no one else could hit the ball worth a damn.

But we had fun losing.

And it sure beat Charge of Quarters duty on weekends.

Even if someone stole Rufus' meal card.

[vrobx1]

"James, come here for a minute."

Captain Massey was from the 108 Military Intelligence Company. Yes, we all know the jokes about military intelligence. Massey was also the manager of the Wildflecken softball team.

"Grab a bat. And a helmet."

We were playing Stuttgart in about an hour and we were just starting to warmup.

"These guys want to see you swing the bat."

Whatever. So, I grabbed the bat and took up a batting stance.

Woah. Wait. This wasn't a softball.

The first pitch came in pretty fast and I stepped out of the batter's box. "Hold on. I didn't realize we were taking some real batting practice."

I took a deep breath. The other guys on the team were gathering around and watching.

This wasn't just some pregame warmup. What the heck was going on?

I stepped back in the box and focused. The first pitch came in and I swung.

And popped it right up.

"Nice swing, James. Got to work on your timing," I heard someone say.

"The ball travels a lot faster than softball," I called back.

A round of chuckles and then the next pitch.

Sliced foul.

Grounded foul.

Popped up again.

Then I caught the changeup full force and sent it right out of the park, so to speak.

"Good power! I like your swing. I understand you like to lift weights."

"All the time."

"Keep working on it, James. And get that bat speed up to par with fastballs."

I raised an eyebrow.

"We got a VHS of you swinging the bat in Frankfurt last season. You get out in June of this year?"

I nodded.

"Just in time for the 1988 MLB Amateur Draft. These men here are scouts. And I think they might just want you in the majors."

[vrobx1]

We had returned to the base after a day of inventory at the Ostheim magazine.

That was my job. I was a 55 Bravo. The inventory, storage and transportation of ammunition.

We were called bee bee stackers by the other companies on the base.

Admittedly, for the most part it was a slackers MOS. Very little field work. A whole lot of driving around in the back of a van and swapping Marvel comics.

I had chosen that MOS and used it to sign up for three years to get the Montgomery GI Bill and have my college tuition paid for once I got out.

Which would be in about two more weeks.

"James, Top needs to see you."

I nodded and headed into the office of First Sergeant Williams.

"James, have a seat."

Top never offered anyone below the rank of E-5 a seat.

"Next week we will be starting your out processing, James. No, I am not giving you a pitch to re-enlist. That ship has long sailed.

"Your ability on the baseball diamond has been noted. These tryouts you had all May. Those had all been arranged. You see, I know First Sergeant Gonzalez over on the Frankfurt base. And he knows someone who knows someone who knows someone."

I sat and listened politely.

"To get to the point. Your name was chosen. You have been drafted."

"Drafted, First Sergeant? I thought they didn't do that anymore."

"Not that draft. The baseball draft. The Atlanta Braves chose you."

"They did what?"

"Get this. They chose you first!"

"Why?"

"Ted Turner sold the team to invest more money in his cable stuff. Something about wanting to put Vince McMahon out of business. Anyways, there were some ugly exchanges in the sale and the new owner really hates Jane Fonda and chose you in the first round just so he could display his top acquisition, a former soldier, off in front of that disgusting person."

"A pawn?"

"Don't take it too badly. You will probably get a million dollars as a bonus just by signing."

"What the hell?"

"Crazy thing is, James. They didn't just pick you to rub it in Fonda's face. They also did it because the scouts think you have the raw talent to make it as well. They'll send you to a development team and you'll get to work on your basics."

"This doesn't make sense."

"Actually, James, it does make sense. Great publicity for the team, too. So, we're going to get your discharge started on Monday and by the time you get to the States and finish your paperwork, you can get started with your baseball career.

"And we'll be watching so you better step it up when you get there!"

[vrobx1]

It wasn't exactly the song you would expect to hear walking into a baseball clubhouse.

The past week had been insane for me.

Discharging from the Army. Going from Germany to South Carolina to Texas for a brief stay at home then to North Carolina and finally to Maryland to catch up with my team, the Durham Bulls, as they were on the road playing the Hagerstown Suns.

As I walked into the clubhouse, the tension inside grew thicker and eyes went upon me before returning to their regular routines. A couple of guys had been to the Saturday matinee and were talking about the movie they had seen. Coming to America with Eddie Murphy. One player was reading a novel called Scorpius by John Gardner.

And Debbie Gibson's Foolish Beat was playing on the radio.

Maybe it was an omen.

"Sit down, James." Jon Caldwell, 45, was the manager of the Durham Bulls. And there was an immediate disdain for him. He tried to just his chin out like some Sergeant Slaughter wannabe but it just came out fake and contrived and just flat out disrespectful.

You are no Drill Sergeant Grimes, I immediately thought.

"I don't like you, James." Well, at least the hate was mutual.

"I think you are a gimmick," he continued. "And I don't like gimmicks. I don't like my team being used as a toy in the Braves fight with Ted Turner. I don't like my players being **** on for some cheap publicity stunt.

"And I don't like you!"

He stood up as for emphasis. I sure hope he wasn't trying to intimidate me.

"What is that word they have in the military? When they kick someone out. Chapter? Yeah, James, I'm going make sure you get chaptered right out of professional baseball!"