SHORT HOP - My Career In Baseball by David Driscoll

[ifspuds]

During the first pregnancy she did the whole nursery herself, right down to this big white stuffed bunny she put in this little child’s rocking chair. That was ten years ago and you know something? That damn bunny is still there, right where she left it.

I'm assuming because the bunny was already ten years old when the events of this chapter take place, and the picture with the girl and the bunny would have been after that by 4 years.

[Tib]

^^^ We have a winner. Bunny is in nursery for 10 years + 2 years until Christina's birth + 2 more years until she's old enough to sit in the rocking chair = 14 years.

It's funny how us statheads get hooked up with the math. I was afraid everyone would miss that the bunny was named after Dave.

[Skywalker76]

I don't know what to say anymore. It's become a routine for me now. Every tuesday morning at 9am I read your chapter. Not 8.30am or 9.30am, no always 9.00am. It's one of these moments I really look forward too.

[Ford Prefect]

I am late with my praise for this weeks Masterpiece. You did great and the way you explained Team Spirit was Outstanding. I really look forward to the Hardcopy and of course the Film.

[Tib]

Since this week has just been nuts so far, and since I know I'm not going to finish this week's chapter on time, SHORT HOP is going to take a week off. Hopefully this does not discourage you too greatly from tuning in next week. If all goes well I'll soon be able to make up for the delay.

Happy Turkey Day!

[canadiancreed]

Originally Posted by Tib

Since this week has just been nuts so far, and since I know I'm not going to finish this week's chapter on time, SHORT HOP is going to take a week off. Hopefully this does not discourage you too greatly from tuning in next week. If all goes well I'll soon be able to make up for the delay.

Happy Turkey Day!

We await your next installment with anticipation

[Tauro]

Wow! Spent a good chunk of the day reading this.. Amazing stuff Tib. So much depth in the characters..

Makes me want to buy the program! hehe..

[WWBL Commissioner]

Tib, I found your story today and I must tell you this is hands down the best baseball read I have ever come across.
I really could not pull myself away from the computer until i had read it all. I understand there is still alot you want to do (I see you point out alot that this is the "first draft") but I will tell you this, when your done with this, somebody will publish it.
Anybody that is a fan of baseball will get caught up in the story even if they have never heard of the game you used.
You are a very talented writer, keep up the great work. Like the rest I'll be back every Weekend for the next chapter

[WWBL Commissioner]

One more thing as I was reading I decided I didn't want to see the pictures. So I don't know what Tib's vision for Cliff is but I have James Earl Jones playing him in my picture

[jaxmagicman]

Originally Posted by Tib

Since this week has just been nuts so far, and since I know I'm not going to finish this week's chapter on time, SHORT HOP is going to take a week off. Hopefully this does not discourage you too greatly from tuning in next week. If all goes well I'll soon be able to make up for the delay.

Happy Turkey Day!

Man, that was a bad chapter.

[UngratefulDead]

To tide myself over I've started re-reading this whole story. It foreshadows quite nicely.

[Tib]

It helps when you know what's going to happen 6 months in advance.

[UngratefulDead]

Originally Posted by Tib

It helps when you know what's going to happen 6 months in advance.

It's still a difficult literary device to use properly. Take a compliment!

[Tib]

Surprise! It's an early chapter of SHORT HOP! I'm going to do my best to have another chapter ready for Saturday. It may post a little later than usual, though.

Thanks for the nice comments about the last chapter. I really didn't intend for it to be that emotional. It wasn't about baseball, really, but that's what came out when I sat down to type it, so I left it. I'm a big believer in letting a story go where it will.

Visits continues Dave's first off season. Still not much baseball, but believe me, it's coming. The 2007 season begins in Chapter 27.

[Tib]

Chapter 25:

Visits

I had four important visits between September of 2007 and spring training of 2008. Three were people visiting me and one was me visiting some people. Each one marked a certain milestone for me and my early career.

In early September, Clifford Tyler came to Kansas City for the first time since 1951. His niece Sheila, my old realtor, drove him from Hinesville to see me play Indianapolis. We met at his hotel and had breakfast. I hugged Sheila briefly and shook Cliff’s strong brown hand. He was thinner now; the result of his closely monitored diet.
“You’re looking good, Cliff,” I said as I sat across from him.
“I feel terrible,” he retorted. “No bacon, no fat, no grease, no fried foods. Can you imagine that, Dave? No fried foods!”
“You can still have chili, can’t you?”
“They can’t take everything away from a man,” he replied.
That wasn’t exactly a yes, I noted. I asked him what he wanted to do for the day.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about that for a while,” he said. “Fifty-six years is a long time to be gone from a place. This city and I have a lot of catching up to do.”
“You name it,” I said. “I’m your driver today, at least until four when I have to get to the ballpark.”
“I’m obliged. I’d like to go by Benny D’s place -- see if it’s still there. That was some hopping joint when I was your age. I’d like to go to the BBA museum, of course. And maybe if we have time we can look up a friend or two. Truth is, I don’t know if they’re even alive anymore.”
“Sure thing, Cliff.”

So we drove around Kansas City. Cliff told stories about the old BBA days when some of the best black players played for the Comets. He only played about half a season for KC, but he told me he still played well enough to start on a team that included the great catcher George Mathers. At 36, “Masher” Mathers was well past his prime. In 1951, Cliff was considered the future of the franchise. I knew how that felt. But Cliff had met Dorothy Thomas and little did the Comets know but their star catcher was about to call it quits.
“When I met her that was it for me,” Cliff said with a chuckle.
“How did you meet?” I asked.
“She was waiting for a bus and I asked her for a nickel to make a phone call,” he replied. In his eyes I could see him seeing it again. “She was a picture. She wore a yellow dress with polka dots on it, and a yellow ribbon in her hair, holding it back. The sun shined on her like she was an angel. I never did make that call.”
“Did you start dating right away?”
“Lord no,” snorted Cliff. “She thought I was putting some kind of make on her when I told her I was a ballplayer. She didn’t think much of ballplayers.”
I knew how that felt, too.

Cliff continued: “I invited her to my game that afternoon and she came with some friends.”
“And you hit a home run for her,” I said, finishing the story.
“Oh, no,” said Cliff. “I struck out twice. Never hit the ball out of the infield. But I must have done something right because she returned the next day. I took her to Benny D’s for afters and we had a real nice time. She didn’t like Benny’s though. Too loud, she said. She wasn’t much for jazz music.”

Cliff pointed me to small parking lot crammed between two old buildings. “This is it,” he said as I pulled in. “This was Benny D’s. They must have torn it down.”
We sat for a few minutes in my truck. Traffic droned on behind us.
“How did you know she was the one?” I asked.
Cliff thought for a moment. “I came to realize that more than anything I wanted her to be happy, to have the things she wanted from life. And more than anything I wanted to be the man who gave it to her. It’s funny, David. As soon as I knew, I started to play very well. I had a heck of a half-season that year. It’s like everything fell into place for me. I was going to play out the season, but there wasn’t a lot of time left to secure a job at the mill back in Hinesville before it shut down for the winter. I had to quit the team to make sure I had a job come March.”
“She didn’t want you to play, even though she knew what it meant to you?”
“She never told me to quit. She never said one word one way or the other. I’m sure she would have been right there all along if I had decided to play. But we had plans, you see. And those plans were as important to us -- the two of us -- as baseball was to me. Suddenly, baseball came second. And I knew that meant it was time to get out.”

We spent most of the afternoon at the BBA Museum looking at the exhibits and watching old film footage of Cooter Mills, Bernard Dillon, Jem Jackson and the like. At one point we came upon the Kansas City Comets 1951 team photo. There in the back row, smiling like only a young man living his dream can smile, was Clifford Jericho Tyler.
“Hey, Cliff!” I said. “Look here! You’re an exhibit!”
“Don’t remind me,” he shot back. “You know what it feels like to see a picture of yourself in a museum?”
“Unbelievably good?”
“Hmph,” Cliff huffed, giving me a reproachful stare. “It feels like Death itself is waiting to snap another picture.”

Cliff and I enjoyed our day together. That night as a surprise I brought him (and Sheila) into our clubhouse before the game to meet the team. I gave him a ball we all signed and a Comets replica jersey signed by Vellman Oliver Tratt, the last president of the BBA. It was Tratt whose strong belief and relentless determination brought about the signing of Clayton Breckenfield to a contract with the Detroit Monarchs in 1957. Less than a year later, the “Richmond Rifle” became the first black player in the CBA.

Although I had not asked him, Tratt (who was 91 at the time) included a short note. I read it aloud. It said: “To Clifford Tyler, 55 years later and I still remember the home run you hit against New York. No one ever shined so brightly in so brief a time. There is no doubt you could have played with anyone. V.O. Tratt.”

The guys gave him a big round of applause and Cliff stood graciously, if a little embarrassed, and applauded them right back. He folded up the note and slipped it into his coat pocket, patting it as if to make sure it wouldn’t disappear. Sheila told me later that note meant more to him than an entire museum full of memories.

He wore his jersey. He ate peanuts. He almost caught a foul ball. He was announced at the seventh inning stretch and received a warm response. We beat Indianapolis 1-0. I didn’t hit the ball out of the infield. When I dropped him off at his hotel we shook hands goodbye. I told him to take care. He told me to keep playing hard. Before he disappeared through the revolving door, I called out, “Who were you calling?”
“What now?” he said as he turned.
“The phone call you never made when you met your wife. Who were you calling?”
Cliff smiled then. “Nobody,” he said. “I just needed a reason to talk to her.” With a tip of his cap he turned and was gone.


Gwen drove out to KC to visit in mid-September. What a lift to my spirits. I didn’t know if she’d make it; she hadn’t called at all that day and I went to the stadium not knowing where she was. Then I got as message that there was someone to see me. I walked into the press room and there she was. When we hugged I had trouble letting go.
“You look great,” I said.
“You look great, too,” she said. “Look at that uniform. I can’t believe my boyfriend is in the Bigs.”
“It’s turning you on, huh?”
“I can’t resist a man in uniform.”
“Speaking of which, come in and meet the team.”

Gwen sat with the players’ wives that night as we beat Baltimore 3-2 in 12 innings. Afterward we went to dinner with Sandy and Bobby Frisina. When we got back to my apartment I put on some music, started a fire and opened the blinds to reveal the darkly mysterious and hopefully irresistibly romantic expanse of the Missouri River.
“Beer?” I said.
“Sure. Thanks.” She stared quietly out the big window. “Sandy and Bobby are nice,” she said, taking the bottle from me.
“Yes they are.”
“She’s really happy being a housewife and mother.”
“I guess.”
“Dave,” she said, “is that what you want?”
“Don’t be silly,” I replied. “I can’t get pregnant.”
“Seriously. Is that what you want for a wife?”
Wow, this conversation just took a left turn.
“What do you mean?”
“Talking with her got me thinking. I want things, too. Eventually. Not right now. Not for a while, but eventually. I want to have a career, too”
“I know,” I said a little defensively.
“I hope you don’t expect me to drop everything.”
“What are you talking about? Of course not.”
“Sandy quit graduate school when she married Bobby. Did you know that? She just jumped right into the family thing. I--, whoever you marry --, you have to make sure --.”
“Hey,” I softly interrupted, “We’re not Sandy and Bobby. We’re us. We have to do what’s right for us, not what’s right for just me or just you.”
“I know we’re us, but you’re so far away. Sometimes --. Sometimes it feels like just me. Sometimes I do just want to drop everything and be with you, and not just for one night.”
“I know how you feel,” I assured her.
“But you don’t,” she insisted. “You’re here already. You’ve made it. You’re in the CBA now. Look at this place. You can’t drop everything. You’re life is going, you’re on the track. I-, I’m not there yet. There’s more for me to do and I wonder if I can do it. Every day I’m away from you it’s harder and harder to keep going.”
“What are you saying?”
“I can still choose to stop.”
“But you love sports. You love reporting. Why stop?”
“Before I met you all I wanted was to be a reporter. I loved chasing down a story and writing it and being in the middle of important events. But now I feel like being with you is equally important to me. I think maybe I can’t have both.”
“I would never ask you to make a choice like that.”
“I know. But it’s easier for guys. Men can have a family and a career. It’s expected. But for a woman it’s like she has to make a choice – one or the other.”
“I don’t think you should feel pressured to make a choice. Gwen, you’re only twenty-one. You should do what you want. And who says you can’t have both?”
“I know. This is so not me right now. My head has been all over the place since you got called up.”
“Nothing’s changed. Has it?”
“I’m worried that if I choose journalism you’ll choose someone else. Someone closer to you.”
“Gwen, there’s no one closer to me than you.”
“Even if you're in Kansas City and I’m in Little Rock?”
“Even if I’m in Japan and you’re in Little Rock.” A tear glistened in the smoky amber light of my fireplace. I stepped closer and brushed it away. “And can I say one thing?”
“What?”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”


My folks came to see me play the Colts in Los Angeles at the end of September. We lost the game but had a terrific time together. It was great to see my old friends and catch up on what they were doing. I gave away about thirty tickets so they could come to the game. I didn’t find out until later that more than sixty people came to watch me that night. Even my old high school coach Ron Hoeffler was there. Afterwards we all had drinks at my hotel downtown. My dad wore his newly-signed Dave Driscoll jersey. Then he made an announcement.

He proceeded to tell the story of just about every embarrassing thing I ever did, from the time in T-ball I ran to third instead of first to the time I almost ruined a perfectly good dryer by putting my wet spikes in it. Then he said he had something for me to take back with me to Kansas City. With a small flourish he lifted a framed photo of me, taken in the living room of our house. I was squatting down as if to receive a ground ball, smiling big for the camera. I was also naked except for a Legends cap and my father’s old glove on my hand.
“I guess you could say from an early age Dave was a natural,” he said.

I told you at the beginning of this chapter that three of my visits were people coming to see me and one was me going to visit some people. In January I was asked to join an all-rookie All-Star team on a six-game exhibition tour. Where do you send 30 young, successful, grotesquely immature single men with loads of money, hours of free time and absolutely no supervision? Where else?

Japan.


Next: The Gurabunai of Usagi-goro

[WWBL Commissioner]

Good I needed a mid-week fix.....good stuff. Keep it coming

[UngratefulDead]

Good lord this is good.

Tib, you did one of the best jobs I've ever seen of capturing a relationship in writing. That conversation between Gwen and Dave could be word-for-word a conversation I've had in a similar situation. It's eerie.

[Ford Prefect]

*deep breath* i love this thread

[jaxmagicman]

Although I had not asked him, Tratt (who was 91 at the time) included a short note. I read it aloud. It said: “To Clifford Tyler, 55 years later and I still remember the home run you hit against New York. No one ever shined so brightly in so brief a time. There is no doubt you could have played with anyone. V.O. Tratt.”


That is by far one of the best things I have ever read, and I have read many books, including Angela's Ashes and other greats, but for a brief second I was in that room clapping my hands, and wiping my tears away.

[The Funk]

Woohoo, bonus story!!! Anyway, I've been reading this thread for a few weeks now, though I haven't posted before because I was trying to come up with a suitable list of superlatives. Unfortunately I spilt juice all over my list so I'll just say that this thread is fantastic, from the first paragraph I was hooked and every chapter has been a pleasure to read.

If Markus does make an ITP2 and further editions then I'm sure reading this thread will provide him with many ideas for improving the game. I think this story shows exactly what the game needs to succeed; your character has to be more than just a row of numbers, he has to be, well a character. Someone you root for and who lives outside of the diamond as well. I think your story captures and portrays this perfectly and I, along with your legions of other fans, am eagerly awaiting the next update (fix).