Diary Of A Can't Miss Prospect

[GCCWolverine]

Oh boy - gotta love when the hero gets one-up through somewhat-legitimate means on the people who caused them trouble.

Looking forward to the actual all star game itself.

[Jason]

Thanks guys...that was really hard to write. I've been working on it for four days and that's probably the tenth version of the entry. I didn't even really like that one (to be honest with you) but after the bump thought I should put up something.

[Jason]

July 12, 2006, 10:34pm, McAfee Stadium, Oakland, CA
(Detroit is 52-35, 4 ahead of Cleveland. Stats: .317, 18 HR 67 RBI)

I have to wonder how deep this battle is going to go. I had really believed the worst was going to be behind me and that everyone was moving on from this Cash crap. I thought this All Star game would be a high point of my life and something that I could remember fondly. I’ll remember it but fondness is the last thing with which I’ll remember it.

My teammates were very happy to be around me and I had some great conversations with veterans like Chicago’s Bruce Gowen and Kansas City’s Rob Collins. Collins gave me some insight into a few of the pitchers that’s going to help my base stealing. We had a great pregame meeting and I felt so excited I was about to explode.

The introductions went well. My name was called and I ran to home plate to meet my teammates a little faster than everyone else. I just felt so much adrenaline I couldn’t slow down. There were a few boos but mostly it was cheering. I chalked that up to being in an American League ballpark.

I was put third in the batting order and after a perfect top of the first I ran to the dugout and grabbed my bat. I knew the commentators were going to rib me about being so young but the way I thought about it I had the right to act a little like a kid. How many eighteen year olds are starting in the MLB All Star game?

The Yankees’ Andy Rubicalba led off with a single to left and then Tampa’s Enrique Chavez flew out. I took a deep breath and just stared at my bat. I tried to calm down and get focused as I walked from the on deck circle to the batter’s box. The crowd roared when my name was announced and I smiled and waved just as Rubicalba and Chavez had done.

The Cubs’ Frank Irich was the starter for the National League. It was his second appearance in the All Star game although it was his first start. He was off to a great season with a 12-2 record.

The first pitch hit me in the hip.

I tried to duck away from the fastball but couldn’t make it. I fell to the dirt as a lot of boos rained down from the stands. I worked to my hands and knees. I felt a giant wave of anger, adrenaline and violent thoughts. I saw my bat lying next to me and thought it would be nice to let Irich’s hip meet it.

“You all right, kid?” the home plate ump asked me.

”Yeah,” I said as I slowly rose to my feet. The A’s trainer had run out onto the field and began to ask questions. I finally jogged down to first as the crowd cheered. I was sure that was because of Cash. My time at first base confirmed it.

“Bobby says hi,” the Cardinals’ first baseman Izaumi Mataka said in his best broken English.

“Tell him I said hello,” I quipped. “Naw, I’ll just tell him when he watches a home run fly over his head like he did last time.”

“You won’t get one pitch to hit tonight,” Mataka said with a smile. “You might as well just go home child.”

Mataka turned to the plate where Salinas was stepping in. Salinas looked at me and then pointed at Irich. It must have intimidated Irich because he walked Salinas on five pitches. We only managed a broken bat infield single to score a run and I was left at third.

Bottom of the third I came up again to face Irich. As I stepped into the box, I looked at him and did the “come on” hand motion that Laurence Fishburne used in the Matrix. Irich smiled and shook his head. I found out later that Tim McCarver didn’t get the reference so he started to criticize me as an arrogant rookie. Joe Buck had to tell him what I was doing. McCarver then stammered through a half hearted apology. What a moron.

The first pitch was a slider low and well outside. Second pitch a fastball that was around my eyes. Third was another slider in the dirt.

”Tell the coward to throw a real pitch,” I said to the Padres’ Andy Donaldson, the NL’s starting catcher. Donaldson just rolled his eyes and snorted.

Fourth pitch a fastball in the dirt. A four pitch walk. I trotted down to first where Mataka didn’t say a word but kept breaking out in little fits of laughter. I was beginning to get a little ticked off. Then I noticed that Irich was on the back of the mound smiling. He had taken off his cap and was looking at home plate smiling. He hadn’t called for time.

I knew what I was about to do was childish and was going to show up Irich and rest of the National League team but I didn’t care. They were going to try and ruin my All Star appearance and I wasn’t going down quietly.

Irich took off his glove with the ball inside and held it under his arm while he rubbed his eye. The wind was swirling and likely had gotten some in his eye. I took off for second base.

The crowd began to roar and I didn’t see anything but the base. I knew I had to take them all by surprise because I didn’t see anyone in my path until I was already sliding into the bag. The video I saw later showed Irich looking up when the crowd roared but he looked at home plate. Donaldson was pointing at second and Irich turned and paused for a second like he couldn’t believe what he was watching. He threw to second but it was well after I had reached the bag.

The crowd was going berserk as I stood and wiped dirt off my jersey. I looked at Irich and smiled. Irich called me a few words that I had hoped would get picked up by Fox’s microphones because it would put him in the hot seat. He turned around and promptly walked Salinas on four straight. We didn’t score but Irich came out of the game and I felt a measure of satisfaction.

I came up to bat in the bottom of the sixth. The new pitcher for the National League was Philadelphia’s Willie Gatti. Apparently he was a buddy of Cash as well because it was another four pitch walk with nothing even close to the plate. I was going to steal again but they kept a close eye on me this time.

After the inning was over our manager Ed Jollison came over.

“I can’t leave you in any longer,” he said. “I’ve got to work the other guys in.”

“I know,” I said. “Thanks for the chance.”

“You earned it, kid,” Jollison said. “Just know that if you come up in the post season and face us I’ll be pitching to you like those guys were.”

I wanted not to smile and not to laugh but the look on Jollison’s face made me crack up. I guess that’s why the A’s players kept bragging about their manager. The guy knew the right thing to say at the right time.

I ran back the tunnel to the locker room and saw Salinas sitting at his locker changing from his cleats into sneakers. His night was obviously done as well.

“Those a**holes,” I said sitting next to him.

“Yeah,” he said. “They are. But think about this. They did what they did out of ego and ignorance. What you did back to them was out of talent and skill.”

I sat there smiling. Back to back great statements from wise men. I think once he’s done playing Salinas will make one hell of a manager. We walked back to the bench and watched the rest of the game.

We won 6-1 but it didn’t feel as good as I thought it would feel. I just wish I could have hit the ball.

[Faroo6]

yah

[Jason]

July 29, 2006, 10:51pm, Comerica Park, Detroit, MI
(Detroit is 62-40, 7 ahead of Minnesota. Stats: .307, 19 HR 70 RBI)

“Well, I had some good stuff tonight,” Spurrier said to one of the assembled reporters. “I was able to get some ground balls when I had to and the guys did a good job of getting people out.”

I was standing about twenty feet away with Salinas and Torre. This was the first time we were letting Spurrier deal with reporters on his own since he joined the club. We had been working on rehabbing his image and part of it was making sure that Spurrier never dealt with a reporter alone. We had a few reporters complain to the front office and MLB about it but since Spurrier was accessible for some time after games they had no grounds to complain. However, we noticed a lot more negative comments toward Salinas, Torre, Croteau and myself in the local press. Crybaby, thy name is beat reporter.

“Are we going to step in if they cross the line?” Salinas asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “We pretty much have to. Look at the guys from the Toledo Blade. They’re squirming and trying to push toward the front.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em,” Torre said. “When I was down there on rehab two years ago they asked me if I really hurt myself in spring training or if I hurt myself driving drunk.”

Torre was busted about five years earlier for DWI. He checked himself into rehab in the off-season and came back stronger than ever according to guys who played with him. Still, there were some guys who just couldn’t believe he turned it around and wanted to use his tragedy for their own personal gain.

“Maybe the local guys will keep them away,” Salinas said. We had found a sympathetic ear with the guys at the Detroit Free Press. We let one of their beat reporters have access to a private hitting session with me, Salinas and Croteau where Spurrier just happened to come up and strike up a conversation. I thought we all had deserved Academy Awards for our performances because the reporter actually believed it was coincidence.

“We’ll see,” I said.

“Are you glad that you’re in Detroit?” a local television reporter asked. “It seems that you’ve been on a roll since you arrived in town.”

“I’ve had some really great teammates that have made me feel welcome,” Spurrier said as he glanced in our direction. “It makes things a lot easier when you know the guys behind you truly have your back. That’s why I can focus on my pitching and striking out guys.”

“Did you think you’d be able to get your first ten strikeout game?” another television guy asked.

“I wasn’t sure,” Spurrier said. “When I sat down after the sixth I thought Skip was going to pull me since we were ahead 12-4. I’m lucky he sent me back out in the seventh so I could pick up those last two strikeouts.”
The reporters seemed satisfied and started to pack up their cameras and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. Torre slapped Salinas on the back. They turned and walked down the hall into the training room. I stood for a moment looking at Spurrier with a little bit of pride. All the nights we spent with mock interviews and carefully crafted “leaks” of information seemed to be paying big dividends.

“Hey, Steve?” one of the Toledo reporters said just loud enough for everyone to hear them. “I heard you’re going to be sued by the family of that underage girl you slept with. Want to comment on that?”

If looks could kill then I would have vaporized that loser on the spot. Spurrier looked like a deer caught in the headlights. The local guys flipped their cameras on and started to circle like sharks around blood in the water. I zipped across the room and pushed through the feeding frenzy before it became too much to handle.

“Hey Steve,” I said as I took his arm. “Skip needs to see you in the training room.”

It took a moment before Spurrier realized what I was doing and did a great job of hiding the relief on his face. I could see the twinkle of recognition in his eyes as he turned to the reporters.

“Sorry guys,” he said. “I have to go meet with our manager.”

“Why not answer our question first?” the Toledo reporter said as he pressed close enough to touch Spurrier. “How much do you think you’ll settle with the family for what you did to that poor girl?”

I pulled on Spurrier’s arm and tugged him toward the training room. When I had enough space that I could step between the two without touching the reporter I quickly did so.

“Hey Ellison,” the reporter asked. “Is the reason you’re not hitting because you’re getting drunk every night?”

I kept on walking while I could hear the reporters buzzing among themselves because obviously this news seemed strange to them. I’d gone out to a few clubs but it was the exception more than the rule. I even had plenty of witnesses of when I would come in and leave my home. Thank goodness for living in a gated community with a guard!

“You think if you weren’t on the sauce you’d have hit more than one home run in the last month?” the reporter yelled as we kept walking.

“Dude, you don’t drink much at all,” Spurrier said. “I put you to shame.”

“I know,” I said. “Just keep walking.”

We moved down the hall as fast as we could without making it look like we were running away. As we rushed into the training room, Salinas could see something was up and quickly got off his cell phone. We told him what happened and how the reporter from Toledo basically tried to pick a fight with both of us.
“Which one is it?” Salinas said as he jumped off a training table and started toward the door.

“Wait,” Torre said. “I have a better idea.”

Torre flipped open his cell phone.

”Hi,” he said after a moment. “Could I talk to Frank Corsoe? Thanks.”

Salinas, Spurrier and I shot curious looks at each other and then finally all started at a smiling Torre.

“Sports editor for the Toledo Blade,” Torre said.

[Jason]

July 29, 2006, 11:35pm, Comerica Park, Detroit, MI
(Detroit is 62-40, 7 ahead of Minnesota. Stats: .307, 19 HR 70 RBI)

“Yeah, Ellison can be a pain in the ass sometimes,” Torre laughed into the phone. “But he’s no drunk. Don’t you think with the way he’s been a target of those morons in San Fran that if Dale was boozing it up they would have run with it?”

Torre listened to Frank Corsoe, the sports editor of the Toledo Blade, while slowly shaking his head up and down. Salinas, Spurrier and I were spread out around the training room just watching and listening. In the corner, trainer Kevin Rand was working on Croteau’s left leg. Croteau had left the game in the sixth tonight because of cramping in that leg that he just chalked up to dehydration. The look on Rand’s face suggested otherwise but none of us wanted to ask about it.

“That’s great,” Torre said. “Are you really doing to that if he doesn’t?”

Torre broke out in a wide smile as he looked at me. I shot a curious look back at him and he winked at me.

“Thanks Frank,” Torre said. “You should come up for the next homestand and let some of the guys take you out to dinner.”

Torre said his goodbye and snapped his phone shut.

“And you’re buying the steaks,” Torre said to me.

“So what happened?” Salinas said with some venom in his tone. He kept looking out the door to see if the reporter from the Toledo Blade that accused me of being a drunk was still out in the locker room. The disappointed look said that he must have left.

“Well, Frank said this guy has been a royal pain to the paper ever since he was hired,” Torre explained. “He keeps telling other reporters how he’s going to be in New York someday. He thinks that local stories are beneath him and that’s why they sent him up to cover us. Partially to give him what he wanted but also to get him out of their offices.”

“I can see why,” Spurrier said.

“Yeah, no s***,” Salinas replied.

“Anyway,” Torre said slowly and with emphasis, “They’ve been looking for a reason to can this guy. When he gets back ol’ Frankie is going to call him into the office and ask him what proof he can provide that Dale’s been out drinking on the town and that it’s effecting his performance. When he can’t do that they’re going to can him.”

“He’ll just make something up,” I said.

“Of course,” Torre said. “But Frank admitted if you were hitting the town all the time the guys who came after you from San Francisco would have used it against you.”

“Makes sense,” Salinas said. “Kid, you really have a knack for getting into trouble.”

“Makes me feel a lot better,” Spurrier said.

“Kiss my ass,” I said to Spurrier.

“Hey,” Spurrier replied with both hands up in a surrender motion. “Just sayin’, that’s all.”

Torre took the opportunity to smack Spurrier on the back of the head.

“So now what?” I asked.

“You just head on home and pretend that it never happened,” Torre said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Torre walked out and Spurrier excused himself and followed him.

“We do need to talk,” Salinas said.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you’ve hit one home run in five weeks,” he said. “Something isn’t right with you.”

“His shoulder is hurting him,” Rand said quietly but firmly.

Salinas looked at Rand and then back at me.

“Is it?” Salinas asked.

I hadn’t said anything about my shoulder even to Rand. I had jammed my shoulder sliding into second base during a trip to Seattle and ever since I felt like I didn’t have the same power as early in the season. It wasn’t extremely painful but I it was bothering me.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Salinas asked.

“I didn’t want to get put on the DL,” I said. “I want to play.”

I don’t know why that was considered hilarious but everyone in the room except me laughed.

“You really are a rookie,” Croteau said as he threw a water bottle at me.

I flipped at Salinas who was doubled over in laughter.

“Look kid,” Salinas said, “Nobody’s going to put you on the shelf for a pulled muscle.”

“Ryland hates rookies,” I said.

“But he loves winning,” Rand said as continued to massage Croteau’s leg.

“I guess,” I said and started to get up from my chair.

“Sit still,” Rand said. “I’m almost done with this old fart and then I want to look at your shoulder.”

‘I’m ok,” I said as I turned to find Salinas blocking my path.

“The man said sit down,” he said with a sarcastic smile.

[Faroo6]

Tt

[Jason]

August 15, 2006, 8:22pm, Highway 94 East near Battle Creek, MI
(Detroit is 62-40, 7 ahead of Minnesota. Stats: .312, 23 HR 85 RBI)

“I don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s time to hang it up,” Salinas said to me as he rolled his window back up. “Don’s an All Star for sure but those injuries are just taking too much of a toll on him.”

“I can understand why he doesn’t want to hang it up,” I said while looking out the passenger side window of Salinas’ 2006 Dodge Viper. “There’s nothing better than playing baseball every day and getting paid for it.”

“No kidding,” Salinas said.

We were speeding down Highway 94 on the way back to Detroit. Salinas suggested instead of flying down to Chicago with the team we take a road trip like we did in Spring Training. Salinas bought the car last week after the Tigers offered him a four-year extension on his contract worth over sixty million dollars.

Salinas’ cell phone started chirping in the ashtray.

“Yeah?” he said as he was flipping the phone open. “Mom’s flight will arrive on Friday. The rest of the family arrives on Sunday and we should have all their stuff moved up by the end of next week.”

The conversation went on for another ten minutes. Salinas snapped the phone closed and slowly lowered it into the ashtray. He looked forward and slowly smiled.

“What was that about?” I asked.

“I’m moving my entire family here from Haiti,” he said. “I took the bonus money and paid for everyone to come.”

“You’ve never told me about where you grew up,” I said.

“You’re right,” Salinas said and then let an uncomfortable silence fall on the car. We flew through the Michigan night with the only sound the humming of the tires on the highway.

“My mom and dad wanted to move to Detroit to watch me play but I talked them out of it,” I said.

“Why?” Salinas said in a tone that hinted he wanted to drop the subject.

“Well,” I said, “they can watch me when play in Baltimore. All my family is back in Pennsylvania and it would hard on them to be away from them.”

“I can relate to that,” Salinas said. “It’s hard to only see them for a few months a year. It’s going to be great for the entire family to be together again.”

“I’m sure it’s going to be a change for them,” I said. Salinas turned and looked at me then shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s going to be a change for the better,” he said realizing I wasn’t going to let this subject fade away.

“Where in Haiti did you grow up?” I asked.

“Les Cayes,” Salinas said. “It’s a city on the southern coast. I grew up with six brothers and two sisters in a house that was no bigger than the clubhouse at the ballpark.”

“Wow,” I said. “That had to be hard.”

“Hard is an easy way to describe it,” Salinas said.

“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” I said sincerely. “I just had such an easy upbringing compared to you and a lot of our teammates that it’s hard for me not to be shocked.”

“I know,” Salinas said. “You just have to understand that we don’t like to remember things sometimes.”

The silence in the car seemed even heavier than before as Salinas pulled off the highway near Ann Arbor to gas up. I picked up a bag of Doritos and a Cherry Vanilla Diet Dr. Pepper while signing a few autographs. The folks in the store were very happy to see us and Salinas was friendly and accommodating to all the autograph requests. The store owner wouldn’t let us pay for anything.

“Nice people in there,” Salinas said as we zipped back onto the highway.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be willing to bet none of those things we signed ends up on EBay.”

“Refreshing,” Salinas said with a chuckle.

“So Will,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

”So tell me the story,” I said. “I promise I won’t bring it up again if you tell me.”

“I’m the middle kid,” Salinas said. “When I was nine, I was helping my mother do laundry when my father’s boss from the docks came to the house. Apparently a container fell off one of the boats and my father was killed instantly.”

I wanted to say something but this wasn’t what I had been expecting to hear. Salinas talked about “mom and dad” all the time but it left the impression that his father was still alive. Salinas looked over at me and I saw a little smirk.

“When I talk about my father now I’m referring to my step father,” Salinas said as if he could read my mind.

”I’m sorry man,” I blurted out.

”It’s ok,” Salinas said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“So what did your mom do?” I asked.

“The company that owned the dock gave mom two weeks worth of pay and that was it,” Salinas said. “There really wasn’t anything else we could do because they employed most of the town and ran everything. A few other people tried to help us but everyone was very poor.”

“Did your older siblings help out?” I asked.

“In a way,” Salinas said. “Julio, the oldest, went to work on the docks. He actually ended up working on the same crew that our father had worked. The company did an unusual thing and let him come on at a higher pay rate than most new employees but it was still less than half what our father had made with them.”

“How did you eat?” I asked.

“Mom did other people’s laundry and cleaned houses,” Salinas said. “That didn’t meet our needs either. So my oldest sister Lena ended up as a prostitute when she was only 16. Javier, the second oldest boy in the family, ended up running drugs for a local dealer. Between Lena’s pimp and the dealer they always made sure the younger kids had food and a little spending money but it ruined Lena and Javier.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened to them?” I asked quietly. “I understand if you don’t.”

“Javier worked for the drug kingpin for five years,” Salinas said slowly and almost in a whisper. “About two weeks before I turned fifteen, Javier went out to make a run to Aquin which was the next big town close to home. When he was almost there some soldiers pulled him over and took his drugs and money. He tried to run and they shot him in the back.”

“Oh s***,” I said without thinking. Salinas just looked at me and I could see a tear running down his cheek.

“Well, it’s part of that business,” Salinas said. I was struck by how causally he used the word business. It was like he was a banker or car salesman. It was just a job in a career field that was common in Haiti.

“Lena died two years before Javier,” Salinas said. “She was diagnosed with HIV after getting a bad infection. She was found dead about a week later from a massive drug overdose. She had bruises on her wrists and ankles but the police wouldn’t admit she was murdered. We had someone who knew her come tell us that her pimp had her held down and he shot her up with enough drugs to kill ten people because she couldn’t work like she did before the infection. They told us that Lena kept crying and asking for mom until the moment she passed out and died.”

I sat staring out the windshield in so much shock I couldn’t speak. I realized why Salinas didn’t talk much about his family. I wanted to express sympathy but I knew coming from a white American male with an intact family it would ring pretty hollow.

“We had a lucky break about six months after Javier was killed,” Salinas said. “Julio had made friends with an executive in the company that ran the docks. Turned out that he was a big baseball fan and Julio was a pretty well known local player before our father was killed. The executive worked his way into politics and when he moved to Port-au-Prince he took Julio with him. He put Julio through college while having him work as an assistant. None of the other kids had to work after that because money always seemed to be there.”

“So you were able to concentrate on baseball?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Salinas said. “I was better than Julio and it didn’t take long before I was the best loved player in Les Cayes. When I was 16, a scout for the Dodgers came into town and talked my mom into letting me go with him to the other side of the island and live in a baseball academy in the Dominican. Two years later I was in Spring Training with the Dodgers.”

“Can I ask something?” I said.

“Sure,” Salinas said.

“Don’t take this wrong,” I said. “But you’ve been well off for a while now. Why didn’t you move your mom here before now?”

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Salinas said. “Mom didn’t want to leave any of the kids behind. Everyone is married and has kids so we had to go through the process of getting them all visas to get them here. It wasn’t easy but it’s worth it all.”

“Thanks for sharing with me,” I said.

“You’re young,” Salinas said. “You’ve never really known what it’s like to go through hard times.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I said.

Silence descended on the car again as I looked out the passenger window at the Michigan countryside. I couldn’t stop thinking about Salinas and how he had to react when his brother and sister died because they were trying to let him have a better life. I knew I would have a hard time sleeping tonight.

[Faroo6]

Wow, really neat to mix it up and drop a serious note in there.

[Jason]

A request of those who view this thread:

I had an e-mail sent to me from a Yahoo address I didn't recognize criticizing this thread. They said that it didn't belong here because I wasn't using OOTP very much and this is a place for OOTP dynasties.

Since the person didn't have the balls to use their real name (or post here with their nick) I'm not taking it too seriously but I have noticed my posts don't always include actual OOTP games (like the most recent post.)

So I would like to ask those of you who read this to e-mail me at jason@lifeofjason.com and let me know if you want me to tone back the narrative and bring in more stats or if you want me to continue in the direction this story has been taking. Obviously, it's no use to write something like this if the readers aren't happy with it.

Please don't post in this thread...I don't want a debate here. Just e-mail me directly. Thank you.

[Ford Prefect]

a good story is a good story keep it coming Sir

[ifspuds]

Great post, DAED. Keep it coming just like you have been.

[Jason]

Note: Thanks to all who contacted me. You were very kind and overwhelmingly in favor of my continuing in the same style. Hope you like this one.

September 15, 2006, 11:18pm, Comerica Park, Detroit, MI
(Detroit is 94-52, AL Central Champions. Stats: .303, 28 HR 110 RBI)

“Let’s head to Comerica where Jennifer Hammond is in the middle of the party,” Fox 2 news anchor Sherry Margolis said.

“Thanks Sherry,” Hammond said. “As you can see the party is just starting as the Tigers have done what no one thought possible at the start of this season. Just twenty minutes ago Lorenzo Loya struck out Angels right fielder James McNutt on three pitches to wrap up the Tigers first American League Central Championship.”

“WAHOO!!!!” Croteau yelled as he ran past Hammond in nothing more than a jockstrap and cleats while spraying champagne.

“It looks like the boys are a little fired up,” Margolis said from the studio.

“You could say that!” Hammond said with a laugh. “We’re hoping to be able to talk to some of the players but everyone’s still screaming and yelling.”

Hammond stood looking around the room and grabbed Jim Caesar as he walked toward the post-game buffet.

“James Caesar!” Hammond said as she stuck a microphone in his face.

“Yeah?” he answered with obvious irritation.

“How does it feel to go from a last place St. Louis team at the trade deadline to a team that just won a division championship?” Hammond asked.

“Well, it don’t suck,” Caesar replied. Hammond got a look on her face like Caesar had just farted in front of the Pope. “I sure look forward to being able to play in October.”

“When you came here a lot of people thought you wouldn’t have a big impact,” Hammond said as she tried to regain composure. “What do you say to those people after what you’ve contributed to the team?”

”That they didn’t know what the hell they were talking about,” Caesar said and then walked off.

“Sherry, it’s bedlam down here,” Hammond said. A spray of champagne caught her on the side of the head. Laughter erupted as she slapped the side of her head to try and wipe away the liquid.

“You be careful Jennifer!” Margolis said with a huge smile that quietly hinted she was thanking God she wasn’t in the clubhouse right now.

“I try to be,” Hammond responded. “It’s hard to do in this zoo!”

Salinas tried to sneak past Hammond but she caught him out of the corner of her eye.

“Hey Will!” Hammond said as she thrust the microphone his way. “Congratulations on the division championship.”

“Thank you,” Salinas said as he tried to be gracious. “It’s a great feeling.”

“How hard was it for you to be sitting on the bench tonight while your teammates won the title?” Hammond asked with a big smile.

Salinas’ face changed from a polite smile to a look of anger. He raised himself up to his full six foot five inch frame and looked down on the petite reporter.

“How do you think I felt?” he asked in a tone that reminded someone of a parent correcting a child.

“I’m sure it was hard,” Hammond answered with no apparent realization how much she had insulted Salinas.

“Of course it was hard,” Salinas said doing a great job to not say the words “you idiot” at the end of the sentence. “You always want to be on the field but tonight was a scheduled night off for me. Since we have the playoffs to worry about I need to stay in my usual patterns so I can be fresh for the playoffs. I won’t be sitting out a game when the playoffs roll around.”

“Well, that’s good news for Tigers fans,” Hammond said looking into the camera as Salinas continued to look at her in disbelief. She turned back toward Salinas with her smile still wide.

“Why do you think tonight’s win was so easy?” she asked.

“It’s never easy,” Salinas said. “Every time you play a professional baseball game it’s hard.”

“Of course,” Hammond replied.

“But if I had to pick something it might be because Dale Ellison hit two home runs that gave us the big lead early,” Salinas said.

“The team seemed to cruise after that second home run,” Hammond said.

“When you lead by five runs before you hit the fourth inning it can take some of the pressure off,” Salinas said. “Oh, look, there’s Dale. Talk to him.”

Salinas grabbed my arm and yanked me away from pouring champagne over Spurrier’s head.

“Here’s the hero!” Salinas said as he slapped me on the back and rushed away before he could see the sarcastic “thank you” look I was shooting his direction.

“Dale Ellison!” Hammond said. “You were definitely the man tonight.”

“One of nine,” I replied with a smile. Sure, Hammond could be clueless, but she was hot. It certainly was more fun seeing her in the locker room than Peter Gammons.

“Did you think going into tonight’s game that you could wrap this up?” Hammond asked.

“I certainly hoped that we could,” I said without ever breaking eye contact with Hammond. “When I hit the first home run I knew it was going to be our night.”

”Can you tell us about that home run?” Hammond asked with a slight breathiness to her voice. Her face started to flush as I continued my stare.

“I knew that Blevins was going to go low and away with a slider since he had a two two count,” I said. “I just watched for it and drove the ball. I honestly didn’t think I had hit hard enough to get out of the park but I’ll take it.”

Hammond just stared into my eyes as if she couldn’t speak. I looked back for a second and then glanced around to see half the guys were gathering to watch me play around with the reporter. I was about to speak when I heard a voice coming from Hammond’s ear.

“Jennifer,” Sherry Margolis said from the studio, “Can you ask Dale about how he feels making the playoffs in his first major league season?”

“Dale, Sherry in the studio wants to know how it feels to make the playoffs in your first season,” Hammond asked.

“It feels great,” I said with a widening smile. “Of course, it would feel a whole lot better if I could kiss you right now.”

Hammond’s face turned beet red. All the guys started laughing. Salinas was laughing so hard he doubled over and had to find a chair.

“Well,” Hammond said, “that’s not the answer I was expecting.”

“And unlike Joe Namath I’m not drunk when I’m telling you that,” I said and the laughter roared a second time. Hammond just smiled and turned toward the camera.

“Like I said before, Sherry,” she said with a smile, “It’s a zoo down here!”

“Take care of yourself!” Margolis said and threw the newscast to a commercial. The cameraman took the camera off his shoulder and turned off the light. Hammond turned from me and handed the microphone to the cameraman. I walked over to the buffet and picked up a sandwich when I felt a small hand on my shoulder.

“Here’s my card,” Hammond said offering a business card. “My cell phone number’s on the back. You want that kiss you can try it after you buy me dinner and take me to a movie.”

“Sure,” I said slipping the card into my pocket. Hammond turned and walked with her cameraman into Ryland’s office for the typical coach interviews.

“You actually gonna call her?” Spurrier said as he scooped some salsa onto a plate.

“Hell no,” I said.

“Why not?” Spurrier said. “She’s hot.”

“And old,” I said. “Come on, what is she, thirty-five?”

[mikev]

Awesome. You've got another subscribed reader!

[Jason]

Author's Note: I was just as shocked as you to realize Tampa was the team facing Detroit in the first round of the playoffs. I let OOTP sim a season before I played this one and Tampa must have signed a ton of free agents.

October 4, 2006, 1:30pm, Comerica Park, Detroit, MI
(Detroit is 103-59, Facing Tampa Bay in 1st round of playoffs. Stats: .310, 32 HR 123 RBI)

“There’s the little piece of s***!” Salinas boomed as he strolled into the clubhouse. “I should make you run around the infield naked again but provide live TV coverage this time!”

Laughter roared from all parts of the clubhouse as Salinas walked past the food table and grabbed a hot dog.

“See?” he said loudly while holding it next to my head. “They even look alike!”

I snapped my head around and bit off half the hot dog and smiled wide while chewing with my mouth open. Laughter and a few groans echoed off the walls.

“You couldn’t just strike out?” Salinas shouted as he continued his over the top rant. “Heck, he was walking everyone! You could have just taken a few pitches, you know. We were ahead by a run and with Sparks actually pitching for a change you know it would have held up!”

“Hey!” Sparks yelled in mock indignation.

“It’s true!” Salinas said.

“Sure is!” Torre chimed in.

“But nooooooooooooooooooo,” Salinas says with sarcasm dripping heavily. “You had to go hit a three run home run in your last at bat. You had to hit the home run that screwed me!”

In the bottom of the eighth last night I came to bat with two on and one out. I was facing Kansas City reliever David Temples. It was only his second appearance in the bigs after being called up after the roster expansion. (He did fine in the first outing only allowing a hit to me. Tonight, he struck out Brantley after bringing him to a full count but then walked both Salerno and Caesar.)

When I faced him two nights prior, I smacked a double when he left a slider hanging on an 0-1 count. I knew he was being wild but that after two walks he was likely to focus on trying to get an out. I also knew that being a rookie there would be nothing he would enjoy more than striking out the guy already being called the rookie of the year.

I dug in waiting for the hanging slider. The first pitch was a fastball inside which missed me by half an inch. Ball one. I looked out at Temples who had a slight smile on his face. Obviously he thought he was being a professional pitcher who was telling the batter who was boss. I just smiled and shook my head as I set myself for the second pitch.

The smile was wiped off Temples’ face when he realized he hung another slider to me. Unlike last night when I wasn’t expecting the pitch, I was ready. The ball took off like it was strapped to a rocket and landed about 450 feet away from the plate. The crowd roared and I probably waited a half second too long in the batter’s box before beginning my home run trot.

I thought I would take some heat for the delay before starting to run but the home run ended up starting a media driven scandal. The home run gave me 123 runs batted in for the year.

Coming into the game, Salinas was the toast of sports radio and newspapers. He led the AL with a .350 batting average and there was no way second place Brian Schroter of Cleveland could catch him in the last game of the year. Salinas had 39 home runs and was safe because second place Kenny Yount of Seattle had a day game where his bid to tie Salinas in his last at bat came up a few feet short. No one else was within three home runs.

The Triple Crown seemed to be in the bag for Salinas. The only possible challenge was going to be for runs batted in. There was only one person in the American League within six RBI of Salinas. They were two behind at 120 runs batted in. That was me.

I honestly didn’t pay attention to the stats before the game started because I was more focused on ending the regular season on a high note. I had stroked home runs thirty and thirty-one last night so I had achieved a personal goal of thirty home runs in my first season. I thought if I went out and had a decent night it would help me end a season of turmoil on a positive and pleasing note.

When I crossed the plate and was exchanging high fives with Salerno and Caesar, I noticed that Salinas was standing off to the side with a scowl on his face. He didn’t make a move toward me to congratulate me on the home run like he had done for every other homer this season. I looked at him with a puzzled look but he didn’t respond. I just assumed he was getting into the zone to hit.

When I hit the dugout, Croteau came rushing over to me.

“I can’t believe you did that,” he said.

”What?” I said. “The guy hung the curve.”

“Not that,” Croteau said. “Do you realize what you did to Salinas?”

“What?” I said.

“You just topped his RBI total,” he said quietly.

I felt like the bottom just fell out of my stomach. I had never in my life gone from total joy to complete despair in the span of six words. I spun around to see Salinas slap a line drive down the third base line. Instead of bolting from the box for an easy double, he causally trotted to first base and stood there with his head hanging down.

I felt like the biggest ass in the world. Here was a man who went out of his way to help me become a major league baseball player. A man who helped me when I reached out to restore the reputation of Spurrier when it would be easier to keep silent. A man who had my back from day one even when I did the dumbest things and acted all of my eighteen years. Now I took away a place in baseball history by denying him the Triple Crown.

I stood there watching him stand on first base. He didn’t take a lead at all. Through the back-to-back strikeouts that ended our inning he didn’t move an inch. When he came back to the dugout, he told Ryland he was done for the day and walked into the clubhouse. I slowly walked out to third base and felt as if every eye in the building was focused on me.

It was a one, two, three inning without a single ball coming in my direction. Everyone ran out for the post-game high fives and congratulations for another win but I just rushed off the field and toward the clubhouse. I wanted to apologize and beg forgiveness because of my ignorance. I don’t think I would have struck out or anything but I would have just tried to slap a single instead of taking the pitch downtown.

I ran into the locker room and Salinas was already gone. His uniform was in a heap at the front of his locker and his towels were dry. He’d obviously just come in, changed into street clothes and left the stadium. I stood there looking at the locker while my teammates came in and started in their usual post game routine. No one said a word to me except for Spurrier who offered a pat on the shoulder and a smile.

I avoided the reporters after the game by hiding in the shower until they had all left. Almost all of my teammates had left so I dressed in quiet at my locker. As I was leaving, I noticed Ryland in his office and I stopped and looked in. He looked up at me and gave what seemed like a sympathetic smile. He then looked back down at some paperwork and started to write. I walked to my car and threw my gear in the back seat.

I made the mistake of turning on 1130 WDFN. Mike Stone was in the middle of a rant about how it was horrible Salinas wouldn’t get the triple crown because I couldn’t hold back.

“This is going to be known as the Home Run That Screwed Salinas!” Stone boomed. “You can bet the veterans in that clubhouse are going to get their revenge on Ellison for taking baseball immortality away from Salinas. I don’t care that he’s the second best player on that team. No one else will care either. It won’t matter that he hit 123 ribbies during season. All that will matter is he’s the guy who screwed Salinas.”

The callers were almost entirely siding with Stone. One caller pointed out that it was wrong to imply I should have tanked the at bat so Salinas could have the triple crown but Stone swiftly blasted the caller and hung up on him. I put in a CD and tried to drive home without breaking down into tears.

The guard at the gate of my gated community didn’t say a word to me when I pulled up. Usually he was quick with a smile and greeting but tonight he just glanced my way and hit the button to open the gate. I drove through and wound through the silent roads to my house.

I couldn’t sleep and could barely eat. I sat on the couch watching South Park when the phone rang and I saw Salinas’ number on the caller ID.

“Hi Will,” I said.

“You sleeping?” he said quietly.

“No,” I said.

“You had a good game,” he said.

“I thought I had,” I said. “Doesn’t feel like that right now.”

“I called to tell you something because I wanted it to just be between us and no one else,” Salinas said. “If I said it at the park someone might have heard me. I don’t want you to tell anyone else what I’m about to say.”

“Sure,” I said as I felt my stomach begin to turn inside out. I just knew he was going to go off on me and accuse me of betraying all that he’s done. He was going to cut off our friendship and mentorship. I was going to be a pariah on this baseball team.

“If you hadn’t taken that hanging curveball out of that park,” Salinas said, “I would have hit you with my bat when you came back to the dugout.”

“What?” I said in actual surprise.

“All season long I’ve been trying to turn you into a professional baseball player,” Salinas said. “A professional does his job game in and game out regardless of the consequences to anyone else on the team in terms of their personal statistics. Sure, I wanted the Triple Crown. This hurts like hell not to have it. I also know that if you hadn’t drilled that pitch I would have known you tanked so I could have the Triple Crown and I couldn’t have had that.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said in a haze of amazement.

“Don’t say anything,” Salinas said. “Go to bed and get some sleep. We have practice at 2 and I expect you there early and ready to go just like every other day this season. However, I am going to harass you endlessly all day.”

Salinas started to laugh and I found myself doing the same.

“Thanks, Will,” I said.

“No, kid,” Salinas said. “Thank you. You became a true pro tonight and I’m glad I was able to help that along.”

I hung up the phone and turned off South Park before they could kill Kenny. I figured if I had gotten a reprieve then Kenny deserved one too.

[ifspuds]

Originally Posted by Dale And Eli's Dad

I hung up the phone and turned off South Park before they could kill Kenny. I figured if I had gotten a reprieve then Kenny deserved one too.

Great ending to a great post. KUTGW!

[Jason]

October 10, 2006, 11:04pm, Comerica Park, Detroit, MI
(Detroit has lost 3-1 to Tampa Bay in the first round of the playoffs.
Playoff Stats: .214, 0 HR, 0 RBI)

“How do you think it feels?” I snapped at one of the clueless idiots pretending to be a reporter. “You think I feel like jumping around here doing the happy dance?”

“Hey, I’m just asking the question,” the moron replied.

“Well,” I hissed, “I you know the damn answer then I guess you don’t need to ask it, do ya?”

The assembled reporters surrounding me at my locker took a collective step back.

“Do you think this was a successful season?” another reporter blurted out.

“I’m done,” I said and began to walk through the reporters who seemed to not want to move out of the way.

“This isn’t a very professional way to handle yourself,” the first reporter snapped as he stepped in front of me. I realized he was trying to bait me into responding physically against him so I just turned my head away and slid past with my back to him. He continued to call to me as I kept walking past the buffet table and into the trainer’s room where it was off limits to the press.

“Bunch of f***ing jackals,” I said as I flopped into a chair next to Kevin Rand’s desk.

“They’re just doing their job,” Rand said.

“No,” I said. “They’d be doing their job if they didn’t ask questions aimed at hitting me when I’m down.”

“It’s still their job,” Rand said. “Look at how they’re asking the same questions of Salinas.”

I turned to look at the locker room and the same blob of reporters had now descended on Salinas. He was standing at his locker answering questions with a somber look on his face. The bright lights of the TV cameras almost seemed to wash away all the color from his face as if he was suddenly about to be ill. I rose from my chair and walked to the doorway where I could hear Salinas.

“Well,” Salinas was saying, “I’m sure there’s other things we could have done to change the outcome but it doesn’t take away from the fact Tampa Bay’s a great baseball team.”

“Ellison seems to be upset about it,” the weasel that tried to block my exit said.

“What do you think the team needs to get over the hump next year?” another reporter asked.

“I think we need to just focus on what we’ve done right,” Salinas said as he ignored the weasel reporter. “Every team ebbs and flows and unfortunately Tampa was flowing while we ebbed.”

A few of the reporters joined Salinas in a little laugh after his response. The weasel reporter, however, didn’t even crack a smile.

“It seems some of your teammates couldn’t handle the pressure of the playoffs,” he said.

“I think you’ll see we have a lot of the parts still in place to make another run next season,” Salinas said picking up his answer and again ignoring the weasel. “We have a lot of young talented players and we aren’t losing a lot of players in the off season to free agency. I think with our success this year we might be able to get some interest from some of the bigger free agents this off season.”

“Do you think you could have gone farther if you had veterans in the key positions of the batting order?” the weasel reporter said. Salinas shot him a look and looked around for another question.

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize that guy,” Torre said from beside me. I jumped a bit because I didn’t even hear him walk up.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“That’s the guy who was with the Toledo Blade reporter we had canned,” Torre said. “When they fired the first guy he rolled on him and said it was all lies. Took his job. Now he’s trying to be Mr. Wonder Reporter.”

“Explains why he hates me so much,” I said.

“Well, there’s a lot of reasons for that,” Torre said with a smile that I didn’t return. “Lighten up, kid. You can’t win every year even if you’re the damn Yankees.”

Torre patted my shoulder and walked toward the buffet table that was untouched until he dug into the chips and salsa. I looked back to where Salinas was still fielding questions and felt anger boiling in my stomach. I was really growing tired of people who liked to feed off the misfortune of others.

“And I think by spring we’ll be ready,” Salinas said finishing his answer to a question I hadn’t heard.

“Should the team send Ellison to triple A at the start of next season so he can work on clutch hitting?” the weasel from Toledo blurted out.

“I don’t know,” Salinas said looking down at the reporter who smiled because his question was being answered. “If you’re any indication of what comes from Toledo, we’d want him to aim a whole lot higher than that.”

The reporters roared with laughter and the weasel’s smile turned to rage.

“How does it feel to come up short?” he snapped.

“I don’t know,” Salinas said looking down. The reporter was a good eight inches shorter than Salinas.

“Why don’t you tell me how it feels to come up short?” he asked with a smile.

The Toledo reporter turned and walked out of the gaggle of reporters and started to walk past me to exit the locker room. When he reached me, I cleared my throat loud enough that he stopped and looked at me.

“This isn’t a very professional way to handle yourself,” I said as I forced a smile.

The reporter looked at me and started to say something but realized it wouldn’t be good to engage further on my turf. He turned and practically ran from the locker room. I turned back to where Salinas was wrapping up with the reporters. He walked through the masses to the buffet table and started loading up on chips and salsa.

“How can you eat?” I asked him as I casually strolled up to his side.

“I’m hungry,” he said plainly.

“Yeah,” I said. “But our season just went down the toilet and all our effort is meaningless. This wasn’t just another loss.”

“No,” he said as he picked up a Quizno’s sub and placed it on his plate. “It’s not. Any time there’s no game tomorrow and there’s no ring on your finger it’s harder.”

“So then how can you eat?” I asked.

“Perspective, kid,” Salinas said. “We’ve come farther this year than any Tigers team in the last twenty years. Next year, you’ll be better and so will the other young guys. We don’t have any real old guys just hanging on except Croteau and I wouldn’t be surprised if he hangs it up this winter. Our World Series is just delayed a little bit. That’s how I can eat.”

I stood there not sure what to say because I certainly didn’t have that perspective.

“Eat,” Salinas said as he shoved a Quizno’s sub in my jersey. “You’re still a growing boy.”

“In more ways than one apparently,” I replied.

[Operation Shutdown]

Originally Posted by Dale And Eli's Dad

“You’re still a growing boy.”

“In more ways than one apparently,” I replied.

Post reported. Seriously though, this is a fabulous dynasty. I started reading it a while back and just wanted to give some positive feedback. The way you told the story of Ellison beating out Salinas' triple crown bid by one RBI was beautiful. It almost brought a tear to my eye. That boy done all growed up.

[Jason]

December 4, 2006, 12:25pm, Northville, MI

“We’re being joined by the American League Rookie of the Year Dale Ellison,” Rome said. “Welcome back in the Jungle.”

“Thanks Jim,” I said into the speakerphone on my dining room table. “Always good to be back in the Jungle.”

“How does it feel to be Rookie of the Year?” Rome asked.

“Pretty much the same as when I first found out,” I replied. “I was just hoping that I would have a good year and prove that I belonged in the major leagues. With all the great rookies we had this year I didn’t think I had a real shot at the Rookie of the Year.”

“Leading all rookies in home runs and RBI can do that for you,” Rome said.

“Well, you certainly don’t win it for most errors,” I said with a laugh. Rome joined in.

“So what now?” Rome asked. “Sit around until spring?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll just sit around and eat Twinkies and drink Dr. Pepper.”

“Trying to line up endorsement deals?” Rome asked.

“Of course,” I laughed. “Seriously though, I’m in the middle of a really strict off season workout program. A few of us stuck around Detroit and we’ve been working out every day at Comerica Park. If I have to do one more rep of free weights with Will Salinas I’m going to drop it on his head!”

“Is this what you expected when you jumped from high school to the major leagues?” Rome asked. “I’m sure you didn’t work this hard during summer vacation!”

“Actually, I kind of did!” I said with a laugh. “I would go from playing high school ball to Legion baseball and a traveling team. If I were lucky I’d get a week off before school started again in the fall. Then again, I love playing baseball so much I didn’t mind spending all the time practicing and playing games.”

“It’s like this show,” Rome said. “I love doing it but sometimes you need to take time off. Go to the basement. I hope you’re going to plan on doing that.”

“I will,” I said. “I never realized how stressful and strenuous the major league season would be even without reaching the playoffs. I hit a spell in late July and early August where I really felt tired all the time from playing and it certainly effected my on field play.”

”That’s when you went a month without a home run?” Rome asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I could tell I was hitting the wall.”

“How’d you get out of it?” Rome asked.

“Salinas threatened to kick my ass,” I said causing Rome to laugh. “Seriously, I just focused on getting rest whenever I could grab it. Some nights I’d go into the trainer’s room an hour before the game and get a quick fifteen-minute cat nap. It was amazing how much energy a small rest can bring you.”

“J. Stew does that during commercial breaks,” Rome said.

“And when he’s acting on According To Jim,” I said making Rome laugh again.

“That’s not right,” Rome said between laughs.

“Sorry, J. Stew!” I said in mock apology.

“Now, the most important question of the day,” Rome said.

“I’m ready,” I said having no idea where this was going.

“Have you been to the strip club in Detroit to see my high score on video poker?” Rome said. “Apparently my total just keeps going up and up.”

“Well,” I lied, “I’ve been there but never for the video poker.”

“And what do you go there for?” Rome said as he obviously caught my setup.

“The hot wings, of course,” I said. Another round of laughter.

I said my thank you and goodbye to Rome. I walked into my living room and jumped over the back of my overstuffed leather couch. I snatched up the stereo remote control from the coffee table and flipped to WDFN so I could hear more of the Jungle.

“Dear Jim,” Rome said as he came back from the commercial break, “It’s good to see someone who had has success and isn’t letting it go to their head yet. Let’s hope Dale Ellison stays the way he is now. Epic interview! I agree with that. Tom from Modesto with that.”

“I’ll try,” I said aloud.

“Dear Rome,” Jim said. “Can I offer him 200 million dollars yet? Signed, George Steinbrenner. Mike from Crapchester.”

I smiled.

“Dear Jim,” Rome continued. “I want to have Dale Ellison’s baby. Signed, Twinkies and Dr. Pepper. In case you missed the interview, Dale Ellison said he was going to spend his off-season eating Twinkies and drinking Dr. Pepper.”

The phone interrupted my enjoyment of the Jungle. It was Darrell Weatherly. I hadn’t spoken to him since August when he stopped rehabbing in Detroit and went to the spring training facility in Lakeland, Florida.

“Hey D,” I said. “You coming back to the snow covered tundra of Detroit?”

“No,” Weatherly said. “You near a TV?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I was just listening to Rome because I just finished an…”

“Turn on ESPN news,” Weatherly said cutting me off.

I flipped on the giant plasma TV that my agent Sid had given me as a gift when I won the Rookie of the Year award. I flipped to ESPN news and didn’t even feel the remote hit my foot when I dropped it.

”When did you find this out?” I asked.

“I just heard one of the trainers down here talking about it,” Weatherly answered.

“Who else knows?” I said.

“I don’t know,” Weatherly said. “I tried to some of the other guys but you were the only one home.”

“This isn’t going to be good news for him,” I said. “It’s good for the team on paper but this is really going to screw up our chemistry for a while.”

“Tell me about it,” Weatherly said. “I just know when the news breaks he’s likely going to start calling guys and I know you were kind of tight with him.”

“I’m not sure I should call,” I said.

“I’d just wait until he calls you,” Weatherly said. “But tell him I’m thinking about him. Get a number so I can call him later.”

“I will,” I said as I heard the beep on my call waiting. I looked at the phone and saw the number I didn’t want to see.

“That him?” Weatherly asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’d better take it.”

“Good luck,” Weatherly said. “I’ll say a prayer for you both.”

“Thanks,” I said. I put the phone down on my lap and took a deep breath. I muted the TV and lifted the phone while pressing the talk button.

“Hey man,” I said. “What’s going on?”

[ifspuds]

You're a cruel, cruel man.