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Old 02-24-2005, 03:31 PM   #41
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Sorry guys, wrapped up in some stuff on the home front this week.

I'll have more Saturday.

GH
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Old 02-26-2005, 06:16 PM   #42
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The soldier held out his hand.

"You left this at the center," he said, handing Austin his faded brown leather wallet as he opened the door.

Austin froze with shock and relief.

"Ummm...thanks for coming all the way out here."

"Not a problem. Had some recruiting in the area," the officer, frail and in his early 20s, said. "Have a good day."

And with that, the officer turned and went back down the front path to the house. But midway he paused, turning slowly toward Austin.

"The lottery get you?" he asked.

Austin started to stammer, but paused, collecting himself. "No...no, sir. I got lucky."

The man nodded. "I see." He didn't sound convinced, and Austin's mind whirled at a breakneck pace.

"Thank God for close calls, eh?" he said, with what was in Austin's mind a hint there was a reason for that choice of words. "Good luck."

And with that he was gone. Austin watched him drive away, flicking his wallet open and closed slowly as he watched, not even aware he was doing it, until some spare change fell to the floor with a rattle.

He closed the door quickly, kneeling and scrambling to corral the money.

Panicked, Austin started to breathe heavily. "He knew, Dad, I know he knew."

Philip walked across the room, his workboots knocking the hardwood floor.

"If he knew, either he'd still be here or you wouldn't," he replied.

Austin's father was writing furiously as he flipped back and forth between pages. He had compiled a journal, or communications log, related to Austin's attempts to gain big league notice. He detailed the conversation with John Sloan in the journal. By no means was Sloan committal, but he was the first Philip had spoken with all day who didn't treat Austin as something that would come back to haunt them.

Austin was visibly rattled by the officer's visit, but his father didn't want to dwell on that point. Moments earlier, he had a positive response -- considering anything not a rejection, in Austin's situation, was a positive -- and he still had more calls to make.

Austin rose from the floor after collecting his change. He looked at his father, who went back to the phone to continue his work.

He went to bed early that night. It had been a long one. Each time the phone rang, he jumped. Such opposite possibilities: Being order to report for duty, or being told he may be drafted by a major league club. The day's events, and those of the recent weeks, had simply worn him out.

After laying in bed for an hour, he rose and damn near sleepwalked his way around his room. His mind a blender of thoughts, he leaned against the wall near the door, his head bowed.

"What are they so afraid of, Phil," he heard his mother ask. "I thought these scouts loved him."

"They don't want to have a draft dodger and, like it or not, that's what he'll be in their eyes."

Austin's eyes widened as he listened, getting the other side of the conversations.

"You mean these men wouldn't keep their sons from the war if they could?" his mother reasoned. "That's preposterous!"

"And what of the fans who come to the park who learn how Austin got out of it on a technicality -- those fans who sent their own sons to fight...or die -- what do you think they will think? How will they feel? How would WE feel?"

Austin missed the name, but heard what he needed to hear: "...said Austin's risk is too big for his possible reward. And he's probably right."

As he turned out his desk light, his faded as well. Very, very quickly.

GH
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Old 02-26-2005, 06:37 PM   #43
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Phew!
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Old 02-26-2005, 08:48 PM   #44
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Phew!
Don't get too comfortable, doesn't look like he's out of it just yet.
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:06 PM   #45
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GForce, this story is awesome. It's intriguing, addictive, exciting. And, like one of the previous posters said, no baseball has even been played yet.

Just wondering, have you ever attempted to have any stories you've written published? I seriously think that you should consider trying to get this thing published once you've finished it. It's excellent.
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:12 PM   #46
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He'd driven past the building 7 times now, circling the block. Had this been a residential area, the neighbors probably would have called the cops. But Austin was in thought.

The amateur baseball draft was a week away. But those words of a few weeks before, that he "wouldn't be worth the risk," still rang true. He was a longshot with baggage that could bring a wildfire to engulf whoever took their chance on him. And his father had long ago taught him a guilty verdict in the court of public opinion was the worst sentence one could get.

Dreams are beautiful things. It's wonderful to get lost in them. But sometimes, the worst thing you can do is be that...be lost. For weeks now, Austin had been using a technicality to circumvent what was, as disgusted as it made him, his duty to his country. He was no better than anyone else. Should he get out of serving simply because somebody lost his paperwork?

Dad will kill me.

It's probably the only reason he hadn't parked yet. His father had fought tooth and nail for him. He'd traveled the country with him to get him a chance. He'd worked the phones like a politician soliciting campaign support, just trying to get someone to latch on. He pulled him out of that very building, stood up to the officer trying to strongarm him, done everything possible to save him from this war.

And now, he was going to, for all intents and purposes, turn himself in. He stared blankly ahead at the thought...

This will kill dad.

"Yes...yes, sir. No, I COMPLETELY understand."

Philip James bounced on his toes as he spoke, Marge looking on bewildered from the living room recliner.

The phone hadn't rang in days, at least not with anybody Philip wanted to hear from on the other end. His log of scouting conversations was a mess of black ink covered in violent red slashes. Things hadn't gone as hoped. A few calls ended with pleasant "we'll keep him in mind" conclusions that Philip had no faith in. But, for the most part, nobody wanted a piece of this problem.

After five unanswered calls, Philip surely never thought his son's boyhood heroes would be the ones to throw him a bone.

He couldn't believe it. The Mets were on the line. And THEY had made the call.

Their brass had met several times to discuss Austin, the local kid with the rocket arm. Hell, he had work to do, but no more so than this Ryan clown who couldn't find the plate with a compass.

The Mets were making no promises, and ownership still wasn't sold that the potential baggage here was something they wanted to grapple with.

Scout Jesse Blanchard watched Austin's throwing session in August on the grounds of Eisenhower Park. He touted the arm, registering 96 on the gun multiple times. The changeup showed promise, the curveball too erratic. But the fastball had great natural movement. And Austin was eminently teachable, a good kid with a willingness to learn. And that went a long way.

Blanchard gave exactly that scouting report to Philip over the phone, and had given the same to ownership several times in recent weeks. They balked, they hemmed and hawed, for all the reasons Philip hated but understood all too well.

After a 20 minute discussion that was no guarantee, Blanchard made the request: "Get Austin to Shea at 5 p.m., Gate C."

Philip lost the balance on the tips of his toes, stumbling awkwardly to the side before catching himself on the door jam. Blanchard was to meet them there, with executives in tow.

The mission was simple...get Austin to show them what he showed Blanchard that muggy August afternoon. Philip knew he could do it, knew he WOULD do it. He just had to get him there.

He just had to find him.

Of all places to look, the hard, plastic seat near the door of the Selective Service Center was the last place Philip would think to check.

GH

Last edited by GForce; 04-18-2005 at 08:08 PM.
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:13 PM   #47
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Originally Posted by kenyan_cheena
GForce, this story is awesome. It's intriguing, addictive, exciting. And, like one of the previous posters said, no baseball has even been played yet.

Just wondering, have you ever attempted to have any stories you've written published? I seriously think that you should consider trying to get this thing published once you've finished it. It's excellent.
Thanks a lot. I'm a writer/editor by trade, but regrettably have gone more down the editing road in recent years. Getting to write something for leisure is a hell of a lot of fun for me, and I'm enjoying this immensely.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep it so you do as well.

Thanks for the kind words.

GH
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:18 PM   #48
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You're killing me!!! This story is amazing. I wish we could pay you to just stay here and finish the story .
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:54 PM   #49
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You're killing me!!! This story is amazing. I wish we could pay you to just stay here and finish the story .
I think that's the best compliment anyone could make.
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Old 02-27-2005, 08:55 PM   #50
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You're killing me!!! This story is amazing. I wish we could pay you to just stay here and finish the story .
LOL!!!

Well, if you want to take up a collection, I won't object

GH
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Old 02-27-2005, 10:48 PM   #51
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I think that's the best compliment anyone could make.
Sounds like a wager to me.

You're killing me!!! This story is amazing. I wish we could pay you to just stay here and finish the story and you're an incredibly beautiful human beingwith a sweet, sweet ass.

Anyway fantastic stuff yet again!
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Old 02-27-2005, 11:04 PM   #52
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and you're an incredibly beautiful human beingwith a sweet, sweet ass.
Ransom warned me about you.

GH
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Old 03-01-2005, 12:41 AM   #53
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Austin's father had been to the library, the ball field, even the Sweet Shop on Broadway. He pounded the steering wheel in frustration as time he didn't have passed, the rhythmic passing over grooves in the road fraying his last nerve.

"Dammit, Austin," his father barked to the dashboard. "Where the hell are you?"

All for nothing

That's all Austin could think of as he sat there. Other recruits were answering the call, their date having come up and a new round of enlistments required by the government.

While circling the building, the radio sounded of casualties in Vietnam, a tank explosion that left an estimated 8 Americans dead. The previous day, attacks on a mess hall killed 7 and left 25 injured in varying degrees of gore, so the stories went. Loss of limbs, whole or partial; blinding shrapnel, burning gases. He'd seen and read too much in the last month. It had gotten too visual, too real.

So why was he sitting here again?

Because he had no option. Sure, he could have waited for the military to come get him once their paperwork got in order. He never believed he was out of it for good. He tried to let himself believe it, but there were always signs, always things that cut into his mind to tell him something was wrong about what he was doing. He didn't have to like it, but as an American, he had the same duty as everyone else.

Besides, the big leagues didn't want him. All that traveling...with Dad...

I'm sorry

He had done so much. It knotted Austin's stomach with no remedy to think it all was for nothing. Calls, time and time again...traveling, money...lots of money...all spent for him to have this dream.

But his dad had served. He'd never be angry at Austin. He'd be proud he was man enough to do what he was responsible for. His father was patriotic, not blindly so, not hung up on having "planted the flag" and so many were...just a believer it was great to be an American, and his nation's people were good at heart. That made him as proud as anything.

Suddenly, a calm came over Austin.

Dad served, Dad is my hero.

There were worse things to be than in the footsteps of his father. And with that thought, Austin rose to walk up to the counter and get his assignment.

"MURDERERS!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Austin turned halfway to the door before he was on the ground, his head throbbing. There was indecipherable yelling, occasionally pierced by a "Get down," or "I can't see."

From his vantage point on the floor, blood streaming across his eyes, Austin couldn't tell much. His hand had been stepped on, which was followed by a sharp kick to the back of the head. His ribs throbbed as the smoke swirled in front of his eyes.

"THIS IS WHAT YOU DO TO THEM!!!!!!!"

Glass shattered with a pair of crashes, the screaming of passersby on the street now much more audible. Car horns blared and through the smoke came the flames.

He hacked and coughed, hoping for a glimpse of light that would stop the spinning, give him a sense of where in this chaotic room he was. But his chest was heavy, his eyes even moreso.

There was no more yelling around him, no more thumping of feet trying to find their way.

It was hot, and getting very, very dark.

GH

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Old 03-01-2005, 11:09 AM   #54
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Old 03-01-2005, 06:36 PM   #55
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This story is just ... um ... curveballs coming at us from everywhere ... it's just, um ... I'm sorry, I'm just speechless. This story has just left me speechless, unable to wait for the next instalment...
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Old 03-01-2005, 06:39 PM   #56
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This story is just ... um ... curveballs coming at us from everywhere ... it's just, um ... I'm sorry, I'm just speechless. This story has just left me speechless, unable to wait for the next instalment...
Thanks, though I admit I feel like I'm dipping into that well a but too much here. I guess as long as the pace seems good it's OK, I just don't want this to become cliffhanger, setup, cliffhanger, setup...that's weak and tired.

That said, glad you're enjoying it. I'm hoping the angle it's going to take will meet expectations, or at least satisfaction.

GH
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Old 03-02-2005, 12:48 AM   #57
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Um...not to be impatient, but this will involve OOTP at some point, right? This stuff is awesome, but I really would like to see James move from the 1960's soap opera to the baseball field soon.

Of course, you could throw us a real curveball and have James die from the injuries he just sustained...
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Old 03-02-2005, 01:06 AM   #58
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Um...not to be impatient, but this will involve OOTP at some point, right? This stuff is awesome, but I really would like to see James move from the 1960's soap opera to the baseball field soon.

Of course, you could throw us a real curveball and have James die from the injuries he just sustained...
You're allowed to be impatient...of course, I'm just as allowed not to care

I'm writing this at my own pace. If you like it, great. If it doesn't work for you or meet what you're looking for, there are lots of other great threads here for you to enjoy.

Thanks for stopping by!

GH
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Old 03-02-2005, 01:27 AM   #59
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You're allowed to be impatient...of course, I'm just as allowed not to care

I'm writing this at my own pace. If you like it, great. If it doesn't work for you or meet what you're looking for, there are lots of other great threads here for you to enjoy.

Thanks for stopping by!

GH
The way you've written this thing so far, GForce, I wouldn't care if it took you until Christmas to get Austin onto the playing field. The pace your doing it at is fine. I'm actually surprised that you aren't doing it slower, considering the excellent quality of the story.
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Old 03-05-2005, 10:13 PM   #60
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He heard the stomping footsteps, much heavier than before. The sound of hoses and unintelligible yelling between firefighters surrounded him. Pulling his knees underneath him, Austin reached up and latched on to the jacket of one of the firefighters.

"I've got one here," he bellowed, holding Austin in a hunched over position as he guided him toward the door.

In moments, Austin was in the sunlight, squinting hard against the pain of the smoke in his eyes and the glare of his emergence from the chaos.

"You OK?" the fireman asked.

Austin gasped and coughed, slumped against a parked car outside. "I...I think so."

The building was a smoky haze only feet away, smoke and soot billowing as flames flickered through the window frames. Others who had been inside with him milled around, unsure where to go. The officers from inside stood stoicly, almost as though this was expected.

"They'll check you out over there," the fireman said, pointing to one of a pair of ambulances that had pulled onto the broad sidewalk a few buildings down the row.

His chest burned, his eyes felt like they were crackling. But all Austin wanted to do was get the hell out of there. He stepped dazed into the street, backing up to do so, his eyes fixated on the building.

Our own people attacked us

He couldn't wrap his brain around that. For or against the war, these people, in the name of peace, endangered their own country's people to make that point, one that had been made time and time again for years, now.

A horn blared as an oncoming car stopped short, just feet from Austin. Fortunately, police had slowed traffic in the area. But Austin was in a haze he couldn't shake, and he had no idea a car was even on its way. He fumbled for his keys and got into his own car. A bottle of lukewarm water was on the passenger seat, a remnant of a workout days before. He tilted his head back, pouring some slowly on his face, trying to work the burn out.

It wouldn't pass, and he doused himself thoroughly, emitting a chest throbbing yell, not of physical pain, but emotional anguish. He hacked and coughed to punctuate his cry, doubling over the steering well before recoiling back. His life was unraveling...every move, every decision, was just opening a door to another room with no view.

He jammed the gas to the floorboard and took off, clutching the wheel tightly in his hands.

Philip came through the door at 4:30. He tossed his keys onto the endtable and poured himself a whiskey double. Marge came up from the basement.

"You couldn't find him?"

Philip looked up with a "No s*it" expression that made Marge bow her head sheepishly. He sat in his chair and tilted his head back, his finger gently rubbing the rim of his glass.

"Finally...a break," he said softly. "The kid finally gets a break...from the Mets no less...his boyhood dream...and he's going to miss it."

Marge walked over, torn by the anguish on her husband's face. In his eyes, nobody deserved this more than Austin. It was bad enough his brother lost his chance to injury. But for him it was a natural thing. Austin worked, tirelessly, endlessly. This was his dream. And it was dying.

"Can you call the scout?" Marge asked. "Just tell him..."

"No...this guy's doing a favor, Marge. He's putting his reputation on the line for us already. I can't ask..."

Philip's thought was interrupted by the screeching halt of Austin's car in the front of the house. He burst through the door ready to storm into the back and throw until his arm fell off, to release his anger, his frustration, everything.

Had Philip corraled him tighter around the chest he would have leveled him.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, wet, disheveled and 10-shades of angry, covered in dirt and soot from the fire. Marge's jaw dropped but nothing came out.

Philip didn't even notice.

"Come on," he said, dragging Austin out the door.

"No," he fought, pushing his father in an unheard of move that caused Austin to step back a moment in disbelief of himself. "I just want to be..."

"A ballplayer," his father interrupted. Before Austin could object anymore, Philip pulled him again, virtually throwing him out the front door, grabbing his keys on the follow-through.

"Then you better get your ass in gear, because we got 20 minutes to get to Flushing."

GH
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