A Brand New Ballgame

by Declan Rhodes

  Spring training was a different story. I burned the opposing pitchers, and it didn’t take long for the media to push my name into headlines again.

  I said, “You know, we need to find that perfect guy to take over the left field duties, and then we’ll have one of the best outfields in the league.”

  Our left fielder was a journeyman veteran, Clarence Hammond, and his best days were behind him. I saw him fail to reach too many fly balls that a younger, faster player would have pulled down.

  “You’re pretty confident, aren’t you?” asked Eric.

  I grinned and said, “Always. At least I try to be.” I added in my announcer’s voice, “Introducing the next All-Star outfielder, Chase O’Rourke!”

  Eric glanced at me and then returned his eyes to the road. “You know, that is what a lot of the guys on the team are saying about you. They are talking up both the All-Star game and Rookie of the Year selection. Doesn’t the pressure get to you sometimes?”

  “Not really, but, honestly, let’s keep that noise to a low rumble. It would be fantastic if it happened, but I’m superstitious enough to think we could all jinx it if we talk about it too much.”

  “Superstitious, eh? You’re playing the right game then. Mo carries a ratty old rabbit’s foot in his pocket that his uncle gave him when he was four years old. He said it’s been in his family for a lot longer than that.”

  Mo Sadler was our secret weapon. He was a relief pitcher and likely to be named our closer for the season. The Yellowjackets acquired him in an off-season trade, and Mo terrorized batters all the way through spring training. Even though he was 38 and nearing the twilight of his career, I knew it was going to be a big year for Mo. I was glad I didn’t have to bat against him. He was built a little like a lean version of a football tackle. I wouldn’t want to encounter Mo in a dark alley.

  I said, “Superstitions are interesting. I guess I never told you about my Grandpa’s silver dollar.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “That’s because it doesn’t exist.” I threw my head back and laughed.

  I could hear and smell the ocean before we could see it. The wind was whipping up the waves at Tybee Island, but the air was warm, and the sky was sunny. Eric drove past the more touristy places and pulled up at a fish place that was little more than a shack. He said, “You get the real thing here.”

  Eric pulled a blanket out of the trunk of the car and tucked it under his arm. I said, “I thought we were eating.”

  “We are. We’ll grab our sandwiches and drinks and then sit on the sand and eat.”

  The man at the shack with a dark, weather-beaten face handed over our food in brown paper bags. I followed Eric to the beach, and he spread the blanket out for us to sit. I kicked off my shoes, pulled off my socks, and let my toes wiggle around in the sand. I set my food and drink on the blanket near me and stared out at the waves.

  “Will this work for you?” asked Eric.

  I held a finger up to my lips and said, “Shh, I need to watch the water for a few minutes.”

  Eric took his sandwich and fries out of the bag while I pulled my knees up and rested my arms on them. After another sixty seconds, the aroma of fish and fries was too much. My stomach growled, and I had to eat, too.

  Eric asked, “So, all you did was work out and hang out with relatives in the off-season? That’s all you mentioned. You didn’t have any hot dates?”

  I bit into the sandwich. The fish tasted like the ocean. We never had fish like it in Missouri. Catfish wasn’t the same thing.

  I contemplated Eric’s question and wondered how much I should share. I said, “I want to tell you something about me because I consider you a friend, but I don’t think it can be common knowledge on the team.”

  Eric stared at the waves and asked, “Are you gonna tell me that you’re gay?”

  I was so startled by the unexpected question that I nearly fumbled my sandwich. I juggled it in my hands and managed to avoid dropping the top bun tartar sauce side down on the blanket.

  “Good hands,” said Eric. “That’s why they put you in the outfield.”

  “How did you know?”

  “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. I see the way you look at guys. You used to look at me that way until we started hanging out together, and you saw me flirt with women in the bar. I’m sure you already know, but there are a lot more guys in the league like you than most people think.”

  “I hope it changes soon, and I can be out, but I’m not gonna be a sacrificial lamb. At least I’m not going to do it this year. Anyway, I decided to mention it because I did have a couple of dates and then the relationship blew up like a gay soap opera.”

  Eric set his sandwich on the paper bag and rubbed his hands on his jeans. “Oh, I want details. I love sordid stories.”

  “Sordid? I’m not sure it’s that. His name is Brandon Hunt.”

  “Sounds like a baseball name.”

  I shook my head. “Brandon couldn’t catch a ball if it had a handle on it. We had a serious crush on each other in high school, but we were both too nervous to do anything about it. He was a nerdish type in black-rimmed glasses playing the saxophone in our jazz band, and I was a rare bird, a gay jock.”

  Eric shook his head. “As I said, there’s more of you than most people think.”

  I continued my story. “Brandon ran into my mom when he came back to our hometown for Christmas, and she gave him my phone number. She doesn’t understand the concept of privacy. Anyway, three days later my head was on Brandon’s pillow in his apartment, and he was pawing at me with his thin, spidery fingers.”

  “Uh, I don’t need the gory man-on-man details,” said Eric.

  “Well, something was missing for me. Brandon’s braininess wasn’t exciting anymore like it was in high school. After we spent a few hours together, I got tired of his annoying, superior attitude toward most other people in the world. He wanted me to join him in his view of the earth as the two of us perched on a peak looking down and judging the rest of humanity.”

  Eric snickered.

  “My realization didn’t stop me from being stupid. I still followed Brandon to bed. I’d spent so much time obeying the trainer’s advice and grinding away in the gym that I wanted some fun in bed, and I knew Brandon going down on my cock... Oops, sorry!” I turned toward Eric with a sheepish grin on my face.

  He waved his hand. “That’s okay. Go ahead. I want to know how this turned out.”

  “It was all underwhelming, but Brandon was enthusiastic. He was into me, and he blushed from ear-to-ear when I kissed him. It wasn’t long before something embarrassing happened.”

  “Embarrassing?”

  “Well, he showed up in Florida during spring training.”

  I watched Eric wrack his brain. “You’re not saying that’s the guy that you said was an old buddy from home, are you? I remember that you begged off that night when I asked you out for tacos with Javier and me.”

  I nodded. “Yep, that was him. At first, I didn’t believe my eyes when I saw him. He didn’t contact me in advance. He was seated just above the first base dugout. I recognized his trademark glasses from clear out in the outfield.”

  “Was that the game when you dropped the easy fly ball?”

  “Yep, distraction.”

  “Well, get to the juicy part of the story minus the sex detail of course.”

  “Okay, yeah. We ended up in bed, but I couldn’t stop thinking about another guy.”

  “Oh, that’s bad. I’ve been there and done that with women. It’s guaranteed to get you in trouble. What happened next?”

  “I closed my eyes, and it was sex. It felt good, and I tried not to think about the fact that I didn’t care about Brandon. Instead, I imagined that it was Aaron. Then at the big moment, I yelled out, ‘Aaron!!’”

  Eric threw his head back and laughed. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “You didn’t.”

  I stared back at him. “I did.”

&nbs
p; He roared with laughter again before asking, “Hey, wait. Who’s Aaron? I’ve not heard about an Aaron.”

  “Yep, that’s what Brandon asked. I can quote him. ‘What the fucking hell?! Who’s Aaron?”

  Eric rubbed his hands on his jeans again. I said, “This is the part you have to keep quiet. Do you promise?”

  “Of course. I told you about sleeping with my sister’s best friend, and I trust you to never tell her. Someday you’ll meet, and you’ll be tempted to tell the story. It will probably be on my wedding day. I’ll slap duct tape over your mouth if I have to.”

  I laughed softly. “That was a funny story. Anyway, Aaron. Damn, he was good.”

  “I don’t care about that. Who is he? Was Aaron another friend from high school? Is he a player in Chattanooga with the Ramblers?”

  “The manager.”

  Eric’s jaw dropped open. He mumbled, “No…”

  I nodded and said, “Yep. Afterward, all I could think about was my sister’s comment, ‘Never have sex with the boss!’”

  “Well, you know she’s right.”

  “But it was after we knew he wouldn’t be my boss anymore.”

  “You were saying goodbye and somehow ended up in bed?”

  I nodded, and Eric laughed again. My story provided quality lunchtime entertainment for my buddy. “Anyway, I refused to tell Brandon. It was none of his business, and I didn’t ask him to stalk me in Florida. A few minutes later, he stormed out of the hotel room. The funny thing is that it was his room. I left fifteen minutes later when he didn’t come back.”

  “I only have one piece of advice for you, buddy.”

  I turned my head to face Eric and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Keep your dick in your pants. Seriously, at least hold it back until you hit a groove in the season. You can’t afford the distraction. The first full year is hard work. Trust me.”

  I shrugged. “Baseball is never hard work for me. I’m not bragging when I say that. It’s the truth. I was a little distracted last September, but I knew the stats would rise again. You saw me in spring training.”

  Eric polished off the last bite of his sandwich. Then he reached for the hem of his T-Shirt and pulled it off over his head. Eric was thin and wiry with dark curly hair on his chest. He stood up in his jeans and his bare feet saying, “It’s a lot of hard work for me, Mr. Natural, but I want a little jog in the waves before I cram this body back into the car. Are you gonna join me?”

  I followed his example and peeled off my T-Shirt, too. I watched Eric glance at my muscular body and shake his head. I said, “I’ll race you.”

  He ran ahead of me shouting, “You’re on!”

  2

  Aaron

  I’m the kid manager with a family legacy. That’s the way the press described me. My success had to be my family’s influence. They couldn’t come up with any other reason why my skill at plotting baseball strategy and noticing top players before they fully blossomed would add up to executives choosing me to manage.

  M grandfather managed in the majors, and my Uncle John was in his fifteenth year as a minor league manager when the Charlotte Yellowjackets hired me to lead their A-level Rock City Ramblers. They were responsible for my quick rise. There was no other possibility since I was only 28-years-old. I still smirk when I think about the narrow-minded bias.

  I spent a year managing the Rock City Ramblers, and we finished second in our league. The year before I arrived, the Ramblers avoided last place by only one game. As I looked forward to the second season, I knew that I had solid returning players and a small squadron of quality recruits. I mentally geared up for a run at the league championship. Then I got the surprise call.

  The Charlotte Yellowjackets’ front office wanted to talk to me. Meyer Huggins, the team’s general manager, placed the call himself. I blinked my eyes in disbelief when I heard the news. Huggins summoned me to the coaching staff for the big league team. The assistant batting coach abruptly resigned his position at the end of spring training, and I was a unanimous suggestion among the coaches as someone to elevate to the vacant position from within the Yellowjackets’ minor league organization.

  I barely had twenty-four hours to pack up and head for Charlotte. I called my parents and my uncle and gave them all permission to spread the good news. The press waited for me en masse at the Charlotte Douglas airport.

  One reporter asked, “You’ve made it to the big leagues now. Does this mean you’ll be a manager by age 35?”

  I shook my head and said, “I’m a very fortunate man. I’m not going to say anything that might disturb the future.”

  My arrival in the big leagues was much quicker than I expected. I’d hoped to stay in Chattanooga for at least three years. I enjoyed getting to know the young players as well as listening to stories from the veterans. A manager can never gather too much knowledge, and, once in a while, a quirky event can lead to new, important realizations about the game.

  When I first received the managing assignment with the Ramblers, I was relaxed and confident. I knew it was a job I could do and do well. In fact, I thought coaching was a much better fit for me than playing the game. Genetically, I wasn’t built to be a top-notch athlete. I could look the part, but I knew that I had weaknesses in specific parts of my body’s muscle and bone structure. At the elite level, every detail of the body’s design is essential.

  Fortunately, I could match any of my colleagues in knowledge and appreciation of the game. Baseball strategy was in my blood. I was born with it in the crib.

  While I took the short flight to Charlotte from Chattanooga, I shut out the rest of the noise on the plan with headphones and listened to Beatles music to calm myself down. I mused about an off-season conversation with Uncle John. My family’s annual Christmas celebration took place at my parents’ sprawling ranch-style house in the country. Everyone thought that Uncle John and I should spend some private time together. I always benefited from hearing about his experience. We traded notes, and we watched old video clips he’d collected through the years.

  He said, “I once thought I would follow the path you have outlined for yourself. Your grandpa was a major league manager. He won the World Series once, and he even drew some votes in a few Hall of Fame elections. I thought I might take his legacy one step further.”

  I asked, “What happened?”

  Uncle John shrugged. “I think it’s the way life works. Someone or something had other plans for me. Before I knew it, I’d met your aunt, and we had two children. Then I felt fortunate I wasn’t moving from job to job in the big leagues. A manager’s tenure can be short there. Then he moves on to another city. Besides, I think some things skip a generation.”

  I smiled, “I hope you’re right. I know I’m confident 90% of the time, but once in a while, I wonder if I’ll turn out to be wrong, and I’ll fail. Aspirations can only take me so far without a little bit of luck.”

  Uncle John shook his head as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “Don’t think like that. Always keep your eyes on the goal. You can’t hit a home run if you don’t keep your eye on the ball. You won’t be a manager if you aren’t always planning to get there.”

  While I packed up my clothes to return home, Uncle John said, “I’m not sure I taught you as much as you taught me, Aaron, but I’ve had a great time. I’m confident you’ll break the barrier and rise higher than me. The veterans dominated for some time, but I think baseball is becoming a game for younger guys again. It’s a brand new ballgame.”

  After the Christmas trip, I stepped off the plane in southern Tennessee and smiled. I’d only been in Chattanooga for a season, but it already felt like home. I rented an apartment near downtown, The mountains around the city were beautiful. I enjoyed the sometimes stifling heat in the summertime. My family lived in Michigan, and returning home to Chattanooga felt like a winter retreat after watching the snow fall during my family’s holiday festivities.

  Of course, managing the R
ock City Ramblers would always hold a special place in my heart for another reason. Whether or not we ever met again, I couldn’t forget celebrating Chase O’Rourke’s trip to the majors. It was a spontaneous event, and it was the best sex I’d had in years.

  I thought about Chase often, and I’d kept in touch with a few text messages in December. He was a bright rising star on the baseball horizon. I thought I had a chance to see him again when I made it to the big leagues, but I expected that moment was still years away. I planned to spend a few more years in Chattanooga reliving the pleasures in my mind and touching my body on dark nights thinking about him when the best memories returned.

  Then I got that call. I was on my way to coaching Chase’s team. I was destined to see him for 162 games in the course of a six-month season. While boarding the plane for Charlotte, I thought about Chase in his Ramblers uniform. I thought about his fetish for the uniform itself and smiled.

  I hoped that he’d found a boyfriend, or, if not that, at least opportunities to release erotic tension. I didn’t want to arrive in town and instantly generate a distracting atmosphere of shared sexual attraction.

  Despite the differences between sports and the world of corporate offices, the Charlotte Yellowjackets was still a large company. I was entering the management structure, and Chase was an employee. Considering a relationship between us would open up a can of worms that we might be unable to close again. In my mind, I saw the scandalous headlines splashed across the evening news and the cover stories in Sports Illustrated.

  If I wanted a romantic relationship, I needed to look outside the sports world. Eligible men who didn’t wear jerseys and carry a large, padded glove were around every corner. I needed to keep my eyes open.