A Brand New Ballgame

by Declan Rhodes

  I rehearsed various answers to the age question in my head almost every day. I said, “I’ve lived baseball from as early as I can remember. My grandfather managed a team to a World Series victory. My uncle has more than a decade of experience managing a minor league team, and my dad had a short minor league playing career, too. I don’t think many men in the game understand baseball better than I do.”

  “Are there any advantages to being the same age as and even younger than many of your players?”

  “Empathy, Landis. I think far too many people forget about the value of empathy when guiding baseball players or athletes in any sport. I know what they’re going through in their life in general in addition to what’s happening in the stadium. My understanding of the life of someone who is 25 isn’t rooted in what happened to me decades ago. I was 25 just three years back. I know what it’s like.”

  As he ended the interview, Landis said, “I want to share a compliment. You’re one of the wisest men I’ve ever spoken to in baseball. I say that with complete honesty and respect.”

  19

  Chase

  As I stood on the field warming up for the All-Star game, I knew that I could happily stand around awestruck watching my fellow players. Almost all of them had much longer and more accomplished careers than me. I felt reduced to the status of a baseball fanboy who somehow was given access to the same space on earth as so many of his idols. I was just a baby in the game by comparison.

  I was relieved when Mo jogged up to me. He said, “It’s an amazing trip, isn’t it?”

  I looked up into his long face and asked, “How the hell am I supposed to play? The players will all have their eyes on me and then the legion of fans in the stands. This is ridiculous.”

  Mo shrugged. “You don’t have any problem playing on the same field as any of these guys when we face them during the regular season.”

  “I don’t face them all at once!”

  Mo reached out and rubbed my back. “Hang in there, Chase, because I heard a little rumor back in the locker room.”

  I groaned. “Oh God, no. I don’t need any additional rumors flying around. The reporters have been chasing me since I left Charlotte. I don’t have anything to tell them. Please don’t share any more rumors. It will wreck me.”

  Mo kneaded my shoulder, and I winced. I yelped, “Hey, that one’s still a little tender.”

  He reached around to the opposite shoulder and said, “This rumor isn’t about you. It only affects you.”

  I looked up into his eyes. “It’s not about Aaron either?”

  Mo shook his head. “No, not about him either. Can I tell you now?”

  Loosening up my neck, I said, “You have good hands, and don’t take the comment any further than that. Yeah, go ahead and shoot. Tell me this big rumor.”

  “The starting right fielder has the flu. He has a fever of 102. He woke up vomiting in the hotel room.”

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  Mo grinned. “They need a replacement. You might be starting in your first All-Star game, buddy.”

  I pushed Mo’s hand off my shoulder, and my entire body tensed up again. “Holy shit! That can’t be true, can it? I guess it wouldn’t be a good move to pass out right here, would it? I do feel a little faint.”

  “Baseball hero passes out when he finds out he was added to the starting lineup…” Mo rubbed his chin. “No, I don’t think that would read so well in the headlines tomorrow.”

  “Damn, I’m about to piss my pants. Mo, I have to make a phone call. You’ve been here before. Can I slip off the field for a few minutes right about now? Will anyone notice I’m gone?”

  With a nod, Mo said, “Yeah, I think you’re safe for now. It’s just a lot of chit-chat among players and a little bit of ceremonial stuff. Don’t take more than fifteen minutes, and tell Aaron I said hi.”

  I gave Mo’s arm a shove. “You’re wrong on that one. I’m calling Eric. Aaron has his own reporter issues. I need to hear a friendly voice from home. I might scream, too.”

  I took one more long glance around seeing all of the other players and then jogged toward the dugout. I found a quiet spot halfway through the tunnel back to the locker room. It only took one ring after I punched in the numbers.

  “Chase! Is that really you? I just saw you on the live feed jogging toward the dugout.”

  I laughed nervously. “Damn, how many other thousands of people are staring at me like that, too?”

  “Maybe more like a few million.”

  “You’re not helping, bud. I called you so you could help me relax. Guess what I just heard from Mo.”

  I wished Eric was beside me to share a hug. In less than a year, he had become one of the best friends I’d ever known. Hearing his voice was the next best thing to being at his side. He said, “It’s hard to know what you’re hearing. You are all over the baseball press.”

  “Mo said I might start in the game!”

  “Oh, yeah, the announcers mentioned that on the live feed, too. They sounded excited. They said it would be a big day for you after coming out and having such a stellar first half of the season. The sports guys love you. Ignore all the gossipmongers. Stick with the people who know baseball.”

  “So you knew before me? I guess I’m the last one to hear any of the news about me. Why’s it all such a big deal? I don’t think I’m any different from when I played with my friends on the Little League team.”

  Eric’s voice was at its warmest and friendliest as it reached me through the phone. He said, “You’re a hero, Chase. Whether you want to be or not, you are. Every gay kid who thinks he can’t be an athlete just because he’s gay can point to you and the other guys who’ve come out and know it’s possible. If you did it, they can, too.”

  “I want every kid to feel that way, not just the gay ones.”

  Eric said, “We’ll get there. We’re going to get there. By the way, have you heard anything from Aaron? Do you know if he made it to the stadium for the game?”

  “I got a text. I can’t go and meet Aaron in person because we’d be hounded mercilessly by the media, but, yeah, he’s going to be here. I’ll think of him every minute I’m in the game.”

  After I talked to Eric, I made my way back to the field. It seemed like time zipped by until we were lined up on the first base and third base lines for the singing of the national anthem.

  I tried to calm down, but I couldn’t keep myself from trembling. So much of the time I was nonchalant about baseball. It usually was so easy to play, but the All-Star game was beyond anything normal. Along with the World Series, it was one of my dreams.

  They notified me shortly after I talked to Eric that I was starting in right field. That meant I was batting second, too. We played as the home team, so I jogged out to right field to start the game.

  Looking over in center field, I saw Ed Westcott of the Pirates instead of Eric. He tossed me the ball for warming up, and I threw it back to him. I couldn’t remember his record and asked if it was his first All-Star game, too.

  He grinned. “Yep, I’m here for the first time just like you.”

  As I rolled my arm back and threw the ball again, I said, “Is it as overwhelming for you as it is for me?”

  “I keep pinching myself to make sure it’s all real.” He jogged over to me and said, “When I was a little kid, my buddies used to tell me I would be an All-Star someday. I always blew it off, but I guess deep down in here I hoped they were right.” He pounded his chest and grinned.

  “After this, I guess there’s not much beyond a World Series ring.”

  Ed chuckled. “3,000 hits and the Hall of Fame.”

  I pounded my glove on his chest and said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It sounds like I’ll be an old man before I get to either of those.”

  Ed glanced back toward home plate. He said, “Hey, Chase, we gotta get lined up. It looks like they’re ready for the first pitch.” He started to jog to center field and then looked over hi
s shoulder. He said, “We’ll share a drink in Cooperstown. I’m buying.”

  A few short minutes later, I heard the crack of the bat when the opponents’ first batter connected with the ball. It looped out in my direction. I positioned myself for it, and I heard Ed’s feet. I called him off, and he broke behind me to back me up in case of an error. I wasn’t going to let that happen. I smiled when the ball settled into my glove as I recorded the first out of the game.

  20

  Aaron

  Just minutes before the game began, an announcement rang through Yankee Stadium that Chase O’Rourke was starting in right field as a replacement. I turned to a fan sitting next to me and asked, “Do you know what happened?”

  He had earbuds stuffed in his ears. Seeing me lean close, he pulled them out and asked, “What? Can I help you?”

  I repeated the question. “I thought you might be listening to some coverage of the game, and they might know more about Chase O’Rourke starting than we do.”

  “Oh, yeah, this is local radio. The radio guys said the starter the fans picked has the flu. It’s a bad break for him, but I bet that rookie out there is happy. Hopefully, it’s just the start and won’t be the peak of his career.”

  I settled into my seat and said, “I think I can assure you that it’s just the beginning. He has a phenomenal career ahead.”

  On the way to my seat, I purchased a beer and a burger. Fortunately, none of the New York fans in the upper deck recognized me. I was able to anonymously blend in and enjoy the game unmolested.

  The guy next to me pulled his earbuds out again. He was middle-aged, and he had a thick Brooklyn accent. He asked about my home. “You don’t sound like a New Yorker. Maybe it’s somewhere south or a farm in the Midwest.”

  I didn’t want to share my baseball background, but I was happy to talk about geography. I said, “I grew up in Michigan in a small town on a lake. I guess that’s why I don’t sound like I’m from out here.”

  He pointed at me and smiled. “I’ve taken the wife and kids out there to Michigan. We crossed the straits up north and even went to Canada. It’s beautiful territory. I love staring at all of that water.”

  I leaned forward slightly to check again and see if he was sitting with a woman or any children. I asked, “Are they at home watching the game?”

  “Hard telling. We divorced five years back, and the youngest of the three kids is in college. I get to see him again in a couple of weeks.”

  I frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was an insensitive question. Please pardon me.”

  He shrugged. “No problem. The divorce was the best thing that ever happened to all of us. My ex got remarried to her high school sweetheart. I think I was always the rebound choice.”

  “And you?”

  He slapped my knee. “I’ve got a boyfriend, and he doesn’t like baseball. Go figure.” The man stuck the earbuds back in his ears and turned his attention to the field.

  Chase made two catches in the outfield in the first inning. The first one was easy, and the second one raised a huge cheer from the crowd. He caught it with his arm raised high as he was backed up against the outfield fence.

  When Chase strode to home plate to bat for the first time, I crossed my fingers hoping that he would land on base safely. As I watched him grind his back foot into the batter’s box and pull the bat back onto his right shoulder, I felt my cock stir between my legs. He was by far the sexiest player on the field. I knew it wasn’t obvious to anyone around me, but I still squirmed in my seat.

  I cringed when he swung for the fences at the first pitch and missed it by a mile. The man sitting next to me tugged the earbuds out and nudged me with his elbow. He said, “That was a rookie swing if I ever saw one. He was trying to make history.”

  Chase didn’t look phased by the first strike. He pounded his bat in the middle of home plate and readied himself again. To my surprise, the pitcher threw three consecutive balls. I wanted Chase to get on base, but I was hoping it would be through a base hit. No one ever remembered a player walked in an All-Star game.

  Either the pitcher was going to accept the walk and throw away the next pitch, or he would challenge Chase to try and force a full count. The pitcher chose the latter strategy.

  The next pitch was a fastball right down the center of the plate, and Chase swung hard, but he missed once again. I watched him reach up and rub his shoulder. I lowered my head into my hands and wondered if he came back from the freak shoulder injury too fast.

  I heard, “You like this kid, don’t you?” from the man next to me.

  I nodded in agreement and said, “Yeah, I like him. I used to live in Charlotte. He’s the star of the franchise.”

  “And that tall, skinny reliever,” said the man. “I thought it was the end when they sent him down south, but he’s throwing some of the best balls of his career.”

  Easy does it, Chase echoed in my head. He only needed a single. He didn’t need to impress anyone with a home run. He had many more All-Star games in the future to try and rival the game’s greats.

  Like he was trying to prove that he heard me, Chase powered the next pitch into the gap between the second baseman and the shortstop. He rounded first base with a massive smile on his face. I could see it from the upper deck. I elbowed the man next to me and said, “I guess he’s not so bad after all.”

  Chase advanced to second base on a fielder’s choice, and he reached third on a sacrifice fly. He bounced up and down on the base releasing nervous energy with two outs and no score in the bottom of the first inning.

  Kyle Waldron, the league’s leader in home runs, stepped up to the plate. He was a mountain of a batter. He was six feet four inches tall and pushed 250 lbs. I used film of Kyle to show hitters one of the best natural long-ball strokes in the business. Kyle played first base and was surprisingly fast and nimble for his size.

  He only needed a single to score Chase from third base, but I wasn’t averse to the idea of seeing him send the ball over the fence. The pitcher ran the count to full again, and then Kyle got his pitch.

  At least that’s what it looked like on the way to the plate, but Kyle misjudged his swing. He hit the ball, and it bounced just past the pitcher’s mound. Chase was already breaking for home plate, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford any hesitation either.

  I watched Chase slide head first into home plate. The throw to the plate was wide and off the mark, but the catcher swung his mitt down toward Chase’s shoulder like he was making a tag anyway. As the glove connected with the joint, it looked more like a thrown punch than a tag. The sound of contact resonated in the stadium.

  I jumped to my feet when I saw Chase roll over grabbing his shoulder in apparent agony. Three players, including Mo, two coaches, and the manager rushed out of the dugout to attend to their stricken player.

  Turning to the man next to me, I shouted, “That was deliberate. That wasn’t a tag. He didn’t have the ball, and the mitt slammed the rookie’s injured shoulder.”

  The man said, “You seem to know an awful lot about Chase O’Rourke. Is he a relative? Did you go to high school with him? I thought O’Rourke was from Missouri. I know that much about him.”

  21

  Chase

  For once, I liked a reporter. Hours after I shattered my shoulder at home plate, our hometown Charlotte newspaper sent a sports reporter to talk to me in the hospital. He waited for hours while the doctors did their best to put the shoulder back together. When the surgery was over, there was even more time to wait as I slowly woke up in the recovery room. Mo kept the reporter out when they brought me back to a permanent room, but he hung out as long as was necessary and napped overnight in the waiting room.

  As I slowly woke up after the surgery, a gruff nurse leaned over me and said, “Tell us about the pain. Give it a number from one to ten.”

  My throat was dry, and I was worried that I couldn’t speak. Fortunately, the words came out in a reasonably intelligible whisper. I said, “I wo
uld call it a seven.”

  Less than twenty minutes later, the pain settled down to less than a two. When the nurse came back around, I said, “You’re good at what you do. Thank you.”

  She grinned and leaned close. “I’m not supposed to do anything like this, and they could probably fire me for it, but could you sign something for my son? He’s a baseball fanatic.”

  I smiled weakly. “I don’t know if I can say much for my motor control, but yeah. It looks like I’ll have to use the left hand, so it’s possible that he will have the most unique Chase O’Rourke signature ever. Maybe that will make it worth some cash someday.”

  She glanced at my shoulder and said, “I’m not so sure you’re going to be playing much baseball any time soon.”

  I was comfortable when they wheeled me into my hospital room, but I knew I was a little loopy from the pain medication. Celia called, and she said, “I’m in the airport, Chase. I’m getting ready to buy a ticket on the next flight to New York.”

  I asked, “Who’s in New York? Why such a hurry, Sis? Are you eloping with someone?”

  She grumbled, “You’re in New York little brother. I saw it on TV, and your teammate Eric called me to let me know what hospital. When the catcher hit your shoulder, it sounded nasty on TV.”

  “I’m okay. Stay home, Celia. Don’t you need to feed the orange one in the aquarium?”

  It was an awkward conversation at best, but I finally convinced Celia to stay home. She said that she would call Eric for updates. He was taking the day off between the All-Star game and the rest of the season to fly up to New York, check on me, and then fly back home.

  A few minutes later I was asleep again. When I woke up, I was utterly disoriented about time. Mo leaned over the bed, and Eric sat behind him. Mo said, “It looks like Sleeping Beauty decided to join us again. How’s it going, buddy?”