Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike

by Brad Stephenson

  My car eventually came to a stop in a graveled driveway outside of a one-story cottage, just steps from the beach.

  As soon as we walked in, it was like a scene from the movie Almost Famous. Justin wasn't a global icon by any means, but in the baseball world, being the #1 draft pick made him a god. I quickly scanned the room and every single person had their eyes focused on him; they were genuinely star-struck. Another future big leaguer, Josh Rutteledge, was also in attendance.

  We went straight to the table in the center of the room, sat down and began playing a drinking game with 3 girls. Like a swarm of bees, everyone there rapidly huddled around Justin. As a student of human nature, I found it quite interesting. As his friend, I wondered how it affected him mentally. Most would view it as a positive, but what if it happened everywhere you went...everyday?

  Nonetheless, I could tell he was used to this type of treatment. He spoke diplomatically to everyone who introduced themselves and actively paid attention to what they were saying – more so the girls than the guys.

  The female attention – now that's an undeniable positive.

  They liked him. In fact, so much that they asked us to escort them to the beach and of course we obliged.

  We all settled on a spot in the sand and looked out into the ocean. This kept us busy for a minute or two, then Justin looked at me and we inherently knew each other's thoughts the mood wasn't right. Someone needed to set the tone.

  "I'm gonna get this party started!" Justin said aloud.

  He violently jumped to his feet, unfastened his belt and took his pants off exposing his bright blue boxer briefs. I was shocked and horrified but the girls...they loved it! Here's proof.

  We were in one-on-one with our girls' just minutes later. I was sequestering a blonde and Justin engaged a tan brunette on the lifeguard tower.

  "I'm gonna fly you out to Arizona!" said Justin, from a distance.

  Twenty minutes went by and we decided to head back in. I was carrying a 12-pack of beer and Justin's arm was around the brunette as we reached the main road, our clothes completely covered in sand.

  Suddenly, headlights appeared behind us.

  "Is that a cop?" I blurted out.

  Without a moments delay, Justin sprinted and dove head first into a row of bushes in someone's front yard. His actions didn't surprise me.

  I was right too, it was a cop, and he stopped to ask what we were doing. I approached himwith 12-pack in handand quickly defused his investigation.

  Justin reappeared once the coast was clear, wiping leaves from his monkey suit. I didn't blame him, the headline 'Diamondbacks Player Arrested in Cape Cod' probably flashed in front of his eyes before he dashed and made a gallant hop, skip and a jump.

  We drove back to my host family's house and Justin hopped into one of my teammates beds in the basement without asking. Once again, he was 'big leaguing' him.

  "Brad, he's in my bed," my teammate perplexingly stated.

  "What are you going to do?" I frankly asked him.

  "Haha, nothing I guess," he said.

  "Probably a wise move. Another thing, don't mess with him if he gets up in the middle of the night, that's all I'll say," I mysteriously advised.

  Justin has a history of being, well, a weird sleeper. If you woke him up, he would absolutely flip out on you. If he woke up on his own, he was unpredictable and he STILL might flip out on you. I can't really explain it I just know the condition exists.

  The next morning I sat down at the dining table while my host mom cooked us breakfast Justin was still sleeping. I knew he must have done something weird when my teammate looked at me in a befuddled state.

  "Brad, I have to tell you what Justin did last night," he said, quietly.

  "Oh man, what was it this time?" I asked.

  "He woke up, walked right next to my bed and started pissing in my clothes hamper," he said, still shaken from the experience.

  "Haa! Did you say anything to him?" I wondered.

  "No!† You told me not to!† I just sat there and watched him piss on my clothes!"

  Classic Justin. Speaking of which, it was time for him to wake up he was facing Tim Wakefield that day.

  I drove him all the way back to Boston, both of us slightly hung over. Then I turned the music off in the middle of our trip.

  "You know you pissed in my teammates clothes hamper right?" I said.

  "So..." he replied, before turning the music back on.

  I dropped him off outside of Fenway stadium. He told me to come visit him when my season was over and I agreed. I checked the stats later that night and he didn't do so well against the knuckleball; he was 0-4.

  My coach called asking to speak with me alone when I returned.

  "Brad, I have some bad news. Your roster spot was available because a catcher from Oregon State, who was originally supposed to play with us, joined Team USA instead. Well, their games are over and he's joining us tomorrow to finish the season," he said.

  "Oh," I disappointedly responded.

  "However, I talked to your old coach at Bourne. Apparently their catcher has been complaining about his playing time and they are sending him home. I recommended he take you back and he said he would love to have you," the coach pronounced.

  "That's awesome," I told him.

  "But there's one problem. Your spot over there won't be available for another week, and we can't let you stay with your host family. Is there anywhere you can go?" the coach asked.

  "Yeah, I know a girl who will let me stay with her."

  I wasn't lying this time. I made friends with a group of female interns for the team and they all happened to stay in a timeshare on the beach together. Five girls to be precise and every one of them were amply attractive. For the first time, my dedication to the opposite sex was going to pay off.

  I pulled my bags out of the trunk and walked through the front door of my new blissful bungalow. Two girls were on the couch in their bathing suits, another was preparing drinks, the fourth was in the shower and the fifth was on the phone – wearing nothing but a towel.

  At that time, I couldn't question God's existence. Someone was looking out for me from above.

  The week to follow, to this day, was probably the most enjoyable time of my entire life. I will put it into baseball terms without getting into descriptive details; I batted .600 during the week (3 for 5).

  Best of all: they were all aware of each other's actions and they didn't care! I put a new meaning to the word "Timeshare".

  All good things must come to an end and believe me I was heartbroken walking out the door. It was like losing a puppy or walking away from a loved one before going to war. I gave them hugs, shed a few tears (not really) and drove back to Bourne.

  Walking back onto the field with my old team was a bittersweet moment. Two months prior to this day, they tried to send me packing and told me to go home. Now, they were asking me to come back. I went from being a disposable liability to a worthy asset – believing in yourself is key.

  I printed out a list of pitchers with the lowest ERA in the entire league before our first game. Although I hadn't pitched enough innings to be on the list, I edited myself in at the #1 spot and taped it to the dugout. All the pitchers on the team were pissed off about it, but my coach thought it was funny so he let me pitch again, against my old team Y-D.

  After catching 8 innings, I was on the mound for the 9th . The first batter I faced was Tony Sanchez, the only guy to catch for me in the last 10 years and he walked to the plate with a huge smirk, flashing the hand signal for change-up mid stride. Remember, pitching is all about throwing what they least expect so I threw Tony three straight fastballs and he popped the third up to the left fielder. The next two batters also popped up and this was my last time on the mound. I finished the season with three scoreless innings.

  "You know, if we can't get you signed professionally as a catcher, we might be able to do it as a pitcher," my coach told me after the game.

  "Oh
yeah?" I said, with a smile.

  "I think so. By the way, tomorrow is scout day but we're going to let the other guy catch," my coach informed me.

  Scout day is when over 100 professional scouts come to watch the game. I wasn't upset about not playing; besides, my coach was talking to them about signing me as a pitcher. I thought I was set up for success; nothing could go wrong now, could it?

  After spending the night with one of the timeshare girls in Y-D, I awoke the next morning knowing I wasn't playing, so I decided to smoke some weed on my lengthy drive to the field.

  When I walked in the dugout, eyes blurred, I looked at the lineup card and I was not catching but I was the designated hitter, batting 5th .

  Great. I was stoned out of my mind and I was about to hit in front of scouts from every major league team.

  Somehow, I went 3-4 with a ground rule double it was my best game of the summer. Who knew weed would help me hit better?

  If it isn't broke, don't fix it. So I packed up another bowl of weed on my way to the field the very next day. I was expecting more success but I was in for a disappointment.

  My coach and general manager asked to speak with me alone.

  "Brad, we know you were high yesterday," my coach said, while the general manager looked into my eyes as I blankly stared at him.

  "You're high right now!† We can smell it on you!" the general manager righteously professed.

  "I did good though," I tried to explain.

  "It doesn't matter, we have to let you go," the general manager decided, reluctant to my coaches wishes.

  After being so close to achieving my goal of being a professional baseball player, I self-destructed once again. I finished the summer hitting just under .300 with three scoreless innings on the mound – my baseball career was officially over.

  Arizona & Las Vegas

  I wasn't even bothered, it was just weed. People are entitled to their own opinions but it doesn't mean I have to agree with them.

  Anyways, I took Justin up on his offer and flew out to Arizona. Scorching hot weather, beautiful women and complete freedom awaited. I couldn't have been much happier.

  Now that baseball was no longer in the running to be my career, it was time to focus my attention elsewhere. With Justin being at the field most of the day, there was plenty of time to roam the complex at his condo and seek out successful people to network with.

  I figured the pool was a good place to start, so I laced up a pair of swimming trunks, grabbed a towel, threw on a pair of Oakley sunglasses and ventured downstairs.

  The pool was located in the center of the complex, surrounded by multiple levels of tinted windows and gardens of greenery, which somehow survived the agonizing heat.

  There was only one other person brave enough to withstand the extreme weather that day. Sitting underneath a shaded table was an elegant woman with short black hair, platinum looped earrings and dark framed reading glasses. In one hand rested a book in the other, a glass of red wine.

  I wasn't sure if I would interrupt her by approaching but I never liked being alone and I wanted to say hello, so I went in.

  "Hey, I'm Brad, how are you doing?" I opened.

  "Hey Brad, I've never seen you before, what brings you here?" she said, welcomingly, without giving her name.

  "I'm just in town from Virginia visiting my friend, he's at work right now so I wanted to walk around and meet some people," I explained.

  "Virginia? Is your friend the baseball player?" the woman asked.

  "Yeah, that's him," I responded.

  "That's nice. I think there are some NFL players who live here too," she said, and then finished her glass of wine.

  "Oh, well you're the first person I've met," I told her.

  "What an honor. I'm going back in to get another glass of wine, you can join me if you'd like," the woman offered.

  "Sure." I said, and we both stood up.

  We entered her place and it was extravagant; much nicer than Justin's. Marble floors stretched through the kitchen and into the living room, which was outfitted in expensive leather furniture. I knew one fact thus far; she was wealthy. I wanted to pick her brain and find out how she made this life for herself.

  "What do you do for a living? What made you so successful?" I asked.

  She paused for a moment, her eyes grew wider, and then she took a sip of red wine out of a crystal clear glass.

  "Real estate," she eventually replied.

  "You're a real estate agent?" I stupidly asked.

  "Ha, no. I'm retired now but I used to buy and sell land," she explained, without going into too much detail.

  "How does that work?" I pressed on.

  "I used to find land in a desirable location where I knew others would eventually want to buy, and then I sold it to them," she divulged.

  I can take a hint, and I could tell she wasn't too interested in talking about herself. I guess most truly successful people aren't. Nonetheless, I learned that real estate is a formidable path to wealth so I moved on to another area of expertise.

  "What advice can you give me about women?" I asked, and she immediately smiled.

  "They don't want to go out with you more than three times without figuring out if you're good in bed or not. You know, I could introduce you to some girls," she rapidly responded.

  "Interesting," I said.

  "Indeed. So what do you want to do in life?" she asked.

  "I was thinking about getting into computers and starting an online business but I don't know too much about it, I would probably need some help," I explained.

  "What kind of help do you need?" she curiously wondered.

  "Um, computer and PR advice I suppose."

  At that very moment, she got on her computer and began typing away. I didn't know what she was doing or whom she was typing to, but she was doing it with a huge smile on her face.

  "Just keep networking with people like you just did with me and it'll all work out for you," were her last words.

  I guess she was right, you never know who you're really talking to.

  Five hours later, I picked up Justin from the stadium. He was enchanted and ultimately caught off guard after walking into his condo.

  "Wow, there's a naked girl on my couch," said Justin.

  "Yeah," I responded, nonchalantly.

  "That's cool," he said, followed by his typical high-pitched laughter.

  Then we played Halo for an hour, while the naked girl continued resting on the couch.

  "By the way, when the season ends, we're going to Vegas!" Justin later announced.

  The season ended, and we went to Vegas along with Chris Young.

  Justin's agent arranged for the three of us to stay in a top-floor suite at the Bellagio so we hopped in the car and drove west.

  A dazzling display of waterworks complimented our arrival outside the front entrance while we made our way upstairs to a luxurious two-bedroom suite; my bed was the couch.

  Chris and Justin ordered pizza while I went downstairs to become acquainted with the blackjack table. A few minutes later, two young ladies joined my table.

  "Are you here alone?" they asked.

  "No, my friends are upstairs, they're professional baseball players," I responded with bait.

  "Who are they?" one asked, as her attention noticeably grew.

  "Justin Upton and Chris Young," I told them.

  "I want to meet them!" she excitably responded.

  "Ok, come up to our room," I told them.

  "Let me get my other friends," she said.

  I went upstairs to tell Justin the good news. Chris was already out visiting a girl, so we waited for what we thought would be a group of girls.

  When they arrived, it was a group of four girls plus one gay dude.

  One of the girls was, how should I put it, more excited than the rest. She immediately grabbed Justin's arm and the two of them disappeared into his room for a tour of the bathroom...I suppose.

  I was busy ent
ertaining the guests with nonsense to keep their mind off what I assumed was going on in the background. My curiosity eventually built up so I knocked on the bathroom door.

  "Are you alright in there buddy?" I asked Justin.

  "Yeah, one second," Justin said, before walking out while fastening his belt.

  No questions were asked, but the girl remained in the bathroom and just looked at me it appeared to be an invitation. So I entered.

  Apparently Justin's entertainment abilities and/or defensive skills weren't as potent as mine...her friends were banging on the door seconds later.

  The girls left and we went to a strip club. Not just any strip club, it was the world renowned Spearmint Rhino.

  I wondered what made this place so special, and I got my answer as soon as I walked in – the dancers were famous pornstars.

  One of them I recognized in particular and her name was Devon Michaels. I was a fan of her work, which I had to research for a school project, or maybe it was just from watching porn online, I can't recall.

  "You look familiar," I said to her, while handing her money for a lap dance.

  "Oh yeah? You're cute!" the big-breasted brunette vixen said.

  "Have you ever thought about making a profile on SugarDaddy.com?" she asked, while gyrating her hips.

  "No, I'm not a girl and I'm not a sugar daddy," I responded.

  "Hah, no. You make a profile and old women pay you to hangout with them," she said, as she smiled with her cute dimples.

  "I'll think about it," I told her, as the dance came to an end.

  Meanwhile, Justin was spending a large majority of his signing bonus in the private dance room. Fighting temptation along the way, I walked up to him and told him we should go.

  "Man, shut up! I'll be done when I'm done!" Justin angrily barked at me.

  Finally, he emerged and the three of us went to a normal club down the street. This is where my night took a turn for the worst.

  After drinking entirely too much champagne, I lost track of Justin and Chris the last thing I remembered was walking out the front door alone.