Roughly half an hour later, or however long it took us to finish up in the potty, we headed out into the city. While it would stand to reason that most folks would sleep after getting off a red-eye, we knew that if we didn’t get to the ballpark ASAP, we ran the risk of getting shafted with leftover uniform pieces. Also, the organization was only picking up three nights in the hotel, which meant the clock was ticking for us to find a new place to live.
Most of the team grabbed one of Portland’s monorail MAX lines across town to PGE Park, home of the Portland Beavers, located on the edge of Portland’s Pearl District, an upscale area with fine restaurants and high-end shopping. Players enter the park on the street level, through the main gate on the corner of Morrison and 20th. There is a secluded pull chain that allowed the gate to be opened; you can’t see it unless you’ve been to the park before and knew where to look. This, ironically, was one of the reasons I was so shocked to find half the team already present and accounted for when I showed up.
“You’re late,” said Luke, sitting by his locker with all of his stuff unpacked and put away as if he was in mid-season.
“Late? How? We’ve been here for, like, ten minutes. What did you do, parachute off the plane when I wasn’t looking?”
“I know the terrain. You’d better get your uniform picked out before you get stuck with leftovers.” Luke gestured to the back of the clubhouse where the team clubby, Shane, kept all the uniforms.
For the 2008 season, the Portland uniforms were completely redesigned. That meant everyone would get new game pants sans sliding damage patchwork. However, because the pants were bought under the rule of Grady Fuson, they were custom-tailored to be painfully short, ensuring no one could test the “must show sock” rule that had become organizational policy.
You don’t understand how unhappy a pair of pants can make you until you are forced to wear bad ones. At first, I thought, since each pair of pants was new, all of them would offer a perfect fit. I soon discovered that every pair of pants had one of two problems: either the pant legs were so short I looked like some baseball-playing hobo, or, the crotch was cut so low that when I lifted my legs up I was snared by my own pants leg.
I wasn’t the only one to have pants issues, Frenchy marched around in his pants fuming, “They’re pants!” He tugged at the mass of free fabric between his knees and his waist. “How long has humanity possessed the knowledge to make pants, and we still screw them up? Didn’t anyone try these on before they ordered an entire team’s worth?”
“You wouldn’t be complaining if you had something to fill that space with,” said Ox, gesturing to the same, decidedly occupied, area of pants on his person. “You can keep your plus changeup. I’ll keep my huge cock.”
“These are unacceptable,” said Bentley. “I can’t play in these, not after playing in real big league pants. And this show-sock rule, how juvenile. We’re grown men, not infants. I’m going to order my own pants from Majestic. If anyone else needs the number, I have it. They know me there.”
I picked out a pair that came as close to fitting as possible and stuffed it into my locker, along with the rest of my equipment. There was no practice scheduled for today, so this trip to the locker room was purely for the sake of getting familiarized with our new stadium, lockers, and uniform pieces. The rest of the day was ours to do what we pleased, though Luke had already decided how Chip and I would be spending it.
“Can we see it?” asked Chip, standing next to Luke at his locker.
“Yeah,” said Luke, “the lady said we could come up anytime. There’s nothing else to do here, so we might as well.”
“See what?” I asked.
“Our boy Luke found us a place already,” said Chip.
“What? How? When?” Since getting off the plane, I’d only had time to poop and come to the park. How was Luke already lining up apartment viewings?
“I put in a few calls before we left camp. Only one has gotten back to me so far. I think we should go check it out since it’s hard to say when the others will let us get in. Besides, this one is in walking distance from the field, and they said they’d work with baseball players’ leasing needs. It’s about two clicks north of the stadium.”
“Let’s do it,” said Chip.
“What the hell is a click?” I asked, but Luke and Chip were already moving.
We headed north, up West Burnside Street, to the place Luke had found. It felt like a long walk, but maybe that was because we were going uphill most of the way. As we walked, Luke pointed out relevant locations.
“If you need to get to the mall, you can take the MAX line to Pioneer Square. It’s southeast of here. There is a Goodwill for travel clothes necessities, and a gas station, and a pizza joint. The trains go pretty much everywhere, and, as long as you’re in the city, it’s free,” said Luke.
“I don’t know about that train, man,” said Chip. “I took that thing here this morning and there was a lady on board, head all buzzed, piercings all over, tattoos like crazy, holding on to a baby stroller with a plastic baby doll inside. She acted like the baby was real, bro. Like it was crying and she had to comfort it or something. I thought she was going to breast-feed it, just pull her boob out right there on the train in front all creation. She caught me staring at her and she looked back at me like I was nuts for looking at her.”
Luke chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll see some crazy stuff on that train. There’s a saying around here that goes, ‘Keep Portland weird.’ Last time I was in Pioneer Square, there was a homeless dude holding a sign that read ‘Need money for karate lessons—entire family killed by ninjas.’ ”
“Points for creativity,” I said.
“Yeah, I gave him a buck for making me laugh.” Luke slowed his stride. “This is the place here.” He pointed at the towering apartment building in front of us.
The apartment manager took us up to the room we were inquiring about, which was located on the third floor. It was tiny and dated. The kitchen was galley-style with appliances that looked as if they hadn’t been changed since the building was originally built. All the windows were single pane with rusted hinges and latches. The cabinets had been painted over multiple times, giving the wood a thick gooey coating, almost like a yogurt-coated peanut. There was only one bathroom and it had no counters of any kind unless you counted the tank of the toilet. There was also no air-conditioning. We were told that if we wanted to rent an air-conditioning unit to stick in the window, it was a hundred dollars extra a month.
“This is only two bedrooms,” I said.
“I know,” said Luke.
“This carpet looks like it’s had it,” said Chip.
“I know,” said Luke.
“I don’t know how we’re going to put all our stuff in the bathroom,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Luke.
“It’s gonna get hot in here come summer,” said Chip.
“Yeah, you’re right. But it’s six hundred dollars cheaper than any other place in town, and that’s with the short-term lease.”
Chip and I stopped to consider the savings.
“And you don’t have to ride the crazy train,” said Luke.
“I kinda like the train,” I said. “But I do need the money.” I shrugged.
“You like crazy ladies breast-feeding plastic babies?” asked Chip.
“I don’t know, it’s like an adventure,” I said.
“I’m good on adventure. I’ll take the money. I’m in,” said Chip.
“I suppose I can ride the train anytime. I need the money, too. I’m in,” I said.
“Good, because I already told the lady we’d take it,” said Luke.
After we did our paperwork and paid the deposit, we hashed out a rooming arrangement and a list of what we needed to turn our new apartment into a home away from home.
“Why do I have to sleep in the living room?” I protested.
“You’re the youngest” was the mutual response.
“Fine, but I don’t think
I should pay as much as you guys do in the split since I’m not getting any privacy, and my room is also part of the kitchen.”
“No, no. We’ve earned this. Someday you will too,” said Chip.
“But you’re both making more than me,” I said.
“Yeah, well, I got two kids running through diapers like they going outta style. Come talk to me when you’re in my shoes,” said Chip.
“You should try potty-training them, Chip, we could get a bigger place,” said Luke.
“Let me call my wife so you can tell her that.”
“So I’m going to have to sleep in the living room, final answer?” I asked.
“We can rock, paper, scissors for it,” suggested Luke. “That way it’s fair.”
“I’m cool with that. Just as long as if someone has family coming in, we can switch for a room so our queens can have their privacy,” said Chip.
“Of course,” Luke and I agreed.
Everyone put their hands in, and three fist pumps later I was still in the living room.
“Collusion!” I declared.
“It’s meant to be,” said Luke.
I paced around the living room. It was practically all windows, each providing a direct line of sight for other apartments around the building. “I guess sleeping in one corner is just as good as the other. I’ll put my bed here, I think.”
“You should probably put it over there so we can put a TV here,” said Luke.
“Whoa, now you’re telling me where to put my bed. I thought this was my room. What if I don’t want a television in my room?”
“Yeah, but it’s also the living room, so ...”
“Shoulda went with rock, bro. You can always trust rock,” said Chip.
“Well, we don’t have a television, so, until we do, I guess I don’t have to worry about it.”
“What do y’all want to do about furniture?” asked Chip.
“I’ll take care of that,” said Luke. “I have some sources back at the field I can talk to. I should be able to get us everything we need.”
Chapter Twenty-six
“Apparently, Luke’s definition of ‘everything we need’ was a little less comprehensive than mine,” I said, recounting the events to Bonnie via cell phone. Chip, Luke and I had moved out of the hotel and into the apartment, where I was presently wandering about with my laptop open, trying to find an unprotected Wi-Fi signal to pirate.
“Over the years,” I said, “so many players have come and gone from this team that the clubhouse guy has collected a stockpile of furnishings at the field. Luke knew this, and ‘commandeered’ some stuff for us. He got us an ironing board, which we are now using as a kitchen table, a desk and, well, an ironing board. A collection of pots and pans that look like they’ve been dragged behind a car. Some plastic Tupperware that’s been deformed from over-microwaving. A set of sleeping bags that I don’t think have been washed since their first occupant who knows how long ago. Two lawn chairs, some clothes hangers, and a shower curtain—I feel like I’m living in MacGyver’s apartment.”
“So are you just sleeping on the floor in sleeping bags?”
“Since Luke has spent so much time here, he had his own stash at the field. He has an air mattress and a few items specific to him. I sent out a clubhouse guy to get me an air mattress as well, the exact make and model I have at Grandma’s. I feel like I’m living at home, minus the crazy screaming gibberish. Chip is the only one who doesn’t have a bed, and he said he didn’t want one. He’s sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag with one pillow.”
“Will you get more furniture? Can’t you rent it?”
“We could, but what happens if one of us gets moved, who picks up the bills?”
This was one of the common issues with players renting or leasing anything. If one of the players in the lease gets moved, another player has to fill in before the payments get crazy for the remaining leasers. Everything that gets rented on top of that adds to the problem. When it comes to general issues, like a place to live or something to sleep on, it’s not too complicated. But personal issues, like air-conditioning, furniture, Internet, and cable channels up the ante. If one of the guys in my apartment left, there was no guaranteeing that the player who replaced him would want to live in our apartment to begin with, let alone pay for extra utilities he had no part in selecting.
“Do you guys at least have food?” asked Bonnie.
“Oh yeah, we got, let’s see here ...” I opened the fridge. “A six-pack of Blue Moon, a jug of milk, some Coke Zero, and a couple boxes of instant mac and cheese.”
“That’s it?”
“I think there are some Doritos around here.”
“Wow.”
“It’s not that bad, honey. We eat at the field a lot. Since we’re paying the clubhouse guy twelve bucks a day, we eat all his stuff. At least guys in my earnings bracket do. The older guys who are making bigger money eat out a lot. It’s actually understood that guys not making a lot are dependent on the clubhouse while the guys earning more eat out.”
“Another of those baseball world rules?” asked Bonnie.
“You got it. Besides, even if we tip extra, it’s still cheaper than buying all our meals. Also, they have free Internet at the field, which is really nice.” I was holding my laptop above my head now, watching the wireless signal button flick on and off, practically toying with me.
“Are we going to get to video-chat?” asked Bonnie. “I want to see you.”
“I want to see you too,” I said. “I just don’t want to pay for Internet.”
“Today was a hard day,” Bonnie said, rather deflated.
“I’m sorry.” I stopped what I was doing to be more attentive to her voice.
“It’s okay. I keep counting down the days until I’ll be out to see you, but they don’t go fast enough.”
“Tell me about it.” I sat down on my air mattress.
“I’m going to all these wedding venues and taking pictures for you, but you’re not here ... I knew it would be like this, but today I went to one of the venues I saw online and there was another couple there, and they were all lovey-dovey, talking about how their big day was going to go. Meanwhile, I’m trying to take pictures of the venue’s angles so you can decide if you like it, and they won’t stop making out long enough for me to get the shots I want.”
“You should bring a squirt bottle and spritz them like bad dogs,” I said.
“I should.” She giggled, and some of the joy returned to her tone. “I love you,” she said. “I know my mom doesn’t like it when you make your little sarcastic jokes, but I love that about you.”
“That’s funny, when I talked to your mom and dad about officially having their blessing to marry you the other day, she seemed really supportive.”
“You talked to them?” Bonnie shouted into the phone.
“Naturally, and even though your mom thinks my humor is inappropriate nearly all the time, she said she loves seeing how happy I make you and gave me her blessing. It was really painless.”
“My mom?” asked Bonnie. “The same one who yelled at you for painting skulls and crossbones on Christmas cookies?”
“Christmas Pirates, they sail the Yule tide in search of Christmas booty—an often underrepresented part of the holiday season.”
“That’s great, honey. Wait, if you talked to them, that means you ... Dirk Hayhurst, have you been ring shopping?”
“Maybe.”
Not only had I been ring shopping, my first day out I found the perfect ring—a pink sapphire set in white gold, surrounded by little diamonds. I provided the down payment on the spot, my first real dollars-and-cents commitment to getting married. Everyone talks about the emotions involved in asking permission from the parents, walking down the aisle, and saying, “I do,” but signing my name across the largest purchase receipt of my life was pretty damn emotional to me.
Actually, I didn’t want to buy the ring when I did, especially since I didn’t have enough
money to pay it off. Chip, Luke, and I had to pay the first and last months’ rent for the apartment up front, which emptied my bank account. I had to put the ring on my credit card, which made me very uncomfortable. I knew millions of Americans bought stuff they couldn’t afford using plastic every day, but I’d never done it. I might have been poor, but I wasn’t in debt—something I was very proud of. However, since Grady said I could get sent to Double A if the need arose, I felt it best to get the ring while things were stable. If I got off to a bad start, then ordered a ring, then got sent down, I could be on the other side of the country with a no address, no ring, and a looming credit payment, not to mention a very unhappy Bonnie.
“Have you or haven’t you?” pushed Bonnie.
“I have. I found some nice rings, with beautiful pink sapphires. However”—this was kind of the truth—“with the up-front rent I had to pay, I can’t afford one just yet. I know you’re excited, but don’t come out here expecting a ring. I don’t want you to feel let down.”
“I know. I know. I don’t want to make you feel pressured, either. I’m sorry I keep asking. Really, honey, ring or no ring, I still love you, and I still can’t wait to see you.”
“And I can’t wait to see you.”
“Well, my plane tickets are bought, and I’m ready.”
“I hope I’m still here when the time comes,” I mumbled to myself.
“When does the season start?”
“Tomorrow,” I said.
“Are you ready?”
I looked around the apartment, at the air mattress, lawn chairs, and Dorito crumbs.
“As ready as it gets.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was a terrible day for baseball. The temperature hit its lowest point since our arrival in Portland, which felt twice as cold considering we had just come from ninety-degree Arizona heat. Batting practice was canceled due to marble-size hail. Those courageous enough to venture onto the field for any kind of pre-game activity were rewarded with soaked shoes, freezing fingers, and welts on their necks. We soon began to doubt the home opener would actually happen.
Out of My League Page 14