Outside the Foul Lines - Book 2 - Starting Shortstop

Outside The Foul Lines

Book 2

Starting Shortstop

For David

Chapter 1

Andy's Back

At the end of my first year at State I brought Andy home with me.  My mother fed him thinking he needed to add some weight.  My father played catch with him in the backyard, wanting to keep him in shape, and I took him with me when I caught up on my lawn mowing.  That took all the first week and into the second, but the weather was perfect and Andy followed me everywhere.

I’d never felt loved before in any satisfying way, but I was sure Andy loved me almost as much as he loved baseball and when we’d go down to the softball field, he’d stand out in center field and catch the fly balls I hit to him.  It was about the best my life had been, but Andy went home, leaving me to spend the next six weeks with an occasional letter and frequent phone calls at night. Some lasted for hours but it wasn’t like being there.  I missed him and couldn’t wait for summer practice.

My parents were supportive and invited Andy to come to our house.  When the time came, they’d take both of us back to school.  My mother’s cooking was almost enough to get my mind off Andy but I could only spend so much time eating and each time I went into my room, I saw Andy in my bed.  I didn’t even have a picture of him, until a letter arrived with one of his high school pictures tucked into the six lines of text.  He thought I might like it and he was right.  Seeing his face made my heart ache harder but I wouldn’t have given up that picture for all the s’mores in Statesville.

In late July it was back to school for summer practice.  We picked Andy up at the bus station a week before we were due at school.  My mother hugged him, my father shook his hand, and it was all I could do to restrain myself from throwing a lip lock on him.  Our hands rested touching as we drove back to the house.

I waited until the door to my room was closed and I went to work on his lips.  He kissed me back with equal fervor and my life was complete.  As our clothes hit the floor I felt his excitement standing up against my belly as our mouths did most of the talking.  I dragged him over to the bed, threw my bed clothes out of our way and tossed him in.  I wanted to make up for lost time.

I was on top of him, he was on top of me, and I could hardly stand it.  I kissed my way down to his stomach and followed the slight bit of fuzz that marked the way to the prize and I hit the jackpot.  I licked, sucked, and massaged the handful of overheated pecker and Andy moaned and gasped until he got his mouth on my dick.  

It worked for me.  Something he was reluctant to do became something he did without hesitation.  The more he sucked the more his hips fed me the happy sausage I wanted to eat.  He gently held my ass as he practiced his sucking technique.  I wasn’t so insistent about how much of my dick he ate at one time.  For one thing I wanted it to last and that meant being a model of restraint.  I was doing just fine until he got his finger up my butt, and all hell broke loose.  Having my mouth full of him, it was all I could do to warn him of the gusher his finger had set loose, but he figured it out without me needing to speak clearly.  He settled for using his hand for the final squirt.  It was too late to cry over spilt milk.  He issued no complaint about the taste or the lack of an early warning system.

Andy had other things on his mind once he’d drained off my most immediate problem.  He was quick to get me under him and was eagerly humping away once his finger had gotten me ready for bigger and better things.

I used a pillow under my stomach to achieve the proper elevation to facilitate him as he eagerly humped away.  This time it was he who came to a conclusion before either of us were ready for the reunion to be cut short.  He made no bones about how glad he was to see me as he humped hard the last few times, and gasped for air as he eased his way onto my back to make his withdrawal.  Once he took his time disengaging, he ended up on his back beside me, looking into my face.

“So, how’s the girlfriend,” I said, and we went into hysterics and couldn’t stop laughing.

I’d thought about seeing Andy again since he’d left but I hadn’t planned what it might be like when I did see him again.  It was perfect.  Whatever it was supposed to be like reuniting with someone you love, this had to be it.  Seeing him, being close to him, and having sex with him was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

As we kissed again there was a knock at my door and we both sat straight up in my bed.  There was no time for dressing, hiding, or anything else.

“Are you boy’s hungry?” my mother asked through the door.

“Ah, we’re catching up on what we’ve been doing, Mom.  We’ll be down in a few minutes,” I said, trying to sound less guilty than I was at that instant, praying she didn’t open the door.

“Okay, dear, I’ll make some sandwiches and we’ll talk about taking Andy to Outback tonight for dinner.  I’m making s’mores for snacking and I’ll have some sandwiches ready when you come down.”

“Sounds great, Mom.  We’ll be down in a bit.”

There was no more chatter through the door and I thought the danger had passed.  I knew if my mother had opened the door and seen us dressed in our all together and side by side in my bed, she’d have excused herself and closed the door without commenting, but I didn’t want her to need to deal with my relationship with Andy, until we were certain what our relationship was.  It was all very cozy and we couldn’t get enough of each other, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t take some hard work and dedication.

“Damn, I’d have died if she’d opened that door,” Andy said.

“My parents are totally cool but I don’t necessarily want to provide them with imagery they might not be prepared to deal with.”

“You can say that again,” he said.

“Well, I would, but it’s too many words and I’ve got other things to do.”

I leaned to kiss him again and before long we were back at it.  Andy loved to make out and I was right there with him.  When it had all started in the spring, he was reluctant each time we advanced to a new level of lust for one another.   When he stopped to catch his breath, I let him figure out that not being able to breathe meant you were going in the right direction.  Before long he was getting ahead of me, wanting to add anal sex to our list of things to do.

Being invited to summer practice meant I was an integral part of Coach Bell’s team.  Dooley, to Chance, to Branch was the double play combination.   We got a lot of time to practice together in the six weeks before serious classes began.  Playing beside Chance was like seeing an old friend.  We knew each other’s moves and we would still compete for being the smoothest and fastest infielders in our league.

Brooks was at third base, Andy was in left, and Monty Kristoff was brought in from a two year college to play centerfield, while Wertz was in right.  Tom Boggs and Lenny Moore were both catchers.  It was the hardest position and Coach Bell knew that he needed two good catchers if we were going to get serious about playing ball.  Boggs was the starting catcher but Moore replaced him in many of our games.

Chance, Wertz, and I were the only sophomores, except for two pitchers.  The rest were juniors, except Brooks and Boggs were seniors along with two of our starting pitchers.  Many of the starters from the year before had graduated.  The new lineup would be tested often as Coach Bell had scheduled games all over the state.

Our longest trip that summer was a bit of a bummer.  It was a two hour drive and we were met with rain showers.  We sat under the bleachers until the game was called on account of rain.  We loaded back onto the bus and drove the two hours home.  Andy and I always managed to get seats together on our bus rides and that made the distance irrelevant to me.

Chance and Wertz hung around me whenever we weren’t on the field.  I’d been in the lineup the year before, which made me the old pro in our group.  Chance was still his cheery self, taking no offense at my superior fielding skill.  Of course he hit a hundred points better than I did in batting average, so he had that to make him smile.  He was the complete package and destined to play ball after college.

It was obvious why Coach Bell had gone after Monty Kristoff.  The amount of wood he got on the ball and the sound it made when he made contact was spectacular.  He would bat cleanup and Andy was moved down to the fifth spot in the batting order.  Chance batted third and was more of a spray hitter; he often hit the ball into an area just beyond the fielder’s reach.

I still led off with Brooks batting second.  My objective was still to weasel a walk out of the cold pitcher my first time at bat.  After that I had to pretend I could hit when I came to bat and hope for the best.  There was no backup shortstop to hit for me my sophomore year.  We had two utility infielders and any time one of the starters was dinged up or needed to be rested, the utility guys replaced them.  I’d never had anything resembling a serious injury and planned to stay at shortstop for every play.

Once school started we worked out on our own and in the gym on a regular schedule.  Andy took me down to the freshman field to give me batting tips.  Monty began accompanying us once he learned of Andy’s mission.  Now, I had two hitting instructors.

Monty was more intense than most of the players.  He took baseball far more serious than the sophomores.  He’d gone to a two year college because it was all he could afford and his grades weren’t that good.  Coach Bell had heard of him and went to see him play.  Now Monty played at State on a scholarship.  As I said, Monty was a serious baseball player.

While it was still warm enough to play baseball,  Monty rounded up Moore to catch and Stanton to pitch to me.  Andy and Monty played the outfield, figuring I could get the ball out of the infield.  They ended up on the outfield grass just beyond the infield.  I’d grown accustomed to coming to bat in a game in front of any number of players and spectators.  It lasted a couple of minutes three times a game, maybe four.  Taking batting practice for an hour or more with so many guys there to try to help me wasn’t as easy as coming to bat in a game.

Their suggestions were meant to help.  One day I stood stationary as Stanton threw one fastball after another, assuring me he had total control and wouldn’t hit me.  The balls came in as low as my knees and a few came much too close to my nose.  Standing while someone threw fastballs at my head wasn’t a bright move in my mind, but they were trying to help and I did as requested, even against my better judgment.

School was another matter and my classes were all enjoyable and well within my intellectual range.  I was still working on what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Baseball was occupying far more of my time than I’d initially thought it might.  While my classes were a breeze, Andy was still befuddled by the subjects he was required to take.  Monty was no less a challenge; Coach Bell had brought him to me and explained that he was depending on me to help his centerfielder.

All in all, my time was limited and there wasn’t a lot of time left over for contemplating my future.  One night with Andy reading an assignment and Monty working on some math problems, I wondered if my future might not be in teaching.  I had rescued Andy from failure the previous spring and I was expected to do no less for Monty.  I wasn’t sure what Coach Bell’s reaction might be if either of my students failed to keep his grades high enough to maintain eligibility.

The check I received each week for tutoring had increased.  I’d turned over my customers at home to one of the neighborhood boys that I thought would do a good job.  I was no longer able to guarantee my availability, because grass growing season was concurrent with the baseball season.  All but one of my clients waited for my return home, letting the grass grow.  This summer I introduced them to the new kid and I explained that I’d not be able to continue.

I didn’t need to mow lawns with the size of the check I was getting for tutoring.  It gave me one less worry my second year at State.  There wasn’t a lot of spare time for anything, but late at night, after I’d gotten rid of Monty and scooted Chance and Wertz our of our room, I’d lock the door and it was then that Andy and I were able to be together.

I remembered my previous roommate Big.  I remembered our room always being filled with the comings and goings of all the athletes he knew and that knew him.  There was no way I would encourage that in my room when there were far more interesting things Andy and I wanted to do. 

Our door was open or unlocked most afternoons.  Once the door was locked, everyone was told we were studying or sleeping and shouldn’t be disturbed.  It was most difficult when Chance and Wertz came to visit and talk.  Some evenings they didn’t seem to want to leave, but they finally would if we insisted we had better things to do than talk.

No one ever hinted that they suspected anything out of the ordinary.  Andy was plenty manly and no one would ever figure on us fooling around behind closed doors.  His bed was always messed up, even though he never slept there.  My bed was exactly the right size for both of us if we arranged ourselves properly.

Andy was still mostly quiet, except when he played baseball.  He was full of chatter, excitement, and love for the game.  It was contagious and I began to enjoy the game more than ever.  It was no longer my ticket to college but the transportation that got me through the year.  I’d never before had friends like those.  Boggs was a bit of roughneck as were a couple of the pitchers, but pitchers are always bigger in their heads than they are on the field.  Some had a reason to be arrogant but most of them weren’t going any further than college ball.

As for me, baseball was still the way I saw myself getting the education I wanted.  I didn’t see baseball beyond college but Andy talked more and more about the BIGS.  Monty may have had something to do with Andy’s new desire to play ball after college.  Monty was on his way to pro ball and it’s all he talked about.  Trying to help me become a better batter was an opportunity for him to learn more about the mechanics of batting.  When we’d play teams with heavy hitters, Monty was always watching their swing, their stance, and how they carried themselves.

Education would have something to do with his future, but Monty wasn’t dumb, just disinterested in higher learning.  It was something he had to do and if he needed a C in a subject to stay eligible, he got the C.  No matter how hard we studied and how often we went over the material, Monty just got to where he needed to go.

Coach Bell had gone silent.  He watched us individually and together.  He watched us exercise, play pepper in the gym, and go outside for hitting practice on nice days.  I’d never been in better shape.  Andy never changed.  Monty never knew when enough was too much.  Everyone had to quit before he would go in to shower.  I’d never known anyone more dedicated to the game, but I knew nothing about where Monty came from or where he went to when school was out.

I took Andy home for Thanksgiving dinner and we went back to an empty dorm the day after.  At Christmas he came and stayed until the day before Christmas Eve.  He came back the day before New Years Eve and my parents took us back to campus.  I didn’t know anything about Andy’s family but he never talked about himself.  As long as we were together, I didn’t need to know any more than he told me and we were together. 

Once the door to our room was closed and locked, were we ever together all over the room and at times for hours.  Sleeping together wasn’t enough by the middle of my sophomore year.  I loved having him hold me close and I loved holding him just as much.  My life had never been better and I didn’t need to think too hard about a future I wasn’t at all certain about.     

Starting Shortstop

Chapter 2

Play Ball 

By the time spring came around the entire team couldn’t wait to get outside for good.  The exercise sessions and running was fine but it wasn’t enough, especially after a couple of months of nothing else.  The first day Coach Bell posted the message “Meet on the baseball field,” I was exhilarated.  The smell of the fresh cool air and closely cut grass was a sign that we’d soon be outside every practice for the rest of the season.

The sound of the baseball popping against the leather in my glove was exciting.  The sound the ball made when someone caught a hold of one on the fat part of the bat had me turning my head every time.  We ran, we fielded, we hit and we listened to Coach Bell as he dispensed wisdom.

Coach Bell was different.  Gone were the nervous pacing and the strain on his face.  He moved gracefully for a big man and if he didn’t bark at one of us now and then, I’d have worried he was sick or had lost interest in the game.  But he hadn’t, and he watched us like a hawk might watch his prey.  At times I felt his gaze on me, but he was silent for the most part.  The loud head-shaking coach of the year before had mellowed for my sophomore season. 

I could take Coach Bell any way he came at me.  He’d been fair and he gave me more than ample opportunities to prove my value to his team.  I still understood my hitting might do me in, but I was the best infielder he had.  I did my best never to give him a reason to suspect anything else might be true.

Monty and Andy were the two batters he watched closest, but Chance and Wertz were rarely far away when the two outfielders were taking batting practice.  They seemed to feed off of one another and if one hit a long ball over the fence in center field, the other would be doing all within his power to match it or beat it.

Monty was stoic, Andy at ease, and this seemed to work.  Chance got the colder and more remote side of Monty.  He’d be cutting up and entertaining the rest of us, when Monty would go from staring blankly at him to walking away.  Chance wasn’t accustomed to being dismissed.  Of course he was a nice guy and wanted to make the time easier.  It only got on my nerves at times when I had something on my mind.

Wertz was more like Monty than Chance, but they’d learned to get along and hung around together.  Wertz didn’t need to say much with Chance around.  I figured Monty would learn to deal with Chance the way Wertz had.  There wasn’t any disharmony among us unless the pitchers got in on the act and invariably one of them would have something unpleasant to say.  Heaven help us if we let the pitcher lose a one-run ball game.

We did far more fielding practice at our positions with fewer pepper games once we were outside.  My timing with Chance was as close to perfect as we could make it.  He still thought he was the cats meow, but when Coach Bell called me over to the bench one day, he said the magic words.

“You want me, Coach?” I asked, after trotting in from my position.

“You are the leader in the infield,” he said, not making it a question.

“I am?” I said and asked at the same time.

“You are.  If the subject comes up with Chance you are.   Brooks knows it.  He won’t squawk.”

“What about first base?” I asked, figuring I ought to know, seeing that I was the leader in the infield.

“Don’t know.  Check with me later on that.  We can use Stuart or Welch for the time being.  I might decide on one of them or you might have a better idea.  Keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“You better go back and tend to your infield.  I expect you to make only heads up plays out there, Dooley,” he said softly, leaning back so his big body was all in the shade.

“It’s the only way I know how to do it, Coach,” I said before breaking away to trot back into the infield.

Nothing changed.  Chance knew he was good and it didn’t matter to him which one of us was best.  If there was ever something to argue about, he’d merely bring out his bat and see what I had to say about it.

I didn’t carry the fear with me to the plate any longer but years of being afraid to face a fastball pitcher made my swing less than convincing.  It did help when Andy took me to work on my hitting and Chance and Wertz were no less eager to help me grow a bigger bat.  The confidence I had in my fielding, the confidence Coach Bell expressed in me also helped.  I was more poised, even in the infield and Chance and I could turn a double player faster than anyone, regardless who played first.

We played the freshman team for exercise and their shortstop booted two double play balls, kicking one almost back to the plate before he was done trying to catch it.  The catcher picked it up, growled at the shortstop, and threw the ball back to the pitcher after checking the runner at third.  The batter had safely made it to second on what should have been an easy out.

I didn’t think anything else of it and was content with my roll as the starting shortstop.  With the weather warming and other teams coming to play on our field, life was good.  It was two weeks before the season started and we took our first bus trip.  We came back with an easy win over a smaller less experienced school.

We had a home game against a team that mostly had their way with us the year before.  They’d beaten us four out of five games and were one of the state schools most often mentioned as possible league champions.  We weren’t mentioned in the same sentence with them.

It was one week until our season opener against the same team and I figured they wanted to get a taste of knocking us around a little to get their juices flowing.  In the first inning I fielded two hard hit balls right at me, throwing the runner out each time.  The third batter up hit a long fly ball at Monty; he eased under it and it was time for me to hit.

“You can hit this guy,” Coach Bell said to me as I picked my bat off the rack.

I’d faced the pitcher one time the year before.  I think he struck me out twice.  I wasn’t going to be an easy out this season, and I took my practice swings before I stepped into the box.  My normal style was to let the first couple of pitches pass.  If I didn’t have any strikes on me I might swing at the third pitch if it was close to being over the plate.  There were three balls in a row and a strike on the outside corner that looked like a ball to me.  The next pitch was further outside and I trotted off to first base.

Brooks came up and hit the first pitch toward shortstop.  I’d taken as long a lead off first as I dared.  I sprinted toward second as soon as the ball left the pitcher’s hand.  I just beat the throw and was safe at second but they threw Brooks out at first.  Chance immediately hit the first ball between short and third for a single and I stopped at third as the coach held up his hands so I didn’t get any ideas about trying to score.  Monty drove us both home with a ball that bounced off the fence in center field.  I’d never felt better as I waited for Chance to follow me across the plate.  This was the start of something good.

I knew it was only a pre-season game but what we needed to do to win was what we were doing.  It felt good even though Andy flew out and Wertz did the same.  For the first time that season, Coach Bell started to pace in front of the bench.  He wanted to win and he especially wanted to win against this team.  I’m not sure Coach Bell was sure what he had yet, but he knew what to do when we were playing solid baseball.

That might have been what Coach Bell wanted to see from us.  He knew what it looked like when you won and that’s what he saw in the pre-season; we were always leading no matter how many innings we played and it didn’t matter who we played.  We hit, we ran, and we played together as a team.  It was enough to have us all excited, except for Monty, and nothing excited him.  His dark brooding eyes seemed to be looking far off in the distance as the rest of his team celebrated their high hopes for success.  We played well in the preseason, but it would mean absolutely nothing once the regular season was under way.

Coach Bell came to thank me for my heads up play at practice the next day, but that wasn’t all he came for.  He’d kept his remarks at a minimum and I figured he wanted something other than to pat me on the head.

“Dooley, I’ve got a favor to ask you.”

“Sure, Coach.”

“Don’t say sure Coach until I tell you what it is.  You don’t have to do it.  I’ll understand if you don’t, but I need your help.”

“You know I will.  What do you want me to do?”

“My freshman shortstop.  That boy’s a mess.  I don’t have anyone that has had any luck fixing him.  I know you can and I wouldn’t ask you to go down there and help him if there was any other way.  You’re varsity all the way and you’ll probably catch some ribbing if you spend a few days down there looking at him for me, but it’s what I’m asking you to do.”

“Sure, Coach.  When do I start?”

“Today,” he said.  “We can walk down there and I’ll introduce you.  He knows I’m bringing someone down who can show him the right way to play shortstop.

“Why not move him to first?  That’s easy enough.”

“I got the best freshman first baseman I’ve ever had.  I can’t sit him down for this kid.  No, he’s got to learn or fold his cards.  If anyone can show him, it’s you.”

I made the trip in the opposite direction from the year before.  I took the walk from the varsity squad back to the freshman squad.  The freshman coach didn’t act all that happy to see me, but once again he got no say in the matter and I’d only be there a couple of days.

Al Kane was a mess.  I asked for a batter and I set up shop between second and third as I instructed the hitter where to hit the ball.  Kane sat on second base and watched me vacuum up the balls to my right, left, and those that were hit in the air just on the outfield grass.

I got him up and had him stand beside me so that he could get a close up view of how I moved, how I held the glove, and how I broke on the ball once the batter hit it.  Most of these things were instinct for me, but you had to know how to do it to allow your instincts to get you into the right place to make the big play. 

It was mechanics but Kane didn’t ask any questions.  Then, I let him field.  He leaned too far forward, let his arms dangle far too loosely, and his feet had the ability to go in two different directions at the same time, which was a sure recipe for failure.

“Watch me,” I told him, and once again the batter hit to me.

I did my best to explain how to set his feet and where to hold the glove so nothing got in his way as he went for the ball.  It wasn’t pretty and by the time I was done I saw little if any improvement.  I told him I’d see him tomorrow.

By the time I trotted back over to the varsity field everyone had gone in and I went in for my shower. I’d then head back to the dorm for some studying before Andy and I went to the cafeteria.  The thing with Kane had disturbed my easy schedule, but it wouldn’t last long and things would go back to normal once the regular season started.

By the middle of the following day’s practice, I was playing shortstop with the freshman team.  One of the better batters hit the ball around the infield and I tried to give my best instruction on turning a double play.  All the other infielders were far more interested in what I had to say than Kane was.

When I was getting ready to pack up shop and get back to the varsity, I heard that sound the bat makes when someone in the know makes contact with a fastball that’s thrown down the center of the pike.  I looked up to see Kane taking practice swings before he made the same sound for the second time in two swings.  I watched the ball sailing out over the centerfield fence.

Kane was a little bigger and more bulky than I was. His arms were slightly longer, but other than that there were more similarities than differences.  No wonder Coach Bell wanted to make him a shortstop.  Andy, Monty, and Wertz were all solid players and weren’t going anywhere for the next two seasons.  Chance wasn’t going anywhere.  Brooks would graduate and Kane could play third.  He could play first, except Coach Bell had his eye on the freshman first baseman. 

That left third and short to fit him into the lineup next season.  Shortstop was the key to any good infield.  Coach Bell wasn’t going to replace me with Kane, or was he?  He thought he was asking a big favor of me, but I liked coaching and I’d been coaching his fielders since I started playing for him. 

It was only a big favor if I was training the guy that would replace me.  That would be a very big favor, but I’d do it even if the idea was for him to replace me, because coaching’s what I liked doing.  If doing it helped the team it was even better.   

I wondered how most people would feel about training the guy who was going to take his job?  It was a thought I didn’t like.  I knew if I asked Coach Bell, he’d tell me what he had on his mind, but I wasn’t going to ask, because I didn’t want to know.  I was in charge of his infield and I had too much to do to dwell on ideas that were as likely to be wrong as right.  I saw nothing in Kane’s movements that told me he could even play a competent game at shortstop.

Even if he was put in at shortstop to replace me, Chance would be the first to cry foul.  If there’s one thing that would get Chance’s goat faster than me outshining him in the infield, it would be a guy who couldn’t field at all.  Maybe I could teach Kane enough for him to stand at the spot where a shortstop stood, but how long would it take for him to blow a one run or two run lead while messing up an easy double play? 

He didn’t have the instincts of an infielder and no one could teach him instincts.  

Chapter 3

Better Ball 

My coaching stint with Kane and the freshman infield lasted three days before Coach Bell sent word I should report to the varsity field three days before our first game.  He asked me what I thought of Kane and I told him.  He didn’t seem surprised that I didn’t regard him as shortstop material.  The subject of his hitting didn’t enter our conversation.  He thanked me for my service and I went back to my infield to get ready for our first game.

When the regular season started, I was ready with an excitement that I could hardly contain.  We’d gotten the opposition out in a one-two-three inning.  I placed my glove on my spot on the bench, going to the bat rack, I selected a bat.  Andy stopped me, pushing the bat back into the rack.  He reached to the other side of the rack where the best hitters kept their wood, so some bozo didn’t grab it and end up breaking it for them.

Once he retrieved his bat, he handed it to me and smiled before sitting back down on the bench.  I watched him until he sat down and nodded for me to go ahead.  I got a feeling from his bat that I never got out of the ones I picked.  I thought about breaking it and decided that wasn’t going to happen.  I looked back at Andy again and turned to head for the plate.   

Passing Coach Bell on my way to take my swings, he had some advice for me.

“Good eye out there, John.  Make that pitcher work.”

I smiled and nodded, which is what I usually did when Coach Bell said something that required no resply.  I took my practice swing off to the left of the plate. 

Standing in the batters box with the bat at my side, I set my feet and moved some dirt around under them.  I gazed out to the mound, took two practices swings, and I was ready.

The pitcher glared past me, shaking off whatever the catcher signaled and as I waited for the first pitch of my season, he took a full wind up and let go of a ball that broke over the outside of the plate.  My bat came off my shoulder in a smooth easy swing.  The sound it made on the ball told me it would get out of the infield.  I was on my way to first.  My entire team stood, looking toward the outfield.  By the time I crossed first base the crowd roared its approval.  Rounding first base and heading for second the outfielder was standing with his back to the infield looking out beyond the left field fence.

It was not only my first homerun of the season.  It was my first homerun ever.  My heart’s pounding and the energy in my body seemed to burst out through my legs.  Rounding third base and heading for home, I wanted to keep circling the bases.  Andy was waiting for me at the plate, Chance and Wertz were waiting behind him and they escorted me back to the bench.  It was the first time anyone celebrated my batting.

“You been holding out on me, Dooley?” Coach Bell asked with a serious tone in his voice.

“No, sir,” I said in all seriousness.

Players came to where I sat and slapped my hand.  The season had started.

We led 1-0.

Brooks grounded to second for an out.  Chance hit the ball between first and second for a single.  Monty hit a double with Chance stopping at third base.  Andy hit the second pitch for a homerun.  We led 4-0 after the first inning.  Coach Bell never got up or said more than a couple of words to communicate his approval.  We were literally off and running into my sophomore season.

I came up in the third after our pitcher struck out on three pitches without taking the bat off his shoulder.  I walked on four pitches and took a smaller lead, knowing the pitcher was keeping a closer eye on me.  Brooks hit a fly into short right field.  Chance squirted another single over second base and I dashed for third, sliding in safe but the centerfielder didn’t make a throw to third.  Monty was hit by the second pitch and the other team’s coach was up and ready to change pitchers, signaling for a left hander as he strolled slowly to the mound.

We had bases loaded, two out, and Andy was coming to the plate.  Bringing in a relief pitcher would mean he was cold and sometimes it took a few pitches for them to find the plate and get into a rhythm.  I was vigilant at third but the third base coach didn’t want me straying very far down the third base line;  getting picked off for the third out with bases loaded would be seen as a bonehead move.

The relief pitcher took a few throws to the catcher and the umpire called, “Play ball.”

The pitcher didn’t wind up and he delivered fast balls with little time wasted between pitches.  Andy took practice swings between pitches but the first two balls were outside and low.  On the third pitch the pitcher found the plate, getting it right over the center, allowing  Andy to reach the ball.  His swing was a thing of beauty.  He rocked back on his heels while the bat was finishing the roundhouse swing.

I knew when the ball leaped off his bat it was a homerun.  This was how you played baseball.  Chance and I waited for Andy and escorted him back to the bench.  Coach Bell was standing to shake each of our hands.  His mostly stern focused expression that indicated he was seeing beyond most things going on around him eased in the moment.  He clapped his hands before sitting back in his corner chair.

We won 9-1.

I must admit the celebration was larger than winning a single game.  We’d not had a good season the year before and this was nice.  We had performed like the well oiled machine.  All the elements were in place on that first day.  It remained to be seen if we could pull it off on a continuing basis, but even if we couldn’t, we could dream of a dream season. 

The locker room was filled with screams and shouts and even some spontaneous dancing, or at least that’s what I think it was.  The guys were all excited and there was back slapping and well wishes all the way around, except for Monty, who showered and left before I got my cleats off.

Coach Bell made no appearance once we left the field; he let us have our moment in the sun.  It wasn’t like we had a lot to celebrate the season before.  We won games the year before but we were never winners or winning.  There is an attitude that comes with being a winner, and we’d never had it.  As high as we were over winning the first game, we knew a season one game did not make.  We wanted to laugh and feel good about ourselves for as long as we could.  We were young and winning was something we wanted to celebrate.

We won our second game 5-2. 

Monty and Andy hit back to back homers in the fourth.  I’d gotten on earlier in the inning on a walk.  I singled in our half of the sixth and Chance hit a double.  I scored.  Monty hit a double and Chance scored.  After two games I was batting an astounding .500.  I’d scored four runs and knocked in one run. 

The exuberance continued as we accepted our jack rabbit start as a sign that we weren’t the losers from the year before.

The next three games were away.  We won 3-2, 6-0, and lost our first game in a pitching duel 2-1.

You can’t win them all in baseball.  There are too many games and too many factors that will from time to time break against you.  That was Coach Bell’s message to us the first time he spoke to us after a game that season.  He was relaxed and unemotional after the loss.  We had four wins and one loss to show for our season.

I was flying high and so was Andy.  We had more difficulty buckling down when it came to studying.  Hitting the books wasn’t nearly as much fun as winning baseball games.  Even attending class made me restless and my attention span was zilch.  Baseball was on my mind 24/7.  Times were good and life at school couldn’t have been any better.

The excitement that came with the new baseball season didn’t diminish my relationship with Andy.  It was about the only thing as exciting as our games.  Once we’d done what studying we’d plan to do, invited Chance and Wertz out of our room, and closed and locked the door, Andy and I ended up in one another’s arms.  This was a comfort I looked forward to every night.

It often started near the door and we’d be out of our clothes by the time we reached my bed.  I liked it when I sat on the side of my mattress and he stood in front of me, leaning his arms on his bunk as he watched me give him head.  Andy was particularly susceptible to my oral examinations of his fast swelling prick.  He moaned and groaned and moved one hand down to feel my face.  I’d devoured as much cock as I could.  He couldn’t use both hands because he’d fall down if he moved the arm that was holding him up in front of me. 

With a precipitous bend in his knees I knew it was time to get off the throbbing part of his anatomy or risk cutting short the first part of the evening frivolities. 

I’d stand up and we’d kiss and make out until we were both at a fever pitch.  I’d end up on my stomach under him as he let me have it from behind.  Andy was a homerun hitter in this activity as well.  He took his time, changed speeds, even pulling out to lie quiet across my back if he came too close too soon.

He advertised it when he reached the point of no return.  With grunts and groans the pending eruptions grew near.  He held his arms out straight, keeping his cock engaged but picking up speed as he watched the entry and withdrawal that came with each thrust. The snorts meant he was pumping out the heavy duty cream he produced from such a union.  He’d continue holding himself up  after completing the mission.

After regaining some self-control, he’d collapse across my back easing his cock free of me.  The first time he asked me to do the same thing to him, I was surprised.  Andy had started off wanting to get off as often as I’d take him there.  I suspected a reluctance to give himself up to the lust I brought out in him, but slowly he’d advanced and wanted to give as good as he got.

The first time I broke through that tight velvet ring, he groaned from the shock of my entry.  I hesitated, fearing I’d hurt my love, but in a moment or two I was the one humping away and he was as excited by this as by anything else we did.  He pushed back hard and wanted more, harder, faster.  Andy was discovering how to let himself go.  All the limitations and doubts he had seemed to fade away as our  exploration of one another knew no bounds.  These were intense times filled with emotions and wonderful feelings.

Then there was after the loving when we held each other.  We were fast and furious in our love making, during the holding and kissing that came afterwards, once we were drained of our lust. It became a gentle tender affair.  All we needed was found in one another’s arms.  While I probably was getting less sleep than I’d ever had, I slept better than I’d ever slept before. My world came into perfectly harmony.

Andy was doing better in his classes.  He was hitting a ton and Coach Bell moved him into the cleanup spot in the lineup and Monty was moved to bat fifth.  You couldn’t read Monty no matter what happened.  There was no reaction but I was certain he didn’t like it.  When Chance and Wertz came into our room to celebrate the promotion, Monty walked past the door, scowling in on us.

I’d been friends with Chance and Wertz from my freshman year.  Their excitement over Andy’s elevation was about their being my friend and accepting Andy as part of our club since he was my roommate.  It wasn’t meant to insult Monty, but I wasn’t sure he didn’t take it that way.  The cleanup hitting spot went to the best slugger and Andy was outslugging Monty by more than a little the first five games. 

If you looked at the game objectively it was the move most coaches would make, wanting to take advantage of a hot hitter, batting him at a time most likely to have men on base.  Coach Bell also had a lot invested in Andy and Monty was the new kid on the block.  He’d started out in the cleanup spot, because that’s where Coach Bell believed he belonged.  After the first few games Coach Bell wanted to reward Andy for doing a fine job.  Coach Bell was about playing good ball and he only did what he thought would end up improving his team.  While he was making moves that got my approval, he was the coach and I’d approve of almost anything he did.  He knew a lot more than I did.

Once again I decided not to sweat the little stuff.  The team was mostly a team and any time you put a couple of dozen guys together in a team activity, you’ll have some disagreement about how things should be done.  I had too much to do to worry about what Coach Bell thought was best and this change certainly made Andy happy, although I didn’t like Monty’s reaction.

I tutored Monty twice a week for two hours at a time.  Andy usually left the room before Monty came.  If there was rancor between the two of them I didn’t see it.  Neither of them ran the team so feeling angry toward one another was silly.  Monty continued to just get by and it’s all anyone cared about.  No one asked me what I was doing or how I was helping him with his studies.  While Andy and I studied together every night, I felt funny about continuing to be paid for something I’d gladly do for free.  Once again I didn’t question the powers that be and was grateful to be putting money in the bank.

We won games six, seven, and eight without breaking a sweat.  We sat on top of our league two games ahead of last years champion who we’d beaten 4-2.  We were clicking on all cylinders. 

Andy continued hitting over .500 and the opposing pitchers weren’t likely to walk him, because odds were Chance would be on base twice a game, me once, and with Monty batting right after Andy, a pitcher wasn’t going to walk Andy to pitch to a man who was hitting nearly as well as Andy.  Putting men on base was never a great idea but doing it in front of a good hitter was folly. 

While Monty may not have liked his demotion in the lineup, it didn’t change the way he played the game.  He was good and he gave it his all.  He never said a cross word to me and except for occasional nods, even when I tutored him he rarely had much to say.  It simply wasn’t something I gave much thought. 

Coach Bell continued to say little, preferring to keep an eye on all aspects of his team and let us do our talking with our bats and the pitching that had suddenly come into its own.  We were getting good performances from all our pitchers in most games.  Most of them were seniors but there were several promising juniors who would be back the following year. 

I felt like the infield was finally set once Morgan came up to play first for good.  The rotation of players in my infield stopped and the lineup was set.  I’m sure the first base position, the only one in the infield that had been left in doubt, worried Coach Bell as well.  Morgan was young and a little wild, but he was steady on most plays.  I understood how he felt, being a freshman, and I encouraged him as much as possible.

I expected Kane to be the first freshman to come up because of his bat, but we were hitting better than anyone expected, so leaving Kane to figure out what to do with his glove for another few weeks wasn’t going to hurt our momentum.  Knowing Coach Bell had some idea about him playing shortstop had me happy about him staying with the freshman team. 

I wondered if this is what Coach Bell was working toward the year before when he called me up from the freshman team.  The season was more than half over and State wasn’t going anywhere, barely playing five hundred ball, when I joined the varsity. 

He wanted Andy to be a better fielder.  He wanted me to gain experience at shortstop.  He knew Chance and Wertz would be ready this season.  He went out to picked up another heavy hitter from a two-year school.  These were all long term moves meant to elevate his team out of the mediocrity we were in the previous season.

Each of these moves might be seen as accidental coincidences, but if you put it all together Coach Bell was building himself a team position by position.  He was a year ahead of where his team was and his plans seemed to be paying off. 

We lost the ninth game of the season 5-1 and our bats went cold.  Their pitcher one hit us, adding insult to injury.  The hit was a Monty Kristoff home run.  I walked once and that was the extent of our offence.  I wondered if we were done winning.  We had lost to a fifth place team in our league.  They had one good pitcher who had won two of the three games they’d won.  Unfortunately one of the wins was our second loss.  We were still on top of the league by two games.

I walked the next game my first at bat.  The pitcher was wild or I’d have been able to tag him for a hit.  Brooks did and we had runners on first and third.  Chance cleared the bases with a double.  Andy struck out but Monty hit another homer and we were off and running again, winning the game going away.

I was still batting over .300 and the team was 8-2; we led our league by two games.  Coach Bell made no changes and he asked for no more than what we were giving him.  On the bus ride back from our second loss he’d said, “We’ll get ‘em next time,”

And we did 7-0 the following week.  We avenged a loss we should never have taken and we did it in front of a large home crowd.

The excitement for me had increased.  We were having the season of a lifetime and I wanted to enjoy each and every minute.  I had two more years when I’d be able to play ball and I wanted to make the most of both of them.  Andy only had one more year of college ball and he wanted to make the most of it, but he was going to go on to the minor leagues.  Most of us knew Andy, Monty, and Chance were all premier players and could keep playing long after they put college behind them.

Chapter 4

Roll On 

I invited Monty to go along with us when I took Chance, Wertz, and Andy down for a discount pizza my old manager was happy to give me.  If he had a pizza that was sent back or couldn’t be delivered, he threw that into the deal.  He followed the baseball team and was a big fan of Andy who had nine home runs in our 10-3 season to that point.

We hadn’t quite reached the halfway point in the season, but we had two games the following week against last year’s league champions and I wanted to celebrate before we might meet defeat in at least one of the games.  We’d already beaten them once and we had a four-day break coming up before we played our next game against them.  Then we had one more away game after playing them at their house, followed by a two day break before they came to play in our stadium.

We were sure to play them after the regular season was over because while they remained two games behind us, they were five games ahead of the third place team, which was playing below five-hundred ball.  I’d never been on a team as good as this one.  Celebrating seemed like a good way to blow off some of the pressure.  These were the guys I was closest to and so I shared what there was with them, except maybe for the most personal thing about myself and the most important person to me.  That wouldn’t be smart but I wanted to yell it from the rooftops, “I love Andy.”

Andy never complained about such arrangements.  He seemed disinterested in my social arrangements and went along because he wanted to be with me.  I think he liked Chance, because Chance was one of those guys you couldn’t dislike, but Andy and Wertz seldom talked.  They were both outfielders and only a little more verbal than Monty.

By the time we were working on our third pitcher of soda and the second free pizza, the manager came out and sat with us to inquire about how the rest of the season might go.  He knew we faced Collinwood twice next week and wanted to know if we were going to “kick butt.” We assured him we would without considering the alternative to be an answer we’d consider.  He seemed satisfied with the answer and went back to cracking the whip on his employees behind the counter.  He liked talking baseball and he stopped to ask more questions about the team.  Maybe that’s why he gave us free pizza?

Collinwood rolled into town on Tuesday.  It was threatening rain.  Their ace who had never lost to us was on the mound.  We lost 7-2.  It was our worst defeat of the season and we never were in the game.  He three hit us and if not for a walk to Chance followed by a Monty homer, we’d have looked pathetic at the plate. 

I was nervous and grouchy on Wednesday before the next game.  We’d taken over an hour bus ride and got tied up in traffic before getting to the stadium.  When we climbed off the bus, we had five minutes before game time and were informed there was no time to warm up.

It was a lousy deal to have to get right to the bench and the next thing I knew, I was at bat and I had to pee.  I dug into the dirt and stepped out of the box a half dozen times before I could relax.  The pitcher looked nine feet tall and the first ball hit the catcher’s glove like a rocket.  I could see dust coming up from the force of the ball making contact with the leather.  It was clearly a strike but my bat had stayed put.

There were two balls outside and one inside, which left me at 3-1.  There was a free pitch I’d take and if that was a strike, I’d need to decide what to do on the final pitch.  Only it was a fat hanging curve ball that never did break, and I lined a ball right back through the pitcher’s box and through into centerfield.  By the time I stopped running, I was on second.  The pitcher kept looking back at me glaring his anger at my nearly taking off his head.

I took a modest lead, not really wanting him to make a throw, but if he did there was the chance it would go into centerfield.  I still wasn’t going to test him.  There was no one out and odds were in favor of me scoring a run.  It took seven pitches for Brooks to walk. 

Chance came up and batted left handed for the first time.  Of course it was to his advantage to bat left if he could pull it off, but I didn’t know he was a switch hitter until that moment.  Bobby Henry was the only other baseball player I’d known who could bat both right handed and left handed.  It didn’t surprise me that Chance wanted to add that to his list of skills.

On the second pitch Chance lined a ball over the first baseman’s head and right down the first base line, rolling into the corner as the right fielder raced to recover it.  By the time he did I scored with Wertz scoring behind me.  It was 2-0 and I finally relaxed for the first time since Collinwood beat us. 

Andy walked, Monty doubled, and Morgan hit a triple.  We scored five runs and had two men on when I came up the second time that inning.  I struck out after the pitcher had struck out before me.  Brooks struck out and the inning ended with us well on our way to our eleventh win.

A 10-2 win was enough to get our juices flowing again.  The ride back to school seemed to be without memory of our Monday loss and the fact we would face the same team on Friday.  No one mentioned it and we pretended it wasn’t on our mind.  Our practice was brief Thursday.  It was still threatening rain and was cooler than it had been.

When Collinwood marched in the following day, they were one game behind us in the standings and you could tell they planned to leave leading the league by virtue of having the same record as we had but beating us two out of three times we’d played each other.

My disposition was back to apprehensive.  It didn’t help when our best pitcher walked the first batter.  I prowled the infield like a nervous cat.  The second batter had gone two balls and a strike when he hit the next pitch on the ground.  I scooped it up charging it hard to cut down the time it took me to make the play.  When I twirled and shoveled the ball to Chance, he was ready with his foot on the bag, and his throw to Morgan was perfect.  We’d turned the double play with time to spare.  That was more like it.  They weren’t going to find beating us so easy this time.

I struck out, Brooks grounded out, and Chance hit a line drive into centerfield but it was caught for out number three.  The score remained scoreless for three innings.  There had been one runner and we’d cut him down in a double play.  No one else had gotten on base.  Our ace pitcher was flawless, but so was theirs.  I worked the count to three balls and two strikes in the fourth inning.  The next pitch looked outside and then broke on the corner of the plate at the last instant.

I looked back at the umpire, waiting for him to call it, and then I threw my bat down and trotted to first base.  I still think it was a strike but it went as ball four.  Until the next pitch I was expecting for someone to come and tell me I was really out.  Brooks hit a soft grounder to shortstop and I ran for all I was worth, throwing my cleats in the air as I slid into second.  The second baseman had to shift to avoid me taking him out and by the time he got rid of the ball Brooks was safe.  I trotted back to the bench having broken up a sure double play.  My team gave me a thumbs up but it was still scoreless and anything could break the game open.

Chance stood in and struck out for one of the few times I’d ever seen it.  He was disappointed, dragging his bat back to the bench with him, apologizing to anyone who would listen.  Andy came up and worked the count to three balls and two strikes.  The next pitch sailed a foot over Andy’s head and clanged against the backstop.  Wertz ended up on third by the time the catcher recovered the ball and realized Wertz wasn’t stopping at second.  It was a heads up play and we were still alive.

Monty came to bat banging his bat against his cleats.  He stood outside the batters box, looking down the third base line while running dirt through his hands.  He took tome practice swings with his back to the plate.  The umpire stood up and shouted, “Play ball.”

Monty turned like he was oblivious to the umpire’s order.  He tapped his bat on the plate, dug one foot and then the other into the batters box before pulling the bat up on his shoulder, and for the first time he looked at the pitcher who was patiently waiting to deliver his next pitch.  Just as he started into his windup, Monty stepped out of the batter’s box, holding up his hands to signal timeout.

Once more he looked down the third base line, swinging the bat.

“Play ball,” the ump growled anxiously.

Monty took a minute to return to the box and he followed the same ritual, finally looking out at the pitcher as he was waiting to see if Monty stepped out yet again.

The windup was fluid and smooth and the ball came in hot and right over the center of the plate.  There was no doubt where the ball was headed as soon as Monty made contact.  It exploded off the bat and disappeared out over the straight away centerfield fence.

It was 3-0 State.

Andy stood and waited for Monty, shaking his hand and patting his back.  We were all relieved.  There were no more runners and no more hits.  The game turned on one big-time swing by Monty.  The locker room was filled with the biggest celebration yet.  The vanquished Collinwood team left on their bus.  We played one more time this season and the best they could do was a draw and we were back to being two games ahead in the standings.

At 12-4 our season was more than half done.  We’d gone 16-14 the year before and merely had to show up to improve on that record.  Coach Bell was starting to pace again, during the second Collinwood game.  He rarely moved out of his seat until then and as anxious as he seemed that day, he settled back into his seat once Monty had done his thing.  It was like he knew the game was in the bag.  We did have our ace on the mound and the Collinwood pitcher was almost as good.

We hadn’t fallen apart under pressure but we were well past that point in the season.  We knew we were playing good ball and we weren’t likely to blow a close game with careless mistakes.  We played our game and did what we did best.  Monty realized when he came to bat with two men on base that this would be our best chance to take the lead.  He played a very good pitcher like a fiddle, got him out of his rhythm, and he delivered up the pitch Monty was waiting for.

Coach Bell called Andy to his office after his shower.  Monty was going back to cleanup.  Andy told me he was doing it because Monty had earned it.  Andy hadn’t done anything to cause Coach to want to make the change but rewarding production was traditional.

Andy wasn’t thrilled at losing the cleanup hitting position.  Monty was out-slugging him in the past few games and as long as he was playing, Andy wasn’t going to get too upset.  There were more than ten games left and Andy planned to get the prized hitting spot back before it was over.  I told him he didn’t need to worry, because he was the best hitter and Coach Bell knew it.  He made the move to see if it would motivate Monty even more.

My parents came to the Friday afternoon game and were delighted when we agreed to go back with them.  They would drive us back Monday morning before my first class.  My mother was happier to see Andy than she was to see me.  Of course she’d lived with me all my life and knew what a slob I was and Andy was a big wide-eyed kid that appreciated any attention at all. 

We stopped for lunch to decompress from the pressure of the season and having just won our most important game to date.  Andy was quiet but he seemed fine and his movement to the fifth hitting spot didn’t seem to hurt his appetite.  I must admit I didn’t go away hungry either.  There was something reassuring about my parents coming to such an important game and then asking for me to come home for the weekend.  They knew I’d want Andy to come along, because we were roommates and we were close and my parents didn’t mind anything that made me happier.  

Chapter 5

Down Time 

Andy wanted to go out Friday evening, once we’d settled into my bedroom.  I’d given him a good going over before we came down to socialize with my parents.  Andy remained restless after dinner and he told me he wanted to go out.  We agreed that the mall was our best bet.  We could investigate the arcade to see if there were any interesting new games and maybe check the marquee at the twin theaters to see if a movie sounded good.

We tried several new games and I got the hang of them before Andy could settle into the options offered for defeating this align or that bad dude who was after something you didn’t wish to lose but often did.  We got back home in time for fresh apple pie and vanilla ice cream.  We sat on the back porch enjoying the warm evening breeze.  Spring had set in and the evenings were the best time to sit on the screened in porch.  Some evenings we ate dinner out there, listening to the birds singing in the treetops.

Andy was particularly passionate that night.  We hadn’t touched each other since just before dinner and he was in the mood to be held and kissed and brought out of his quietude.  Going down on me with lust in his mind, he worked me over, shoved digits up my tailpipe, and made me a hearty meal for his lusty appetite.  I warned him off twice before I lurched my hips in response to letting loose of the result of his love making.

Andy didn’t enjoy swallowing all that much or at least not before that night.  He’d let himself go with the flow and my reluctance to blast his tonsils with cum caused a much more robust ejaculation.  I kept him swallowing for a time, until I relaxed the tension in my muscles brought on by the loving he gave me.

When I expressed the desire to blow him, he said, “Not yet.”

His positioning didn’t allow me to take matters into my own… hands.  He continued stimulating me until he’d excited me again, which didn’t take long with him kissing and licking me.  I hadn’t really recovered from the first round but that didn’t keep me from getting hard and excited and ready for more.  Once I was pulsing in his fingers, he had me where he wanted me.

“Get me a towel,” he said, and I wondered about the request.

He hadn’t spilled a drop.

When I returned from the bathroom he’d tucked a pillow under him and his beautiful ass was elevated at exactly the right angle for me to give him something that he’d become increasingly more fond of as we refined the art.  Handing him the towel he lifted up to tuck it between his groin and the pillow.

“I always feel like I’m going to cum when you fuck me hard.  I want to see if I can cum without you touching me, except for fucking me.”

The idea appealed to me.  It explained why he’d gone unsatisfied.  Once I’d finished once, I lasted longer the second time, although that wasn’t a guarantee once I climbed on his ass.  A few times I’d gone off upon entry with just the feel of his tight ring massaging me on one single thrust.  Admittedly that was early on in our love making, but it took him time to get used to the idea of me doing to him what he so eagerly did to me.  Now, my doing it to him was more preferable than him doing it to me.  Andy was facing up to his uninhibited sexual desire.   

Everything about Andy made me hot.  His body was smooth and just muscular enough to be firm without being too hard, except for where being too hard was just right.  It took only a touch to arouse him and turn an ordinary evening into an experience to remember.  I suppose our timing and appetites were similar because neither of us was ever too tired nor did we get headaches.  That’s not to say we didn’t leave other parts of our anatomy aching.  I’d never thought about wearing it out before Andy and I hooked up, but that was a risk I was more than willing to take.

That’s not to say it wasn’t hard to get up some mornings, after Andy had mounted up a second or third time the night before.  Some times he’d climax in a flurry after only a few minutes of sinking his most lustful part into my depths, but this wasn’t the case if he wanted more and longer.  It was always slower and easier, less frantic, the second time and thereafter.

He’d ease himself all but out of me and take a long time sliding it back deep within me.  The way his cock spread me open created a sensation of perpetual and ever increasing excitement. After a long slow screw, if I didn’t get off during it, I was quck to get inside him, drilling for the satisfaction his excitement left me with. 

I think he would purposely slow things down at the end so I wouldn’t cum.  The only thing that excited him more than fucking me was when I fucked him.  I was never known to be slow and easy on his ass.  Once I was hot enough to mount him, I wasn’t going to hold my horses, and sometimes my hard charging fucking got him off again.  These were the times he became lost in his lust, not that I wasn’t lost inside mine.  

It was Saturday morning after pancakes and eggs.  I took Andy over to the old softball field.  As we came around the corner of the fence, I saw an old friend and waved.  He jogged over to where we stood.

“Hey, Dooley.  Missed you at school Friday.  I was at the game.”

“You were?  Why aren’t you playing?” I asked.

“Sprained my wrist sliding into second.  Can’t swing the bat for two weeks.”

“Oh, Bobby, this is Andy,” I said with Andy standing behind me.

“Hey, Henry,” Andy said.

“Yeah, you’re making quite a name for yourself.  I’ve been watching the box scores.  You and Kristoff are giving them hell.”

“You guys know each other?” I asked.

“He was a junior when I was a freshman.  We’d have played together but he went up to the minors,” Andy said.

“You were a good hitter than but you couldn’t field as I recall,” Bobby remembered for us.  “What happened?”

“He happened,” Andy said, indicating me.

“He taught me to play shortstop,” I told Andy.

“No I didn’t.  You were a natural.  You’re a better shortstop than I am,” Bobby said.

“No way,” I argued.

“Way, Dooley.  You’re good.  Don’t sell yourself short.  I just showed you how to move.  You did the hard part,” Bobby added.

“Who do you play with?” I asked.

“Fort Worth.”

“Weren’t you out west,” Andy asked.  “That’s what I heard.”

“Started at Fargo.  Fort Worth picked me up at the end of last year.  We’re pretty good.”

“So, Bell brought you up as freshman.  I use lay in my bed at night my freshman year dreaming he’d call for me.  He didn’t.”

“The shortstop got hurt.  That’s the only reason why,” I said.

“You don’t know Bell too well.  He’s a chess master.  He’s always a half dozen moves ahead of the competition.  You can bet an injury didn’t get you into the starting lineup.  You must have shown him something.  He’s a better coach than what I’ve had in the minors.  Of course it’s a little different in college ball.  He doesn’t need to deal with temperamental athletes as much.  Bell makes you feel like you’re playing for him and that’s a big deal in college.  Guys’ll bust their asses for him.  I’m not surprised you guys are doing so well.  He’s been there just long enough to get the right players for every position.”

“How is it?” Andy asked.

“The minors?  It’s fine.  It’s a lot more like work.  It’s about money and it’s about business.  I’m a property.  My only value is whether or not I can help the team move up, which means I move up.  You got a few seasons to do it.  If you don’t get noticed and get an offer by then you find there are a half a dozen guys looking to play your position.”

“You going to the Bigs?” Andy asked.

“I’ve been looked at.  I had a scout from the A’s follow me a week or two before I was injured.  The White Sox have nibbled around the edges.  With the Rangers next door, I’m close to the action.  Their guys are always watching our games.  I feel good about my chances, but it’s best not to jinx yourself with loose speculation.  There’s so much wheeling and dealing these days, you might be drafted one day and traded the next.”

“Cool,” Andy said.  “I always felt you’d make it.  Draft me.  Trade me.  Just don’t ignore me.”

“You coming out this year?” Bobby asked.

“Me?  No, I’m staying for my senior year.  I’ve never been on a team as good as this one.  I want to ride a winner for as long as I can.  I might never get another chance.” Andy said.

“Yeah, it would be hard to leave a winning team.  When I left there were no great prospects for my senior year.”

“You thinking about going on past college ball, Dooley?”

“I played baseball to get to come to school.  I don’t plan to play after college.”

“You’re hitting a little better than last year but it would be tough for you to find a minor league team that wants to give a spot to a guy who can’t hit.  You still might pick up some tips along the line.  You’re only a sophomore.  I wouldn’t give up on it yet.  Someone might take a look at you.”

“Nah, Bobby.  I got a scholarship at State to play ball.  If I could have afforded it without playing ball I wouldn’t have been happy with that.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t believe that for a minute,” Andy quipped.

“I’m not saying I don’t like it.  It’s not what I came to school to do.  Being on a winning team and playing well is a lot of fun but I don’t have an illusion about going on past college.  No one’s going to look at me so it doesn’t matter,” I said.

“What are you going to do after school?” Bobby asked.

“I don’t know?” I confessed.  “Go where the bucks are.  Maybe open a small business.  I’ve got plenty of time to figure that out.”

We went to get a soda and mostly talked about Bobby Henry’s baseball career.  He’d grown quite a bit since I’d last seen him in high school.  He wasn’t much taller but he’d gained ten or fifteen pounds of gristle.  His arms bulged in the dressy pullover shirt he wore and he looked good and sounded happy.

Andy was more interested in baseball than I was and it was a subject they both enjoyed talking about.  The fact Bobby knew Andy’s statistics was impressive and proved he followed his old college team with some interest.  When he said that Monty appeared to be the most likely to succeed beyond college, Andy lost interest in his opinion and it didn’t take long for us to be saying goodbye.

It was after this exchange that I realized Andy was taking his demotion in the hitting lineup harder than he’d indicated.  Bobby said he wasn’t surprised that Coach Bell moved Monty to hit cleanup.  That one spot shouldn’t make a difference but batting cleanup was still the position the best hitters coveted.  While I wanted to encourage him, I didn’t want to bring up the subject again.

That left only one way to entertain him without needing to talk baseball.  I got him back to the house and we made love for most of the afternoon but had to get up to shower and get ready for a meal at the local Italian restaurant. Andy’s appetite still showed no signs of distress and I wasn’t sure if there was a serious problem or simply unhappiness.

Once we got back home and into my room, there were only two things we could do, if you disregarded sleep, and I was still more than satisfied  with our most recent sexual exploits.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked him as he lay back on my bed with his head on my pillow.

“Not particularly,” he replied.

“Andy, it’s not a big deal.  Monty and you aren’t that far apart in hitting, homers, and runs batted in.  You’ll get the spot back before the season is over.”

“That shows what you know.  It is a big deal.  Anyone comes looking is going to be looking at the guy the Coach has in the cleanup spot.  Monty will get the attention and I’ll just be the guy that bats behind him.  It’s only my future.  You might not plan to play past college but that’s all I’ve ever planned.”

“How many guys are playing college ball right now?”

“Thousands,” Andy answered.

“How many do you think are going to go beyond college ball?”

“Doesn’t matter.  I plan to and that’s what matters.  That’s why every advantage you can get is important.  Hitting cleanup gets you more attention and a closer look.  I want every advantage I can get.”

“You were pissed off because you had to wear glasses, but if you hadn’t worn the glasses you wouldn’t be in the lineup.”

“I was immature and didn’t know how much of a difference they’d make.  It never occurred to me that it would be the difference between playing and not playing.  That was a long time ago.  We’re having a banner year.  I’ll be a senior next year and we should be even better.  Scouts are bound to come looking because we are playing winning ball.”

“Yeah, well, they’ll see you.  All you can do is the best you can.”

“I know.  I’ve worked hard.  I don’t want to lose my shot if I can do anything about it,” he said a little forlorn.

“Well, you’ve got another advantage over Monty,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“You are way cutter than him,” I bragged.

“You better say that,” he said, grabbing for me.  “Besides, you’ve got to say that to your lover.  You better say that.”

“Truth hurts and you’re way nicer than he is.”

“And I got you,” he said, kissing me as I leaned across his chest.  “And you’re way more handsome than Monty, too.”

“You better say that,” I said as he kissed me passionately.

We slept well that night, once we got around to it. 

Chapter 6

Monty 

By the time we got back to campus Andy showed no sign of being laid low by Coach Bell’s decision.  I’d done all within my power to keep his mind off baseball.  I did invite Bobby Henry over for Sunday dinner and my father was particularly delighted.  Dad had wanted a house full of sons for hunting and fishing and especially for playing games, but my mother had such a difficult time giving birth to me that they stopped there.

Bobby talked about how much different it was playing for money than it was playing for your school.  The pressure we felt as college players could be multiplied by three or four times when playing ball was your livelihood.  The pressure was on his mind, but the love of the game overcame any disadvantages moving on to the minor league might present.

Andy listened carefully but didn’t talk much.  I tried to anticipate what might be some of the questions on his mind and ask Bobby about them.  He was anxious and excited and there was no doubt he expected to go to the Big Show.  Most players knew after a year or two if anyone was interested.  Many times the scouts who recruited college players often followed their careers and knew if and when a team was in the market for a player at that position.  Many times it was simply a matter of luck and how easily you could move from being a right fielder to playing left if that’s what was needed.

Even when Bobby coached me in high school, I felt he was headed for the Major League.  He had it all and was the cornerstone of our high school team.  He was the go-to guy and whatever was called-for Bobby produced.  He was never rattled and rarely went hitless for long or booted balls he could reach.  When he did make an error, he didn’t dwell on it and he didn’t repeat it any time soon.

I could sit and listen to Bobby talk all day but I had other responsibilities and didn’t encourage Bobby to stay once dinner was done.  My father was still talking as he was leaving and Andy and I went up to my room where he promptly kicked off his shoes and sprawled on my bed for a nap.  He was hard to read.  He usually talked to me, but he didn’t have much to say.

My father got up way early to see to it that we were back to school on time.  I was just able to make my first class of the day and I didn’t see Andy again until practice.  After getting dressed and getting out to the practice field, Andy was in the batters box and pounding one ball after another into the farthest reaches of the outfield.  There was no effort in his swing; the bat gave off an impressive cracking sound each time the pitcher pitched.

Batting-practice pitchers were there to be hit.  Rarely did any of our good pitchers volunteer.  I think it bruised their psyche to let guys hit you when your job was not to let them hit you.  Pitchers were notoriously self-absorbed with the team coming in right after their own ego.

I suppose all of us had that to a degree.  We were on stage and if we shined and played our roll well, we were praised.  If we didn’t perform and brought attention to ourselves because of poor performance, we got shot down and sometimes we were moved out of the starting lineup, replaced by someone better able to play the role.

Monday was a near perfect day.  It was the kind of day when you don’t want to come inside.  I stayed in the infield for a long time, fielding for hitters who came up to hit ground balls that challenged us.  This kept me loose and on top of my game.  Chance chattered and laughed and made perfect throws to first once I’d gotten him the ball.  It was smooth, fluid, and the two of us could cover the center of the infield as well as anyone could. 

That was the ego thing popping up but we did work well together.  We could read each other like a good book.  I never had to wonder where he was in the infield if I had to make an off-balance throw.  I knew by the way the ball was hit where he’d be.  There was never a doubt in his mind what kind of throw he could expect from me.  There were no surprises.  That’s how we avoided careless errors that cost unearned runs.  The longer we played together the smoother we became.

Coach Bell had to tell us to come off the field for fear we’d tire ourselves out.  I didn’t think fielding could tire me out, but batting, that was a different story.  Chance, Wertz, Andy, and even Monty stood by the batting cage to offer advice.  I no longer hated batting.  I didn’t sweat waiting to come to bat.  My improvement was modest at best, but at least my legs no longer shook.  Keeping a close eye on the ball allowed me to walk frequently enough to keep my average near .250.  Every time I walked, it took one at-bat off my statistics.  This helped my average as much as the hits I got.  It was better but it wasn’t good.

On Tuesday I singled on my first at bat.  I went to second when Brooks dribbled a ball into the infield.  I was on second with one out when Chance came up to bat.  He lined a ball that the shortstop barely caught at the tip of his glove.  Luckily I hadn’t taken my usual carefree lead and I stepped back on second before the shortstop could get the ball out of his glove to make a play.

Monty came up and hit a line drive between first and second.  I was crossing home plate before the ball got back to the infield.  Monty was on second.  Andy hit a towering fly ball into straightaway centerfield.  The fielder kept backing up and backing up as the high flying ball carried further and further until the fielder’s back pressed against the chain link fence.  When he dropped his glove it was obvious the ball was going, going, gone.

We led 3-0 after one inning.  After being driven home by Andy’s homer, Monty waited at the plate to greet him.  They jogged together back to the bench.  In one nice sweet swing Andy showed us his new fifth place hitting spot didn’t change the way he played the game.  I was happy for him and went over and sat next to him.  He blushed when he looked at me.

“You trying to make me look bad?” Coach Bell asked Andy.

“No, sir.  Just playing baseball.”

“Damn nice swubg,” Coach Bell bragged.

It was one of those chess-playing games.  Our pitcher kept the opposition hitting the ball on the ground and Chance and I showed our stuff.  It was my kind of game as I had to reach for a lot of the balls, but the results were never in question in my mind.  We could have gone home after the first inning.  We won 3-0 and had five shutouts on the season.

We won Thursday going away.  Both Andy and Monty hit homers.  I got two singles and chance drove me in with a double once and I scored on Andy’s home run the second time.  Coach Bell sat silent in his chair at the end of the bench.  The team was loose and we were playing as well as we’d played all season.

We had a long bus ride and a Saturday game away from home.  A few dozen cars and another bus came with us because by this time our momentum had excited the school.  We remained two games out in front in our league and more and more students were coming out to watch us play.  This was the first game when more than a couple of cars came with us.

I struck out my first time at bat.  Brooks grounded to second.  Chance walked.  Monty lined out to right field.  The first batter on the other team caught a high outside fastball on the first pitch and knocked it over the big green wooden fence that surrounded the outfield.  There were two singles and Coach Bell stood up to get a closer look.

By the time the inning was over we were down 3-0.  A Dooley to Chance to Morgan double play ended the inning or it could have been worse.  We chipped away over the next four innings and got the score to 3-2, but we came up in the fifth without getting our offense going.

Our pitcher walked and I got hit by a pitch.  There was no one out with runners on first and second and Brooks struck out.  Chance came up to hit a grounder down the third base line.  I stopped at second and the throw to first base was too late to get Chance but the lead runner was out at third.  Monty was up.

Monty fouled off one ball after another and the count stayed 0-2 for what seemed like forever.  The pitcher would rare back to deliver a blazing fastball and Monty would catch just enough to keep from striking out.  I was sure the guy had thrown nine or ten straight fastballs right down the center of the plate.  No one had ever challenged Monty in such a way.

After about the tenth foul ball Monty tagged one over second base.  I rounded third and scored the tying run and when I turned to see how the play ended, Chance was coming right at me, scoring the run that put us into the lead.  Monty was on second base smiling at us.  Monty didn’t often smile but he liked what he saw.

Andy followed the same routine, fouling off one ball after another as the pitcher threw nothing but heat.  If Andy could only catch a hold of one, the ball would have gone into orbit, but he didn’t.  He went for what turned out to be a curveball and he never came close to connecting.

It was 4-3 and we led as we came up and went down without getting anyone on in the last inning.  The opposing team would have one opportunity to tie or defeat us or we’d go home with another win.  The first man up singled.  The next guy walked.  I was unable to stay still.  Between watching the runners, our pitcher, and the batter, I had way more to do than I liked.

The third guy came up and laid down a bunt that our pitcher had to field.  He threw out the batter at first but with one out there were runners on second and third.  If one run scored we’d go into extra innings, but if that second run scored, the game was over and they won.  We had to keep that second run from scoring, but even a high fly would score the man on third.

Our pitcher went to taking a full windup before his pitches while keeping an eye on the runners to keep them from taking too much of a lead.  If we could only pick one of them off it would be a good break for us, but they knew the score too and they weren’t taking any risks.  The runners stayed close and watched the pitcher for any sign of an attempted pickoff play.

With one out and a 2-1 count on the batter, he caught the next pitch on the fat part of the bat and lined it right at Chance.  There was no way to get either of the runners.  They both got safely back to base to avoid a double play.  They’d have been off and running if the ball hadn’t been hit so hard, but at least we had the second out and still had a chance of keeping the lead if we could only get the next guy out.

I watched the runners and our pitcher.  I stayed loose and pondered every contingency.  Then, the batter caught hold of the next pitch.  It was another line drive, but this one was heading into the outfield with Monty having to run at full speed to try to reach it.  The modest crowd stood cheering.  Both runners crossed the plate and stood watching, and then there was the most awful sound I’d ever heard.  Monty had run into the green fence at nearly full speed.

Lying flat on his back he didn’t move.  The crowd went totally still.  The runners stood at the plate with our catcher.  Chance and I ran into the outfield right behind the infield’s umpire.  Andy and Wertz leaned over him but he didn’t move.  Wertz looked around for the ball.

“Did it go over the fence?” Chance asked.  “All I saw was Monty hitting that fence.”

Monty’s legs started to move.  The umpire yelled at us to get away from him.  The trainer for the opposing team came sliding to Monty’s side with his medical box.  Monty moaned.

“What the fuck hit me,” Monty said, and all of us laughed weakly at hearing him speak.

“The ball?” the umpire yelled at our fallen teammate.

Monty raised the hand with his glove on it and dropped it at the umpire’s feet.  The ball rolled out of the glove and settled between the umpire’s shoes.

Pivoting around to face the plate the umpires arm shot into the air as he yelled, “He’s out!”

I was aware of the drama around me but I was more concerned with the way Monty hit the wall than how the game had turned out.  The crowd was remarkably quiet since their team had just lost the game.  No one left their seats as they waited for some sign from the outfield.  There was something more important than the game to the people who came to see it.  I was glad to be there to see that.

It took a few minutes for Monty to regain his senses, but the trainer had to splint his throwing arm.  He was sure it was broken.  When Monty stood up to be taken to the university hospital, the crowd applauded politely and only then did they leave the stadium.  Chance, Andy, and I escorted Monty to the waiting emergency vehicle.  He smiled and Coach Bell got in beside him.

Winning one more game wasn’t important.  Although we had won the game it wasn’t worth the price we paid.  I’m not a hypocrite and I was no fan of Monty Kristoff, but seeing him hurt was never something I wanted to happen.  Even Andy felt bad for his biggest competition.  It was far larger than breaking an arm.  Monty was on the fast track to the Big Show.  We all agreed on that.  This was not going to help his career in baseball.

We returned to school without Monty or Coach Bell.  There was no celebration or happy banter about how great we were.  Most all of our thoughts stayed back with Monty.  No one missed the fact that our team was missing what had been an essential piece all season.  We weren’t as good a team without Monty.  It didn’t excite any of us to contemplate going on without him.

Chapter 7

Hangover 

Once the bus parked behind the stadium to discharge the team, we all headed for the cafeteria.  Chance was the only one to offer some humor and levity.  Even Wertz, his best foil, failed to respond.  When Chance fell silent, the sounds of our utensils was all that was heard in our part of the dining room.

I can’t explain where our energy went.  It’s difficult to understand the dynamics of a team, until those dynamics are disturbed.  Monty hardly ever joined in with any of our college diversion techniques.  At most he’d take a beer at one of our dorm gatherings where most of the team blew off steam and even Monty couldn’t help but laugh at some of Chance’s jokes.  That’s as good as it got.  Monty was solitary and not interested in anything that didn’t involve a baseball or a bat.

I followed Andy to our dorm room and it was relatively quiet.  He locked the door as soon as we got inside and we were  immediately stripping out of the uniforms we were still wearing, instead of the street clothes we’d left in our lockers in the baseball locker room.  His kisses were more aggressive than usual.  There was no doubt where we were heading, and Andy’s excitement pointed the way to our bed.

Whatever he had, I caught immediately.  I was dizzy, hot, and horny as hell.  Our mournful demeanor got lost in the lust we couldn’t control.  It took me all of a few seconds to stop thinking about Monty Kristoff.  Andy wanted me to ride him and that was no hardship on my end if a little hard on his, but he kept asking for more and harder, and he knew how long I’d last—not long.  There was a trick to my timing he knew, and once done, he got to work on twice for good measure.  Riding time increased after my initial discharge.  This was what Andy was after and he kept asking for more and harder.  This troubled me, not because he wanted me to become more aggressive with his bottom, but because his bottom had me wanting to get into Andy’s desire, which then became my own.

I was not into harder faster longer, but the harder I fucked him, the faster I fucked him, the longer I fucked him.  After one and two one might think three was a charm, but by that time Andy was the charm and I was merely a slave to his body as he responded by having intense orgasms, followed by soft moaning, kissing, and more hard fucking that he initiated as often as he could keep me up to the task.  I’d never had better sex than we had that night.

Well, maybe the next morning I did.  I woke up with him on top of me, kissing me passionately.  I worried about my breath.  He didn’t.  This time Andy wanted to be on top.  Who was I to argue?  It didn’t matter the position, it only mattered I was with him.  Man, was I with him.  I began to think I might stay horny forever, and that would certainly present a problem if I had to go out in public.  There was no doubt everyone would know my randy condition, but hey, who’s complaining.

I nearly missed my first class and it was a review for our final exam.  It was not a good move.  I was sure I’d pass the class but I needed to pass the final.  I was late for my second class because I crashed and burned and had to stop for food before I could regroup.  I tried to figure out how much sleep I had the night before but I had no idea.  Then, halfway through my sandwich, and halfway to being late to my second class in a row, it hit me: Monty Kristoff.

I dumped the sandwich in the first trash can and fought off my need to vomit.  The professor stopped talking as I stepped into the back of the classroom.  Everyone turned around and looked at me.  He waited until I was comfortably seated before resuming the lesson.  I didn’t hear a word he said and only after the class was emptying out did I realize it had ended.

I couldn’t be sure if I was hungry or sick at my stomach.  I didn’t eat again that day and my stomach didn’t change much.  I didn’t think I’d throw up any longer but things were changing fast.  We were down to the final two games of the regular season.  We couldn’t lose the league championship at that point.  There was a playoff system I’d avoided thinking about, but there was no room for losing once you started the elimination round.  We’d made mince meat out of most of the competition and we were expected to advance easily through the tri-state playoffs.

We had two days before our next to last game of the regular season.  I put on my practice uniform and sat in front of my locker throwing a baseball into my glove over and over again.  Around me doors of lockers opened and closed.  There were polite voices in quick conversations.  A banging sound brought my attention to Wertz, lying on his back on the end of the bench, throwing a baseball up against the wall over and over again.  He’d catch it and throw it at the same spot on the wall.  Chance and Morgan sat staring at the same thing I watched.

Slowly the locker room emptied.  Wertz stopped throwing the ball.  I tossed my spare ball into the open locker in front of me and I closed it, heading for the practice field.

“Where’s Coach Bell?” Andy asked.

“He went to pick up Monty.  They kept him overnight to check for a concussion.  It’s routine when someone knocks themselves out,” Coach Briscoe told us.

Practice started and we gradually got with the program after some healthy exercises.  I stood with Andy and took my turn at batting practice.  It’s what I needed to work on.  Andy hardly looked at me and when he took his turn in the batting cage, he did his usual sweet swinging, scattering the balls around the outfield.  I wondered if he was back to being the cleanup hitter?  Who was going to play centerfield?  Our team was out of sync with a major piece missing.

Later in the day we took our positions in the infield.  Wertz batted balls for us to field.  I felt out of sorts and now I was hungry.  There was a line drive to Chance, a grounder to Brooks at third and a long throw across to Morgan.  Then a hot grounder came right at me and I fielded it before it dribbled out of my glove onto the ground.  I stared at it.  I didn’t reach for it or try to touch it.  I looked at it and walked off the field.

“I can’t do this today,” I said, hitting the showers.

I went to the cafeteria and ate whatever the stuff was they were serving.  I was eating to fill up the hole inside my stomach.  This time it didn’t make me sick.  I did think of Monty and worried his baseball career was over.  He’d been the one most likely to succeed.  There’s been talk he’d not even come back for his senior year.  Someone would be watching him during our playoff games, and he’d announce he was entering the draft a year early.  I thought he was good enough.  Most of us had thought he was that good.  Like Bobby Henry, Monty was the complete ballplayer.

With my belly full I returned to the dorm room and went to bed.  I couldn’t believe how absolutely exhausted I was.  Why I was so tired was beyond comprehension.  I was simply exhausted by life.  Before anything could get a hold of my brain I was sleeping.  Andy slept in his own bed for one of the few times since we’d started sleeping together.  After our longest days and most stressful games, we’d sometimes opt to get some sleep instead of some satisfaction.

It was daylight when I woke up.  I’d slept over twelve hours.  I didn’t know what time Andy came in but he was still sleeping.  I had an hour before my first class and Andy only had two classes that hadn’t finished and those were carefully scheduled for later in his day.  He’d get an A in his different incarnations of gym class even if he never showed up.  One of his gym teachers gave him his final exam the week before Monty was hurt.  It consisted of him taking batting practice with the gym teacher serving up big fat juicy pitches you could only pray for.  The only thing the gym teacher marked him down on was losing two balls they never did find.  It was one of those jokes only the teacher gets but an A is and A is an A and Andy only had to worry about his two mainstream courses, although I wasn’t certain Andy cared if he graduated or not as long as he maintained eligibility for the baseball season.

I had a final exam before lunch.  I was ravenous once I was sure I’d passed it.  It was the class I’d been late for the morning of the review.  I figured I made a C or above on the exam, which meant no worse than a B for the course if the professor didn’t mark me down for failing to be completely present for the review.  They usually didn’t do things like that to make a point because it excited the coaches who wanted to see concrete justification for poor grades.  I was lucky I was a good student and didn’t need to work all that hard to maintain my eligibility.

Coaches were mysterious characters.  Of the coaches I’d had only Coach Bell was the least bit likeable.  I had no understanding of the man, but he put things in perspective and if you stacked college ball up against the starving kids in Sudan, baseball was no big deal, but if you stacked winning up against losing ballgames, well, all coaches wanted to win almost more than anything else.  Once you got to college ball, if you wanted a job, you better show something.

Coach Bell called me to his office that afternoon before practice.  I knocked on his door and stepped inside.  He was studying a form or a schedule in front of him and didn’t look up.

“You left practice yesterday without mentioning it to Coach Briscoe?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looked up into my face, keeping one stubby finger on his place.

“It’s the day before a game and we have another game two days after that game.  Saturday morning you’ll give me a hundred laps around the practice field.  The next time you walk out on your team, Mr. Dooley, you can turn in that uniform.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

“No, sir.”

“I’m making Chance the infield leader.  Don’t get the idea you are bigger than the game, Mr. Dooley.  You are here on my dime, not yours.  You’ll respect me, my coaches, and your teammates if you want to play ball at State.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go on.  If you have something we need to talk about, my door is open to you.  In case you are interested and because it might sooth your angst, I’ve made arrangements for Monty to rehabilitate with a minor league team.  He’s been on their shortlist for their next starting centerfielder.  They’re affiliated with one of the biggest franchises and have a premier rehabilitation center at their disposal.  Monty might well be pinch hitting in the minors by summer’s end.  Get out of here,” he said, moving his finger as his eyes went back to his reading.

I’d never considered consequences for my actions.  I had been given responsibilities and I’d taken it upon myself to walk away from them.  I could have taken a minute and told Coach Briscoe I was sick and needed to leave practice, but I’d done it my way and paid a price.  When I went out to practice I realized how high a price.  Al Kane was playing first base and Morgan was in right with Wertz taking the centerfielder’s position.

We took light infield practice and I wondered why Coach Bell put Al Kane on first?  The guy was a walking disaster when it came to fielding.  He did have a good bat and without Monty in the lineup, we’d be missing power.  Al Kane was no Monty Kristoff when it came to batting.  We went through the motions and halfway through practice, Chance strolled over to me.

“Why the long face, sad sack.  Nothing’s changed.  It’s still your infield and Coach Bell knows it.  He’ll come around in a few days.”

“He’s right.  I wasn’t thinking about the team.  I was thinking about myself.”

“You were not.  You were thinking about exactly what all of us were thinking about.  If you hadn’t walked off I probably would have, but I couldn’t once you were gone.  The infield would have really had a hole in it with both of us missing,” he said, smiling broadly and nudging me with his elbow.  “You taught this kid Kane everything he knows.  Is he any good?”

“Don’t surprise him.  He’ll be okay.  We’ve got to make sure we don’t put any pressure on him.”

“That’s what I thought.  They say he’s got a good bat.  I don’t pay attention to the freshman team because I didn’t even like it when I played on it.  Freshmen, makes me think of guys who can’t keep their hands off the girls.”

“Yeah, right, shut up.  Just be smooth with the kid and we’ll be okay.”

“Babysitting two games before we hit the big time,” Chance lamented, walking back toward second.

“Hey, Chance,” I said, making him turn his head back in my direction.  “Thanks.”

No one else mentioned Monty the rest of the day.  It was a short practice meant to keep us loose.  We spent a few extra minutes making throws to Kane.  We had two fairly good infielders sitting on the bench, but Kane was the future and Coach Bell was going to go with him, though he could bring in the other guys if need be.  We had options but we needed Monty Kristoff.  I never thought I’d miss him once he was gone. 

Chapter 8

Monty Less

Andy didn’t know or wasn’t talking about where Monty was heading.  I didn’t feel it was up to me to say anything.  Coach Bell didn’t say it was supposed to be general knowledge and I didn’t dare step on his toes again.  We both knew there were all kinds of problems with college guys and college coaches being involved in soliciting teams before the rules allowed.  I knew why Coach Bell stuck his neck out in this case and he wouldn’t have done it for a guy that wasn’t going anywhere anyway, but if it meant saving a kids career, he did whatever it took to help the kid in spite of the rules.  It was his job as the kids coach to help him if he could. 

Monty doing what we’d been speculating he’d do a few weeks earlier than the rules allowed didn’t bother me, because being in a first class rehab program might make the difference in him being an also ran and an even better big time major leaguer.  The rules weren’t there to protect the kids as much as they were there to protect the colleges in my mind.

Coach Bell had put his player first, which is what I knew he did daily.  He never mentioned it to me again either and I didn’t inquire how the rehab was going.  It was none of my business and that’s how I liked it.

I must admit it was a relief knowing what I knew for some reason.  Once the word started to spread, Monty withdrew from school the day after he was injured so he could go to rehab, the speculation started.  Maybe a major league team was taking a look at him became a major league team was taking a look at him. 

Of course he was a really good hitter, he could field fine, and his throwing arm was good before he broke it.  No one doubted he’d make it if the arm came around.  The break wasn’t serious as breaks go and it wasn’t going to hurt him in the long run if the rehabilitation was complete.  We all agreed.

We had a home game and the stands were more than half full.  Students were enthusiastic as we warmed up before the game.  Kane dropped the first ball I threw to him from shortstop.  He kept apologizing.  Chance told him to shut up and keep his mind on what he was doing.  I cringed.  Chance was never harsh but Kane had evidently rubbed him the wrong way.  I kept my opinion to myself.  It wasn’t going to help the situation but I didn’t think we were going to maintain our modest advantage over the competition after losing Monty, but what did I know?

“You coming out after next season?” Chance asked when we went to get a drink, after our warm-up ended.

“Me?  No.  This is the end of the line for me.  I can’t hit, Chance.  No one wants a shortstop that can’t hit.”

“You’re the best damn shortstop in the state.  You hit okay.  You aren’t going to win any batting titles but you got a good eye and you walk a lot.  You win games with your glove.  Someone’s going to want you in their infield.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll be taking a long walk after college.  This is it for me.  I’ll follow you in the papers as you work your way through the Bigs.  You, my friend, are the real deal.”

“I’ve started to think about coming out.  I can’t get Monty out of my brain.  Man, you got a shot and the next minute.  Oh, man, what a bummer.  I didn’t even like the guy.  I’m still sick over it.  I hear him hitting that wall when I go to bed at night.”

“He’s got his ticket punched,” I said.

”Yeah, right, the market on one armed centerfielders is going great guns.”

“The rehab he’s going to is affiliated.  He’s already withdrawn from school.  The boy’s a free agent.  He’s on his way.  You should be so lucky.  It’s obvious what’s going down,” I said confidently to boost his spirits.

“Yeah, well, if you say so.  I’ve never known you to even bend the truth, but that doesn’t change my feelings.  One day you’re worth a million bucks on the futures market and the next day you’re toast.  I ain’t going to play that game.  If anyone so much as asks me for my phone number, I’m out of here.”

“Don’t rush it, Chance.  You’ve got a solid career ahead of you.  Don’t rush if you don’t think you’re ready yet.  When you think you’re ready, put your name out there.  This college isn’t going to give you anything for your talent.”

I knew how he felt.  I wasn’t going on past my senior year of ball but seeing Monty go the way he did wasn’t encouraging.  I could still hear him smashing into that fence too.  The memory was still fresh, although in time the sound might be muffled by my distance from it.  You not only had to be good but lucky as hell to make it to the majors.  Monty and Chance were good bets in my mind and Andy was almost as likely to move on up.  

We took the field as the game got underway and I tossed the ball into the dugout, once we’d sent it around the horn so that all the infielders touched it.  Coach Bell watched the ball rolling toward his chair before looking at me.  I was still leading his infield, even after he told me I wasn’t.  It was habit and he’d need to get over it.  I made up my mind to stop worrying.  There were finals to pass and games to play.  I’d worry once school was out for the year.

We’d been pressed down the stretch and we used up our best pitchers keeping out two game lead in our league.  Coach Bell called on Jim Bale.  He’d been doing relief work for most of the season, but many of our games hadn’t required much more than an inning or two of relief.  Jim was lucky to see a batter in a game once or twice a week and then it was to keep him from getting rusty.  He wasn’t our best reliever and therefore using him up wouldn’t cost us that much.  

His warm ups looked fine and he’d spent a lot of time pitching his own team batting practice.  Because he didn’t pitch all that often, getting hit by his own team was better than not pitching at all.  His first two pitches were balls; he seemed focused and his motion looked good.  The third pitch was one I’d had nightmares about since the day I walked out on practice, after Monty’s injury.  It was hit directly at me and popped out of my glove and landed at my feet.  It was exactly what happened that day.  For some reason it had caused my mind to shut down and I left.  I couldn’t pull that crap again.

It ran through my brain for about a third of a second.  I reached straight down for the ball and fired it at first base.  At the point I released the ball, I realized Morgan wasn’t on first base. Kane was.  I cringed and waited for it to go sailing past him, too hot for him to handle, but Kane caught it much to my relief.

“Nice recovery,” Chance said from over my shoulder, sounding impressed.

Coach Bell stood and applauded my sloppy play and it was a damn good thing I made the play.  By the fifth inning Bale was sitting at the far end of the bench talking to him self.  He’d given up no hits, no runs, and we’d not made an error.  He was perfect after five.  It’s one of those moments you can’t mention to the pitcher but everyone knows what’s going down by that late in a game.  After five there’s a real chance the pitcher can complete a no-hitter.

Some of the steam went out of us when Bale walked the first runner in the sixth.  The next batter hit a lazy ground ball to my left.  I gobbled it up before making an off balance throw to Chance.  He danced across second base for the out and threw it on a rope to Kane for the double play.  I still cringed every time the ball went to Kane.  I’d seen him field before.

“Yes!  Yes!” Bale yelled at us, following the ball’s path closely. 

He struck out the next batter and the no-hitter stood going into the 7th inning.  The game was secondary by this time.  We led 5-0 and Coach Bell stood up after Bale gave up the walk but once we’d turned the double play, he sat back down.  Bale struck out the first batter in the seventh and I was on pins and needles. 

‘Lord don’t let me fuck up,” I prayed as I surveyed my infield.

Most of the crowd was on their feet by this time, sensing they were seeing something special. 

Bale dug furiously at the mound with his cleats.  He talked to himself, sometimes yelling at the dirt he kicked.  He spit and pitched the next ball in a fury of arms and legs. 

The first walk didn’t alarm me.  We weren’t going to lose the game.  There was only one question on my mind.  Would Jim Bale make his first start a no-hitter?  After the second walk, Coach Bell was up pacing.  I could see he wanted to pull him for a relief pitcher, but he couldn’t.  You couldn’t take a possible no-hitter away from a pitcher, but if another man reached base, Bale would be done.  He wanted to let the kid play out the string.

There were three straight balls on the next hitter.  Bale was circling the mound like a circus cat.  He kicked the dirt and yelled at it.  He turned his back to the plate and rubbed up the ball.  The runners led off of first and second but there weren’t going to be any throws.  This was pitcher against batter and Bale had reached the end of the line.  There was one out, two on, and three balls on the batter.  He stood on the mound and stared in at the catcher. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off Bale.  It was like watching a horror movie and you just knew the demon was about to jump up and grab someone.

The umpire called time.  He walked out to the pitchers mound.  He said something to Bale but it wasn’t hurry up and pitch or some order he felt obligated to give.  I think he knew the kid was scared shitless.  It was like having rolled eleven straight strikes in bowling and you need one more strike to have a 300 game.  It was the third ball in the tenth frame for Bale and he was having trouble letting go of it.  He stood somewhere between history and dreaming about what might have been.  I did not envy him.

Coach Bell stood and applauded his pitcher.  The bench was empty with everyone standing as close to the first base line as the umpire would allow.  There was a buzz running through the stands as the word spread about what was going on. 

Finally Bale pitched the ball and it leaped off the bat.  I caught it by moving left and stretching out toward third.  I wasn’t able to spring up fast enough to throw the guy out at second before he scooted back.  There were two outs and the no hitter remained a possibility.  If only I could have gotten that runner at second.  At least the ball hadn’t got past me.  I was even more nervous than before.  No way I’d have to field another ball in that inning.  I wanted the game to end.  I didn’t care how.  I just wanted to leave.

Bale kept his back to the plate and stared at me.  I was sure he was wondering why I hadn’t turned the double play so he could get out of here too.  We were both doing the best we could.  He was ready to pitch faster this time.  The count went to 2-2 and he was prowling the pitcher’s mound again.  He came to attention after a minute of preparation and he threw the sweetest curveball I think I’ve ever seen.  The guy was swinging at it as it tailed off and a way from the plate.

“Strike three,” the umpire yelled.

Game over.

Bale was rushed by his team.  He jumped up on the catcher Boggs and wrapped his legs around his waist.  He began pumping his fist in the air screaming, “Yes!  Yes!  Yes!”

Boggs could hardly hold him for the equipment he was wearing but it was his no-hitter too.  No pitcher could take full credit for a no-hitter without giving some credit to the catcher.  It didn’t matter who got the credit.  We were a team and we’d just seen a brilliantly pitched game from a substitute starter.  Coach Bell could do no wrong and the crowd roared its approval long after the final pitch.  We were still winning ballgames.

I loved baseball.  This was why I played.  There was always something new and exciting that happened.  It might look simple and easy and somewhat mundane, until you see a guy like Bale, a nobody on his own team, pitch a no-hitter.  Magic moments are rare but Bale’s no-hitter will always be one for me.  Like a caged animal, he performed for the ringmaster, and Coach Bell bragged about what we’d seen.  Bale was tall and skinny and he wore thick glasses to boot.  He was an unlikely looking hero.

We were all flying high again.  It was as difficult to say how we’d handle Monty’s departure from the team.  He hadn’t even come around to say goodbye, but that didn’t surprise me.  The worry was that not having him in the lineup might upset the balance we’d established on the team.  Even if one guy wasn’t hitting, someone else always was.  We had fewer options without him in the lineup.  We’d no-hit a fifth place team in our league.  Our hitting had been fine but they were a fifth place team and we were leading the league.

     Coach Bell ordered pizza and Jim Bale was immediately inducted into State’s Baseball Hall of Fame Honor Roll.  We made the most of the impromptu celebration.  We had a day off and then the final game of the season that meant nothing.  It was still a game and it had to be played.  Then we’d start our playoff games the following weekend and if we advanced to the finals in the Tri-state championships we’d get invited to play in the NCAA tournament ball.  We were confident and feeling good as the season was coming to a close.

We won the final game going away and finished three games out front in our division.  Our pitchers were rested, our hitters were hitting, but our fielding had slipped a bit with Morgan moving to the outfield as Kane settled in at first.

We won our first three games in the Tri-state but it was against the weakest teams who advanced into the tournament.  None of the games were close and we seemed to be maintaining our momentum.  It was easy to feel good and think we were on our way to the NCAA national tourney.  The excitement in the locker room increased every day we advanced to the next level.  We were having fun.

Our first loss was to Collinwood, which stung big time.  They’d won the league championship the previous two seasons.  We’d beaten them all season but they’d played tournament ball before and we were new to it.  We beat Standardsville and it came down to Collinwood vs. State for the league championship and the free pass into the NCAA tourney.  One of us would advance and one of us was going home for the summer.

We hit three home runs in the last game.  Andy had two and Wertz one.  We’d scored eight runs.  It was one of our best run productions of the season.  Collinwood scored 11 runs and we were eliminated. 

It’s not how we’d planned it.  Some guys would say Collinwood simply out-played us.  Other guys would say it was Monty cost us a shot at advancing further in the tournament.  I didn’t believe we’d have lost if Monty had been in the lineup.  He’d been an important part of the team all year and you can’t simply yank a freshman into the lineup and figure you’re going to remain as competitive as before.  It was a long shot at best and it hadn’t paid off.

I can’t say how many nights I was kept up thinking about what might have been.  Chance shrugged, Wertz punched his locker door into submission, I pouted, Andy sat silent with little to say.  Coach Bell went about his business, accounted for the game uniforms to get them dry cleaned and ready for the following season.  The padlock was put on the practice fields and the cage that separated the baseball team’s lockers from the rest of the athletes.

I maintained my B average and there were only two exams and one paper due after the final game of our season.  I didn’t even look to see what was going on in the tournament.  I guess if I wasn’t in it I didn’t care, but my father would know and he’d tell me.  For him I’d act interested.

Andy was going to come home with me for a week and then I was flying out to his house for a week.  It would give me something to do besides work, but I had a job with a construction firm that would keep me outdoors.  I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to work inside.  I had never liked being indoors all that much.  I guess I could always come back and reclaim my lawn mowing empire, but I’d done that before.

Coach Bell called me into his office one more time before the season ended.  He informed me that Monty would play in Portland any part of this year he might be available and the following season if I wanted to watch their box score.

“Chance told me he didn’t want to run my infield, you know.  You didn’t intimidate that boy, did you John?”

“No, sir.”

“You do understand why I had to do that, John?”

“Yes, sir.  It was stupid and disrespectful.  You did the right thing.  I don’t know what made me do it.”

“What did Chance tell you about running my infield?”

“He told me nothing had changed.  He told me I was the best shortstop in the state.”

“Sounds like Chance.  Monty and him were always the ones I picked as major leaguers.  He going to declare after next season?  No one will look at him before that.”

“You’ll have to ask him.  He doesn’t tell me his business,” I said.

“Yeah, but you know his mind.  The big money is out there.  Guys like Chance can only wait for so long.  He’ll go after his junior year.  We’ll need to find a new infield, John.  Brooks graduates.  Where do we stand with Kane?”

“He’s trouble, Coach.  I didn’t like it when I worked with him and I especially don’t like him in my infield,” I said positively.

“My infield,” Coach Bell declared.  “What if we go with Morgan back to first and I’ll get Wertz to work with Kane in right field?  I just don’t want those two beating the hell out of each other.  Wertz ain’t got good sense and Kane’s no Einstein.”

“He might do better in the outfield.  You keep him at first and he’ll cost us a key game, maybe two.  The balls he dropped or missed this season didn’t cost us but you keep him there and he’ll lose us games.”

“Nice bat on that boy,” Coach Bell said.  “Why can’t I get a kid with a good bat and no attitude?”

“Andy,” I said.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  I’m lucky to have him.  I don’t think he took his demotion too hard.  I don’t see anyone in cleanup but him next season.  I hope he stays for his senior year.  He going to stay?”

“He hasn’t said anything different.  I haven’t asked.”

“He needs another year of seasoning.  We’ll be doing a little building next season and then, look out.  Your senior year is going to be a rebuilding year big time.”

“I’ve got all I can handle worrying about my own bat.  You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, Coach.  I don’t expect any favoritism.  I can only do the best I can do.  It’s all I got.”

“Sometimes it’s not easy.  Sometimes I wonder if I might just take one  of those minor league jobs and leave all this,” he said, opening his arms to indicate the typical tiny coaches office and the limited help he had bringing winning ball to State.

“Just don’t go before I do, Coach.  I got a feeling if you aren’t coaching I’m not in the starting lineup.  You appreciate what I bring to the game but another coach is going to see my batting average and sit me down.”

“I’m not going anywhere until we win the championship next year.  We should have gone this year, John.  This was our year.  I don’t know if next year will be as good.  I felt it in my bones this year.”

“I just play shortstop, Coach.”

“Yes you do, John.  You are one hell of a shortstop.  Now get the hell out of here so I can get some work done.  Have a good summer.  Watch your weight and stay away from fast women.”

School is out for the summer.

Will John Dooley return for another season?

The End