Outside the Foul Lines, book 5, A Major Success

Outside The Foul Lines

Book 5

A Major Success

For David

This book is set on and around a baseball diamond, but have no doubt, the story is about love, and as I've tried to demonstrate in dozens of novels and dozens of short stories, it isn't the setting that matters, it's the love my LGBTQ characters share that is important.

It doesn't matter where we are, LGBTQ folks, all of us, are a loving, caring, compassionate people and no one has to approve of us..

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Chapter 1

Andy & Do Passing Time

Having left their small farm in south central Indiana, where Do and Andy have called home for several decades, they get ready for an induction ceremony in a hotel room near Cincinnati.

“Quit squirming.”

“Can’t help it.”

“Andy, I can’t get it straight if you don’t stand still.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous.”

Do untied the mildly red tie to tie it again.

“Hall of Fame. That’s a big deal, Do?”

“I know, Andy. It’s only the team Hall.”

“Some pretty damn big names on that circle of Fame,” Andy said.

“All the more reason not to get too excited about it.”

“Can’t help myself. I want to look nice. How’s my hair?”

“Andy, you haven’t had hair in ten years,” I reminded him.

“Don’t remind me. You think I should shine my head?”

“Andy!”

“Just asking. Don’t want the shine to blind anyone.”

“How’s the arm?” I asked.

“Same,” he said.

It was always the answer.

“You didn’t wear your hat when you mowed yesterday. Your head is red, but it looks good. Goes with the tie.”

“Thank you. Not nearly as good as you look, Do. How do you stay so young? What’s your secret.”

“I have to take care of you, remember?”

“I don’t take a lot of upkeep and I do mow your lawn, Do.”

“Our lawn, Andy.”

“Yes, I mow them all.”

“There, look in the mirror. It’s the best I can do with your Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.”

“Damn nice, Do. You do good work. Don’t know what I would do without you,” Andy said.

“You’d wear snap-on-ties,” I said, admiring what a fine looking man Andy was.

He still filled a shirt like it was tailored for his broad shoulders and big chest. In spite of the wear and tear on him, he remained at his player’s weight.

“You like this shirt? Maybe something with a little more color.”

“Andy, you don’t want to look like you’re going to a circus. The shirt is fine. It’s respectable for the occasion.”

“That’s me, Do, respectable. I want to look good.”

“It’ll be fine, Andy. You always look good.”

“You just say that because you love me. You aren’t nervous at all?”

“No. As long as I’m with you I’m fine. You keep me calm, Andy.”

“That’s not what you said last night. You were pretty damn excited, as I recall, and you were with me then.”

“That hasn’t changed much. You light me up, Andy. I can never get enough of you. You’re all that’s important to me.”

“Don’t know, Do. The Hall of Fame is a big deal. You might not look at me the same way. You think it won’t change how you see me?”

“I’ve been seeing you the same way for 25 years, Andy. No, it won’t change how I see you. You’ll still be my one and only love.”

“That’s good. I don’t want anything to change us. Do you remember how many home runs I hit my last season?”

“Twenty-seven home runs. The popular opinion was that you’d hit fifty or more that year. How could I forget that. You hurt your arm in July, and your season ended. You’d have hit fifty easy. You always hit best in September.”

“Twenty-seven. It was mid-July when I broke my arm. It was all over that fast. Fifty or more and I ended with twenty-seven. That’s good for half the season.”

“Shit happens, Andy. You’d have hit sixty if you’d played the final two and a half months. You’d have been MVP, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

“You think so, Do?”

“You were swinging better than you’d ever swung before. Every time you came to the plate the outfield backed up, hoping to rob you of a homer if you didn’t get all of the ball.”

“Yeah, they did, didn’t they? I didn’t want to retire?”

“Andy, quit it. The break didn’t heal properly. You couldn’t play another season. You hit fifty home runs the year before. You know how many players hit fifty home runs in a single season?”

“No, how many, Do?”

“I don’t know. Not many. You were one hell of a hitter, Andy. You were one of the best sluggers. You can’t dwell on what might have been. Few people who saw you hit a homer will forget it.”

“I could have hit more. I was feeling good. We were winning big time and I furnished the power. We would have won the pennant if I kept hitting that way.”

“Yes, everyone said that, but it isn’t what happened and you’ve got to be satisfied with what you did, not what could have been, Andy. They still write about you. People still remember you.”

“They do. I still get invitations to the team banquet. I get invited back for the big team events. My team remembers me.”

“You haven’t played in fifteen years and they invite you back for all the big team events. You can’t let an early retirement eat you up, Andy. I don’t want anything eating you up but me. That’s my job.”

“You’re bad, Do. You always turn our conversations to sex.”

“That’s because you pull my chain, my love. You pull my trigger. You light my fire.”

“As often as I can,” Andy bragged, and he smiled, kissing my cheek and hugged me close.

“I’ve never been happier. We’ve had a good run. I’m lucky to have had you all these years.”

“I wonder how Coach Bell is doing? Did we get a Christmas card last year?” Andy said.

“We’ll find out in a few hours. He’ll be there.”

“He’s coming tonight?”

“He was invited. I haven’t heard he wasn’t coming. He’ll be there. He wouldn’t miss the induction for love or money.”

“He was a hell of a coach. I liked him. He put us together you know?”

“I know, Andy. I was there.”

“You were? Good thing too. We wouldn’t have met otherwise. You knew him a lot better than I did. You played for him a lot longer than I did.”

“Yes, I did. He was good at what he did. I’d never have stayed in ball after college if it wasn’t for him.”

“Quiet though. Didn’t talk much.”

“Except if you pissed him off.”

“That’s true, and that look he gave me when I pissed him off.”

“He followed your career as if you were on his team. He was always handing me a paper with your picture on the sports page or an article about you.”

“He did?”

“I didn’t have to look for the Pittsburg paper to find out what you were doing. Coach Bell always had a copy in the dugout at game time. If you didn’t call me the night before, he’d tell me what you did.”

“He did?”

“I told you he did, Andy. He knew about your arm before I did.”

“Yeah, I know. I like hearing you talk about it. Not about the arm though.”

“I never forgot a minute of it. It was like living in a story. I’ve never forgotten. Some mornings I wake up thinking I’ve got to get ready to play ball. Baseball was good to us, Andy.”

“It was in our blood, Do.”

*****

Two decades earlier in Louisville. It’s almost July, the heart of Louisville’s baseball season is at hand. It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s game time.

“Hey, John, get over here,” Coach Bell said as Do came in from warming up before the game.

“Yeah, Coach? What do you need?”

“See the paper, John?”

Do didn’t need to ask which paper. There was only one Coach Bell brought to his attention from time to time.

“No, I haven’t had time, Coach. You been working my butt off.”

“Quit your complaining. Your boy hit three last night. Got another headline. They’re a shoe-in for the pennant if Andy keeps hitting that way he did in June.”

“Let me see,” I said, holding up the sports page.

“Three in one game. I’ll be damned. He’s done it before, Coach.”

“Three times. This is his third time hitting three in one game.”

“He’s good,” I said.

“He could break all the records if he keeps up this pace,” Coach Bell said.

“No, I’d never mention that to him. You know how superstitious he is. He’s always worried if he’ll hit another one when he comes home. I keep telling him he’s going to be great, but he seems determined to doubt himself. He doesn’t believe he will.”

“Best slugger to come along in a while. He could go a long way if he stays healthy,” Coach Bell said.

“Healthy? He’s twenty-six and strong as a bull,” I said.

“John, if anyone knows you should know, but nothing ain’t for certain, until it’s done, son. I been in ball all my life. You never think you’ll do a thing until it’s done. If one thing is for certain, nothing is for certain until it’s done. Look up the names Roberto Clementi and Herb Score.”

“I never figured I’d be playing for you in Louisville. When you called me up, I never thought I’d play ball regularly. Now look at me. I’m your starting shortstop.”

“You have no shortage of talent, John. Speaking about not believing in yourself, you do your share of doubting,” Coach Bell said.

“I never figured on playing minor league ball, Coach. I thought college ball was it for me. I didn’t think I was good enough for pro ball. It’s only because of you I stayed in the game.”

“John, you’re the best shortstop I’ve ever coached. There are no limitations to how far you can go, except the ones you put on yourself. Don’t think a dozen teams haven’t taken a look at that glove of yours.”

“You think so, Coach? I’m only batting two-fifty. I can’t seem to get it up. I should hit better. I do walk a fair amount.”

“I didn’t bring you to Louisville for your bat. Walks count and you’ve got a good eye.”

“I know, but I wish I was batting twenty points higher. Chance is batting over three hundred, isn’t he?”

“He is. Three-twenty-three as of Saturday. You and Chance made a beautiful infield. You knew where he’d be on every play. He knew where you’d be. Two very good gloves in the middle of my infield. Having you both on the same team was something to see. I was blessed as a couch at State.”

“Chance went to Chicago last season, as I recall. Chicago gave up two players and future considerations to be disclosed later, or something like that.”

“He’ll have a home as long as he wants it. The infield is anchored on him now. Their last second baseman played twelve years for Chicago. Chance has at least that many if he stays healthy.”

“He was a good guy. I’d like to play with him one more time.”

“Would make for an impressive infield, you boys being together again. I’d pay to see it.”

July in Louisville was always hot and the humidity was reaching its peak as the first week of July came to a close. Do stayed at Mrs. Olson’s, except when he and Andy had a day off at the same time, and then they’d be home together, seeing to the chores and making sure the house was in good repair for the coming winter.

They’d discuss moving when Andy went to Pittsburg but Do loved the house, the land, and it was only a couple of hours from Louisville. When they could get home the same day, Andy flew into Indianapolis and drove to the house. Do drove up from Louisville if he was playing a home game.

*****

“John,” Coach Bell said as Do kneeled in the on-deck circle.

“Yeah, Coach,” Do said, carrying his bat over to the dugout.

“Bunt, John,” Coach Bell ordered.

“Coach, we’re two runs behind and no one is on base.”

“Bunt, John,” Coach Bell said again.

“Yes, sir, but I can’t bunt. I know…, bunt.”

The batter hit a looping pop fly the second baseman backed up a few dozen feet to catch. Do moved up to the plate, banging his bat on it twice before shouldering it to wait for the pitch.

“Bunt!” Do said loud enough for the plate umpire to respond.

“You okay, son?” the umpire asked.

“Yeah, I’m just spiffy,” Do said in his less than happy voice.

The count went to two and two when Do made an attempt to bunt the ball. He missed it and was automatically out on the third strike. He slammed his bat back into the rack and sat down feeling like he’d just been told to make a fool out of himself. He’d always been a lousy bunter. He didn’t have the feel to drop down a good bunt.

“John,” Coach Bell said in his expressionless voice.

“Yes, sir,” Do said, walking over to where Coach Bell leaned his chair against the back of the dugout.

“I want you to do that every third at bat, until I tell you not to.”

“Strike out. Sure, Coach. I’m good at striking out. It’ll do wonders for my batting average. You’re the coach,” Do said.

Do couldn’t stay mad at Coach Bell for long. He liked baseball too much for that. If the coach wanted him to bunt every third at bat, there must be a reason. ‘Early onset Alzheimer’s?’ Do wondered.

The visiting teams didn’t know it was every third time or they’d have pitched him differently. Most minor league clubs were too busy trying to attend to team business to do a lot of scouting in other minor league parks. So Do got away with bunting every third time without a lot of notice, except when the Louisville paper printed his two thirty-eight average, All the teams knew his batting average.

By mid-July the bunting was just something else he did. He was never going to hit for a high average, but giving up one at bat every game seemed goofy to Do, but Coach Bell didn’t call it off.

It was well into the second half of July when Do saw Andy for the first time since mid-June. Mostly Do read about Andy in the papers Coach Bell brought to the dugout. It was one of the hottest days of the summer. They were locked in a 2-2 deadlock with Omaha. Men were on 1st and 3rd in the 8th inning. Everyone dreaded extra innings on a Saturday afternoon that was sure to see temperatures hit a hundred.

Do knocked the dirt off his cleats as the humidity made everything stick to him. He had sweat running down from his batting helmet and his shirt was soaked by inning eight. It was his third at bat and Coach Bell hadn’t called off the bunting, and so Do was ready to go after the best pitch he could get.

The first two pitches went by for strikes. One was too high and the other was further outside than Do wanted to reach for. The third pitch was a curve, breaking in and low. It was a good pitch Do thought he was going to get, and he dropped it down toward third base.

The ball died half way between the pitcher and the 3rd base line. Twenty feet from the plate. All three players went toward the ball. The catcher hesitated, realizing his mistake too late. The runner on 3rd was charging home. The man on 1st  never stopped as he rounded 2nd. The catcher retreated back to cover the plate as one run scored and the second runner was almost on 3rd. The pitcher reached the ball first and threw it three feet over the head of the catcher. The second run scored and Do ended up standing on 3rd base. It was his first bunt hit.

Louisville led 4-2. Do’s first successful bunt was a beauty.

When Do came in to get his glove, after being stranded on 3rd, he saw Andy standing in the door to the clubhouse. Pittsburg played in D C Saturday afternoon, after completing a six game home stand. Do couldn’t add figure out what Andy was doing in Louisville, but the sling on his left arm was a clue.

“What did you hit this time?” Do asked Andy, remembering the errant punches surrounding Evan Lane’s appearance in Louisville.

“The ball. Didn’t have much to do with it. Just Broke.”

“How bad?”

“Tests are out. Just broke,” Andy said. “No point in hanging around there. Teams in Washington. They operated and put me back together again.”

“John,” Coach Bell said. “Ballgame.”

Do got his glove and looked back twice at Andy. Something didn’t add up. He went over what Andy said and the sling again. Andy stood beside Coach Bell’s chair as Do pounded his glove, watching the pitcher readying for his first pitch.

On the first pitch the batter hit a sharp ground ball to shortstop. Do slid over in front of it for an easy out at 1st. The second batter struck out on four pitches and the third batter popped up to second base. Do looked back at the dugout, feeling uneasy even though Andy was there with him.

The game was over. Louisville won 4-2.

Andy didn’t have anything to say and Do stood looking at the sling. Andy had grown to be tall and muscular. His shoulders were wide and he filled up a shirt like it was tailored for his big arms and chest, but the sling threw everything out of balance. Do felt off kilter. He should be delighted at seeing Andy, but he wasn’t, not this way.

“I want you two back in my office,” Coach Bell said, as the ballplayers happily headed for the clubhouse, talking loudly about the win and the nice cool shower they were about to have.

“When did you do it?” Do asked, walking behind Andy.

“Thursday night. Second inning. I hit the ball to deep center field. Something just snapped in my arm. They had to take me off on a stretcher. I was in the hospital until a nurse slipped me out of an unguarded exit yesterday afternoon. I flew into Indy and spent the night at the house. Put on the air conditioning so it would be cool when we get in tonight. I won’t be playing any time soon. I don’t want to be in Pittsburg. The team was gone. I wanted to see you,” Andy said.

The door closed to Coach Bell’s office.

“You didn’t clear it with the team to come here?” Coach Bell asked.

“I play ball for Pittsburg. They don’t own me. They were flying to Washington after yesterdays game,” Andy said.

“No, I guess not,” Coach Bell said softly.

“You didn’t know he hurt himself, Coach,” I asked suspiciously.

“No matter what I say here, I’m going to be in trouble with you, John. I knew. I read it in yesterday’s paper. Didn’t want to worry you until they knew what happened to his arm.”

“You didn’t tell me?” I asked angrily.

“I didn’t say anything because of this right here. You’d have gone flying off to Pittsburg to get to Andy, and he was more likely than not flying home from Pittsburg the way I saw it. So if I’d told you we wouldn’t be holding this meeting, now would we, John?”

I calmed down. Coach Bell had played it perfectly.

“No, sir. You wouldn’t. We wouldn’t. Thank you.”

“You two sit down. I want to talk. Andy, when you play ball, your life isn’t your own,” Coach Bell said. “You know that.”

“Tell me about it. The hospital was crawling with reporters when I slipped out a side entrance. They never leave me alone,” Andy said, unhappy about it.

“It comes with the territory. I figure this is the best place for you right this minute. It stinks Andy and I hate being the one to tell you, but I don’t see as I have a choice. If I don’t show you now, you’re going to hear it out in the street or when someone comes to your door. It’s not like Indiana is a secret,” Coach Bell explained. “I can’t let you find out that way. You should have stayed in the hospital until they were done with you. You’ve got to go back.”

“What, Coach?” Andy said. “Find out what?”

Coach Bell pulled out the Pittsburg paper he’d sent out for during the pre-game activities. He tossed the sports section with a picture of Andy lying across home plate. The headlines above the picture read: ”It’s Cancer”

*****

AwesomeDude Home

Rick Beck Home

Outside The Foul Lines Book III Home

Outside The Foul Lines  - Book Three - A Major Success
A Rick Beck Story

Outside the Foul Lines

Is made up of four parts/to cover four years of college

A Minor Success

Picks up the year John Dooley graduates college

and is working as a roofer.

A Major Success

The rest of the love story you’ve been waiting to read.

Chapter 2

Arm’s Length

I gasped for air. Andy leaned on his good arm to look down at the two words: “It’s Cancer!”

His name began the article that would explain those two words, but Andy had unusual difficulty reading even his name.

“Andy Green,” he read, sitting down hard.

His mind went into a spin, passing all the possibilities. Andy’s face reflected his shock. He turned an ugly shade of pale.

I wrapped my fingers in Andy’s, squeezing so he knew I was there for him. I don’t know if he knew I was there.

I took the paper off the desk, turning it over beyond the headlines and that awful picture.

I read more for myself than for Andy or Coach Bell. The phrase, “Inquiring minds want to know” ran obscenely through my brain.

“Andy Green, Pittsburgh’s premier slugger,” I read, clearing my throat. “Whose 53 home runs paced Pittsburg pennant run last season, falling just short of that goal, is pictured above after collapsing in the 2nd inning of last nights home game with Philadelphia.

“Hitting homers at an even more torrid pace this season than last, having Andy out of the lineup for any length of time will likely bench any pennant hopes this season.

“What was originally suspected to be a dislocation turned out to be more serious. Green had broken a bone just above his elbow. This kind of injury can be expected to sideline Green for the season and will require extensive rehabilitation, bringing next season into question.

“Green underwent surgery to repair the damage at the University of Pittsburg Medical Center late Thursday night. Tissue samples were taken and “A small growth was removed from the muscle tissue for biopsy. A pin was inserted to insure the arm could heal properly,” a reliable source told this reporter.

“An independent source, previously reliable, and well positioned at UPMC, has told this reporter, “The growth removed from Mr. Green’s arm, after preliminary examination, appears to be cancerous,” he revealed to me.

“There are further tests planned before determining the best course of treatment available. Team officials released a statement saying, ‘Andy will receive the best care possible.’

“All attempts to reach Mr. Green for comment have been unsuccessful up until this copy went to press. Reliable sources say that he left UPMC sometime during the day Friday and was unavailable for comment at this time. Pittsburgh’s baseball management has told me that they will be making no further comments until the complete extent of the injury is known. They are confident Green will be available to play sometime early next season.

“I will report any development as I am made aware of them.”

“I’ll be damned,” Andy said, as I slid the paper back in front of Coach Bell. “I felt great. I felt good. I was playing the best ball of my career. That’s a real ball buster.”

“Andy!” I said, not able to say more. “Andy.”

“It stinks, Andy. You’ve got to go back. They’ll need to treat the cancer as soon as possible,” Coach Bell said. “Better you find out here amongst friends. I couldn’t let you find out outside. Having some reporter blindside you with this is not a pleasant thought.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Andy said. “I’d rather it just be here with Do.”

“We’ve got to get you back,” I said. “You need to have it taken care of right away. It can’t wait.”

“Coach, can they do it here? Is there somewhere in Louisville? I don’t want to be alone in Pittsburg. Do will be worried sick if I’m in Pittsburg. I don’t want to hurt his season with my problems.”

“Don’t worry about me, Andy. You’ve got to get it done and I’ll be with you,” I said. “Coach!”

“Don’t say anything to me I’m obligated to report to management, John. I’ll see what I can find out for you, Andy,” Coach Bell said. “You boys go on. I’ll use Sanchez in tomorrow’s game, John. You need to be with Andy. Call my house about nine tonight. I’ll make some calls when I get home. If you tell me you sprained your ankle when you call, John, I’ll put you on day to day with a high ankle sprain. That way you can play when you’re ready and it’s all official.”

“Thanks, Coach. I’ll call you,” I said, letting baseball take a backseat for the first time that season.

“Any thing you do has to be run by your trainers and the team doctors. I can’t see they’d object to you being treated closer to home if it requires a cancer specialist. They won’t have a cancer specialist on staff. They call in someone they know. I don’t see there would be any resistance to you being treated here. You’re gone for the season and you need a specialist that isn’t a sport’s doctor. Tell the right off what you want and I’ll see what I can find out.”

“It’ll all make more sense tomorrow,” Andy said, standing to leave. “Glad I’m here and not there.”

Andy and I were half way out the door, when  Coach Bell stopped us.

“John,” Coach Bell said. “That was a nice bunt you laid down. I figured you’d pick it up. You don’t let much get by you. It was a game winner. Nice time for you to catch on to the art of bunting.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, knowing it was a damn good bunt, but it was the last thing on my mind.

*****

By the time I dressed, we’d decided not to alarm Mrs. Olson. She’d wonder why my sudden departure from Louisville to go home.

After hugs and the concern about Andy’s arm, she served us the hot dinner she’d prepared for me to have after the game. We ate lightly, but convincingly, before I mentioned that I would be at the house with Andy for a few days.

Mrs. Olson knew everything about Louisville baseball. She knew the players, the lineup, and the schedule. There was a game Sunday afternoon and I wouldn’t be driving home if I planned to play.

“You boys take care of yourselves,” she said, as we left her door. She sensed something was very wrong from the boy’s demeanor. She sensed they weren’t telling her everything and she knew they wanted to protect her. Maybe it was just the fact Andy was injured. She wasn’t sure.

“How does it feel,” I asked.

“Throbs some,” Andy said.

“You don’t have pain meds?”

“Yes, I have a bottle. Couldn’t take anything because I was driving. No future driving impaired. How’d that look on a resume?”

“You aren’t driving now. There are some bottles of water on the floor in the backseat. Take something for it. Let’s get something straight, Andy Green, I don’t plan on sitting around and watching you suffer because you’re too tough to take your damn medicine. Do we understand each other,” I told him with no wiggle room in my voice.

“Yes, sir. I’m taking my medicine. See? Here’s the pill. I’m drinking water. I put the pill in and drink more water. See? I made all gone with the pill,” Andy said, opening his mouth and wiggling his tongue to prove the deed was done.

“You pick a hell of a time to try to turn me on,” I said.

“Anything for you, Do.”

Andy smiled and I relaxed, a little.

“I’m scared, Andy,” I said, unable to hide it.

“Me too, babe,” Andy said.

*****

In a Cincinnati hotel room not far from the airport.

“Do we have time to get a cup of coffee?” Andy asked, pacing between the beds in the hotel room outside of Cincinnati.

“Sure. The car comes in an hour. I’ll tell them at the desk we’re in the dining room. They have good coffee. I wouldn’t mind a cup myself. Then I have to be sure to take a pee before we get trapped somewhere that peeing isn’t convenient.”

Andy and Do took the elevator to the lobby to get a late afternoon cup of coffee. There service was good and the staff was polite. Andy stirred one small teaspoon of sugar into his coffee and Do stirred in cream, until he liked the color. They sipped the brew and relaxed. Andy felt closed in inside a strange bedroom. He would rather be home. Do wasn’t out of place at all. He was with Andy.

There would be a couple of hours of flashbulbs and speeches, followed by a team banquet. There would be food they didn’t buy for themselves. It was customary to put on the Ritz for the induction to the Ring of Fame. It was treated like a big deal.

“You want something sweet, Andy,” I asked, realizing we hadn’t  eaten since breakfast.

“You’re all I need right now. It don’t get no sweeter, Do. I keep looking at you and you haven’t aged a bit. I look at myself in the mirror. This old guy’s in there looking out at me. I don’t know how he got in our mirror. I don’t know how you stay so young.”

“Andy, you look great to me. You don’t have hair. It makes you look older, distinguished, a man of the world. A man who has done things and gone places. You have character.”

“Yeah, I’ve done it all, Do. I’ve done it all and I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen the front yard and I’ve seen the backyard. I’ve seen the north side of the house and I’ve seen the south side. I’ve mowed them all, Do.”

Do laughed.

“It’s all good. The best thing I ever did was fall in love with you. I wasn’t sure you were a keeper when we were in college. That year we spent a part was doing hard time. That’s when I realized I couldn’t live without you, Do. I hated that year in the minors. I could of quit ball that year. Good thing they sent me to Indy so we could buy the house and see each other once in a while during the season.”

“I remember. We’ve come a long way. We’ve had it good, mostly. No complaints here. The only time I’m completely happy is when we’re together. I do love you, Andy. I think giving up ball, retirement when I did, was a good idea. No more weeks away from each other. Finally living all year in the same place. I love it.

“Giving up ball wasn’t easy. When I was young, and thought I had control over my life, I didn’t think my life was about ball. Every time I left ball, there it was, grabbing me one more time. After a few years, I never thought of anything but playing ball for a living.”

“It has been a lot easier. I can’t believe no one has recognized either one of us. At least we can get a quiet cup of coffee without being blinded and bugged to death,” Andy said. “I’ll never miss that.”

“We’ve been out of the game a few years. Reporters change. A simple ceremony, a team banquet, and we’ll be back on our way home. The team photographer will probably be the only one taking pictures. It’ll be nice seeing the guys.”

“Let’s hope so. I’d like it to be that easy. I can remember a time when we could hardly go out and eat without attracting a crowd. Remember when they started reporting we lived together in a “cozy” house in Indiana. We were “Often seen in each other’s company?” Poppycock!”

“I remember. It wasn’t about ball, Andy. Didn’t bother me. I had you. All they could do was watch. Remember the headline in that rag, ‘Baseball’s Hottest Couple?’ At least they used a good picture of us.”

“The Holy Rollers came out of the woodwork after that. ‘God hates fags’ and the fans would scream, ‘God loves baseball players.’ That was funny.”

“I was surprised. We had never made a spectacle of ourselves in public. They had to work to find that stuff out about us. The fans wanted us to play ball. They didn’t want to hear that crap,” I said.

“They showed up to put a curse on us. They were the ones getting cursed. Fans are fiercely loyal.”

“Yes they are.”

“Those folks take their hatred seriously. You see the faces on them? They smile and explain the bible on television, but just look at their faces and listen to their words, when you come face to face with one. They’re some ugly folks. They really think their hatred is superior to the love we share. How can people be so deluded?”

“People make a lot of money deluding them into protesting love. It even sounds silly. The very idea of hatred being put anywhere near our love is sick and we don’t know what some of those folks do.”

“They make me sick. That’s for sure,” I said, rarely hearing Andy express his feelings about that kind of thing.

“Those were the days, Do,” Andy laughed, a lot less angered by it at forty. We hardly have that kind of fun anymore. No sir, nothing like a Holy Roller curse to spice up your day.”

“Yeah, no one comes out to entertain us since we retired.”

“Don’t worry. They’re still out there protesting love. Everyone in the world is hoping to find someone to love, except these folks. They have never seen their own faces. I’m sure of it.”

“No one pays much attention to the shortstop, as long as I didn’t boot a ball. That’s when I heard about it from fans and reporters. I had to go out with you to be hated for no reason at all. You are the power in this family.”

“Yes, sir, whatever you say, Do. Let’s fly back tonight. We don’t need to stay here overnight, do we? Sleeping in our own bed will be better than that fancy prancy thing in our room. I think they expect the team to stay over. I never seen a bedroom big enough for two gigantic beds.”

“The team thinks it shows they don’t mind spending the money on us. Circle of Fame is a big deal for the team.”

“Write me a check and I’ll stay home,” Andy said with sarcasm.

“It’s only a couple of hours to Indy by air. We can call and check the flights. If we go straight from the banquet, we could be home in time to get a few hours sleep. We’ll invite them to the house for a visit at some date to be specified later. That’ll sound good.”

“What about our luggage? My best razor is upstairs.”

“If we can fly out tonight, we’ll stop here on the way to the terminal. The hotel isn’t but a mile from the airport. No, I think we should go back tonight if we can. We were just going to get up and go in the morning. Why go to bed in a strange place?” I said, agreeing with Andy, who liked staying home.

The driver came to the door and didn’t need to ask for Andy and Do, they saw him and took a last sip of coffee and waved that they were on the way. It was a special night and there would be a reunion of old friends. Being on teams meant a lot of people who wanted to come to pay their respects.

Old friends and memories revisited, serving to remind them of their glory days. For the first three years together, they shared a team and teammates. These were the careers each followed with interest, as those players would have followed both Andy’s and Do’s careers. They hadn’t seen some of them since college. Others they faced across the baseball diamond at one time or another.

Invariably there were the moments that embarrassed the player being honored. These were now seen as humorous events that were talked about only among friends. When you celebrate someone’s career, there must be humility. Each man who spoke would become quite serious. All quoting the same facts and figures that were seen as team history now, and these were at the heart of the affair.

Seeing old friends and talking old times with other players made it all worthwhile. From players you got an honest assessment and you found out where you stood, once the glove days ended and the only time you saw a baseball game was when you bought a ticket, which was rare.

Andy was glad to be out of ball. He’d never liked it as much as when he was in college playing for fun. It hadn’t always been fun and having the discipline to be on a team wasn’t easy for him.

“I’m Earl,” Earl said. “I’ll be your driver for the night. Anything you need, I can take care of it.” Earl said, talking like a true professional. “I better take care of it or I’ll get my ass canned,” he added with an earthy tone.

“Carry on, Earl. We don’t stand on ceremony,” Andy said.

“Earl, we want to fly back tonight. We’re booked on a morning flight. We’re only going to Indianapolis. It takes longer to get on the plane than it does to fly home,” I said.

“I’ll see what flights are available,” Earl said. “First class?”

“We’ve got first class tickets they sent us. Coach is fine. You get us home tonight, Earl, anything coming back on the tickets is yours, plus a handsome fee for your trouble. We just want to go home?” Andy said.

“I’ll be standing by at the stadium and then the banquet hall. I’ll have time to make some calls. I keep a travel agent happy on my nights off, and she’ll get you home tonight.”

“Give her any money from the ticket switch. We’ll take care of you,” Andy said, feeling better.

“Yes, sir. You wish is my command. By the way, Mr. Green, I’m from Pittsburg. You were hell.”

“Thank you, Earl. I gave it a run.”

“I never seen homers like you hit. I saw six while you were there. I saw the first one hit after you came back. You stood at the plate and that sucker cleared the bleachers, the mezzanine, the roof. That sucker’s in orbit somewhere. You stood there and watched. Flashbulbs were going off all over the park. Everyone stood up and cheered. Andy was back!”

“Didn’t know I’d hit another homer. It was a long time coming. I wasn’t sure I could play ball anymore, when I hit that ball. I felt it in my hands,” Andy said, looking at his hands as if they were holy. “Not in my arm.”

“Never saw a ball hit further. No, sir, never did,” Earl said.

“I got my first baseball glove from another kid. He was a senior. He was going to college. He said he didn’t need it anymore. I was trying to play for the high school team. I had an old beat up glove. Stung my hand every time I caught the ball. I stopped being an infielder so I didn’t have so many balls hit at me. Then I couldn’t see the plate when someone came to bat. I stood in the outfield listening so I’d know if the ball was hit my way.”

“Jesus!” Earl said in surprise. “I never heard that before. You were a poor kid?”

“I was a poor kid,” Andy said, drifting back as he stared out the window at a somewhat familiar landscape. “I was a poor kid.”

Do held Andy’s hand. The ceremonies always were a reminder of where it all began. Andy rarely talked about it and Do didn’t understand the extent of Andy’s poverty for years. Their lives moved pretty fast but it was something Do thought he should know, once he’d found out and then he didn’t know how he couldn’t know.

Chapter 3

Do Dallies

After Do got Andy back on a plane to Pittsburgh, he drove to Louisville. It was an early Tuesday evening game and fans came right after work to down hot dogs and guzzle beer for dinner, as Louisville met Wichita in the first of a two games series.

“Evening Mr. Dooley,” Arthur the gate attendant said. “How’s that ankle coming?”

“Oh, fine, coming along good. I just want to go in and watch,” I told him, almost forgetting my cover story.

“You go right on, Mr. Dooley. Mr. Bell sure will be glad to see you. That Sanchez needs some work, Mr. Dooley. He sure does. They’ll be happy to see you. They sure will.”

“Thanks, Arthur. I’ll probably play tomorrow. Have a nice evening,” I said, walking up the ramp into the front of the stadium.

I remembered my first trip to the Louisville stadium five seasons before. I came in answer to Coach Bell’s call. There was the same smell of freshly cut grass and the striking contrast between the grass, the dirt, and the chalked lines.

The popping sound of a ball hitting a leather baseball glove, rang in my ear. I was moving into the center of the last row of empty seats, where I could look down on home plate, and also see Louisville’s dugout. It was the view I imagined I might get from the seats that were rarely filled, except on opening day, when a new spring gave high hopes of a good season, where baseball was king.

The crack of the bat echoed up through row after row of seats. It was a typical Tuesday night. There was no promotion, no give away, nothing but baseball and the hopes Louisville would stay in the battle for the playoffs. Wichita’s third baseman moved over in front of the batted ball, making the long through to 1st base.

I was considering my retirement from Louisville ball. Getting that one by Andy would bring on a major battle. He made it plain that he wouldn’t be the cause of me leaving ball. He was adamant. Yes, Andy wanted me at his side through the current crisis, but not at the cost of my career. My presence wouldn’t benefit him if it meant my career.

I could leave Louisville. I thought about doing it after the game tonight. It would make Andy furious at me. Andy loved me more than anything in the world, but baseball came in a close second. Hurting baseball, Louisville baseball, wasn’t going to enter the picture, as far as Andy was concerned. He’d face his treatment alone. We’d be together tomorrow.

I wasn’t paying attention to the game. I was worried about Andy and what he might be going through. Andy worried he’d lose the arm. I worried I’d lose him.

As long as he kept his arm, there was hope he’d be able to get back in ball. It was all there was to Andy. He was a baseball player. He’d spent his life being the best baseball player he could possible be. In one swing of the bat….

I was who Andy loved. Baseball was who Andy was. I loved ball, but I’d quit tonight if I thought I could help Andy by being with him. I wanted to be with him. He’d be so upset with me that I might be doing more harm than good. How could I know what would end up being the best thing for him?

Being in minor league ball was far more satisfying than I thought it could be. I’d never believed in ball the way Andy did. I was always fighting to stay in ball. Andy was fighting to get the top. He was there and then this.

The fight had changed. It was about Andy coming back now.  Andy would figure out how to stay in ball. Everyone else might write him off, but Andy would fight. I was in Louisville, he was in Pittsburgh, as it had been the entire season. Only being in Louisville was different this time around. Instead of having my mind in my work, I was worrying about what Andy was going through.

Maybe the club would give me a leave of absence to make certain Andy had the care he needed. There would be the same resistance from Andy if I did that. Louisville was in the hunt for a playoff birth. They depended on me at shortstop. That would be Andy’s argument.

During our last separation, we didn’t see each other for over a month. I left Andy at the airport six hours before and I missed him already. It was the great unknown in Andy’s life that troubled me. We left each other a dozen times every baseball season. I didn’t worry. We played ball and it’s what ball players did. It’s what Andy and I did.

A crack of the bat brought me back to the game. White was rounding 1st base and heading for second. The left fielder and center fielder chased down the ball. It bounce up against the wall at the deepest point in centerfield.

White rounded second base, heading for third. When the centerfielder made the throw in to second base, White was on third, standing and watching the throw to second. It was the only play. The throw to third would be too late. The smart throw was to get it to the second baseman to prevent the runner from coming home.

I applauded along with the several thousand people who had come out for the twilight game. It was still warm and the humidity was as high as when I left on Saturday. I had to go alert Mrs. Olson that I was back. She’d want to know about Andy. She’d want to sit and talk ball. I would need to tell her the truth.

Mrs. Olson might have gone looking to find out how Andy was hurt, but I didn’t think so. Mrs. Olson was careful not to get into the middle of our lives. If she had a need to find out about Andy, she’d look for it and never tell me she already know about what I told her. She’d wait until I was ready to talk about it and she’d listen politely.

She’d been fond of Andy since he’d first come around. Once she realized Andy was my mate, she treated us like young lovers. Mrs. Olson was our biggest fan. She’d take the news of a possible career ending injury hard. I had no reason not to be honest with her. She’d been housing baseball players for years. She’d seen ballplayers come and go. They went for all different kinds of reasons.

I flagged down the beer man and bought what turned out to be a somewhat cold beer. Even if it wasn’t as cold as I liked, it helped fight off the heat and humidity. I took two large gulps before sipping from the half cup that was left.

I’d never drank during a game before. I’d never watched Louisville play a single game, unless I was in their dugout. There was no beer I Coach Bell’s dugout.

During the 7th inning stretch, I got up, stretched, and I dropped the empty beer cup in the trash on the way out. It was 5-1 Louisville and I knew the game was in hand. The team had been hitting well for the past month. Unfortunately I wasn’t one of those enjoying a midseason hitting streak.

My batting average lingered around .250. The bunting regimen Coach Bell had put me on had cost me a few more points on my batting average. I’d hope to hit for a better average this year. It wasn’t happening, but my glove was never more accurate. My fielding improved every year and I wasn’t a half bad shortstop.

I still dreamed of get a major league call just one time. Late in a season, when players are tiring from the constant grind of a six month long season, big league coaches looked at the minor league system to find a player who could come up to play the last two or three innings of a game to give the starters a rest.

No club was going to risk their pennant hopes on a rookie player if it wasn’t necessary, but some clubs either were in the pink with a playoff birth assured, or they were out of it and were looking for replacement players to make next season better. In either case no one came to look at me.

Coach Bell said, “When it’s your time, it’s your time, John. You can’t make it any sooner than you make it. A shortstop is the center of every infield. It’s the position that keeps coaches up at night. Except me, I never worry about it. I got you.”

“Yes you do, Coach, and it looks as if we’re meant to grow old together.”

“Maybe, John,” he said. “Maybe.”

What Coach Bell didn’t tell me was there were two clubs who came to look at me that season. Andy’s injury and my high ankle sprain ran them off. It didn’t take much to send them elsewhere. There was another reason I didn’t get much attention from the bigs.

It wasn’t well known that Andy and I were a couple, but in the upper management of big league baseball, where such things could be discussed, the rumor had been floated.

“Those boys have been rooming together since Dooley got into ball at State. Andy could buy any house he wanted, anywhere in the world, and he lives in a modest house on a converted farm in Indiana, with Dooley. That’s friendship.”

Below management level that kind of thing wasn’t spoken about. A team could not survive with that kind of player.

“The country isn’t ready to discover one of the best power hitters, playing in the National Pas Time, is like that.”

I wanted to get the call once. It would come in the fall, late August, no later than the first week of September. I’d be there to relieve a player who had injuries brought on by  the strain of the long season.

*****

“How’s the ankle, John,” Coach Bell asked as he stood beside Do’s locker.

“It’s okay. It’ll be fine.”

“Come on over to my office before you go out for warm-up.”

“Sure thing, Coach,” I said, lacing up my cleats and taking my batting helmet out of the top of my locker.

I walked over to Coach Bell’s office. Letting myself in, I closed the door and sat across from Coach. He was checking out the lineup he’d give to the plate umpire.

“You do want to play?” Coach Bell said glancing up from the lineup.

“Yes, sir,” I said. “I don’t want to sit on the bench.”

“Good. Sanchez isn’t my best fielder. You are. How’d it go with Andy?”

“I put him on a plane to Pittsburgh yesterday. I haven’t talked to him today, but he was going back to UPMC once he landed. Pittsburgh is still playing out of town.”

“I talked to the Pittsburgh general manager. They’ll need to have the team doctors look him over. He’s going to call the Colt’s trainer to ask if Andy couldn’t be treated in Indianapolis and rehab in the Colts facility, to keep him closer to home.

“He said he didn’t see why not. They wouldn’t have any particular expertise in the kind of injury he has. There would be an oncologist the Colts’ doctors will recommend for Andy.

“He’ll probably need to drive there and back a couple of times a week. He mentioned that the tumor was in the muscle tissue and didn’t seem to be in the bone. That’s not the final say in the matter. They’re doing more testing.

The general manager will talk to Andy to run the possibilities by him, but Pittsburgh doesn’t need him to stay in town.

“Thanks, Coach. That makes it sound a little less critical. Can’t say I’m not worried sick over it. I wanted to go with him. Don’t know if I’ll have my mind in the game.”

“Andy wouldn’t let you go back with him? I could have told you that. Ball is the family business. You should know that. You’ll play hell leaving ball on his account. He’s a good kid. He was always a good kid.”

“You know when you put me with Andy to teach him to field, Coach.”

“Sure I do. You knew just what to do. Didn’t take you that long, as I recall.”

“I didn’t have a clue what was wrong with him. When you pressed me, wanting to know why he wasn’t fielding better, I made it up, Coach. I just all of a sudden ran everything through my brain and that’s what I came up with. ‘He needs glasses!’

“He did,” Coach Bell said.

“Damn lucky guess I’d say,” I said.

“Didn’t matter. You came up with the solution. I don’t care how you did it. I’d have cut his butt if he kept dropping balls, John. His power was no good to me if he cost me more runs with his fielding than the could make up with his bat. I didn’t know he’d turn into a monster at the plate. Besides, I should have thought about getting his eyes checked.”

“I’ll play tonight but if I don’t feel like I’m in the game…. I won’t be a weight on the team,” I explained.

“John, I’ll tell you true. I work here. They hire me to make the most of the players they give me. Sometimes they even let me pick a guy I like, but I get some say in team matters. I’d do my best to protect you if you need to take time off from Louisville.

“I’ll stand behind you but there are no guarantees. You do what you have to do. I’ll do what I can, but when you walk out on that field, I expect you to play ball, John. It’s your job. It’s not a game, although popular opinion would disagree with me on it.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do. I want to be playing. I want to be with Andy. I don’t know what I’ll do. I’m here now. Unless something drastic comes up, I’ll stay here to play, Coach.”

“You two are like family. Business is business, but when your business is people, they must be considered,” Coach Bell explained. “I’ll do what I can.”

*****

Well into August Do played ball every day. On his days off he drove home after the game the day before to be with Andy until the morning of the next game, when he’d drive back to Louisville to be at the park in time to play ball.

By late August Andy had finished his first round of chemo therapy and was staying with Do at Mrs. Olson’s. He gained strength slowly and showed signs of his old spark from time to time. Being an athlete and being at the peak of his youth, Andy fought to get as much of his life back as he could get.

An article appeared in the Pittsburgh paper in early September.

“What Pittsburgh slugger has been seen in the Louisville dugout, sitting beside his old college coach? Leaner, bald, wearing a Pittsburgh baseball hat, Andy Green is often seen advising his old coach. You can take the boy out of ball, but you can’t take ball our of the boy. Good luck Andy. See you next season.”

There was to be more chemo and that thought came to Do from time to time. Being with Andy for much of the last month of the season was good for both of them. Do played well and batted better than he ever had.  

Louisville slipped behind their two rivals for the final playoff birth in their league and there would be no post season play for Do. He felt bad that he wasn’t sorry.

By the last week of the season Andy went back for his second series of chemo therapy treatment. Do was anxious to get home to take care of him. He closed out all his business in Louisville, said goodbye to Mrs. Olson, having already said goodbye to his team and Coach Bell.

Do was never happier to leave Louisville for home.

Chapter 4

Andy’s Life, Do’s Eyes

The drive out of Louisville was easy in the middle of the day. I couldn’t wait to get home to stay. It had been a long season and the rest would do me good. Being with Andy would make me feel better about the difficulties we faced.

“How is he?” I asked, as I came into the house the day after the Louisville season ended.

“He looks terrible. He’s lost more weight, J. D. I talked to the doctors at school. They shake their heads and tell me, ‘it’ll run its course, son.’ What the hell is run its course? Horses run courses.”

“I don’t know, Harold. How is school?”

“Fine. Dr. Joy is letting me in the operating room during his operations. That’s cool. You ever see what’s inside the human body, J. D.?”

“No, can’t say I have. Not much of that in baseball. You’re only a second year, Harold. You haven’t started premed yet. I didn’t think you had any medical classes.”

“I’m taking anatomy and some premed courses. My brain was going to atrophy from the boring classes they had me in. Dr. Joy had some premed added to the mundane crap they enrolled me in.”

“You like those?”

“It’s great, J. D. I get to hang with doctors. Dr. Joy stops and talks to me a couple of times a week. I mean he talks to me, man to man, J. D. We have coffee together,” Harold said proudly. “He’s a surgeon, and he talks to me. When I’m a surgeon, I’m not talking to anyone.”

“You’re what, nineteen? I just learned to tie my shoes.”

“I was nineteen six months ago, J. D. I’m almost twenty now.”

“You’re nineteen and a half. Don’t try to speed things UP. You’ll wonder where the time went to one day. What’s the mower doing in the front yard?”

“I tried to tell you, A. G. is seriously sick. He said he was going out to mow right after I got here. He started it up and came around the side of the house. It’s as far as he got. A couple minutes later he was back in the house.

“Said he needed to lay down for a few minutes. That was hours ago. It’s that chemo.”

“He had a treatment yesterday afternoon. He was fine all weekend and at the game the night before last. He was helping Coach Bell do his job. I don’t think Coach Bell needs any help.”

“Dude’s freaky. Just looks at you like he’s reading the inside of your head or something,” Harold said.

“He deals in player’s brains, you might say. How about putting the mower away before you head back to school. I flood it every time I try to start it. I want to go up and see about Andy. He was so good this weekend, I hoped it would be easier on him this time.”

“He isn’t all right now,” Harold said. “I didn’t bother him because it annoys him when I see him getting sick.”

“You understand I’d sit and talk, but I want to go up and see what I can do. Oh, how’s the gas?”

“I always need gas when I drive here.”

“You know where the key is. Fill it up and make sure you lock the pump and put the key back. Andy’ll have a fit if he has to look for that key again.”

“Maybe just give me some cash. I’ll buy it on the way back,” Harold said. “That way I can’t lose the key.”

“No, you go pump it out of our tank. Andy gets a good price on gas because he did a commercial for the guy who runs the gas company. That’s how we got our own pump.”

“You still don’t trust me with money, do you? Why not?”

“I was nineteen. Believe it or not, it wasn’t all that long ago. If you need gas, take all you want. You get plenty of money out of A. G…, Andy. I’m not giving you any. I’m going upstairs to see what I can do.”

“Don’t see there is much anyone can do. He’s sick. He’ll do better when this series of treatment ends,” Harold said. “I hate seeing A. G. like that. I know it isn’t because he’s weak. It’s because he’s sick. I don’t have to be in premed to know the difference. Maybe this will be the last of it,” Harold said, thinking out loud.

“He wants to be a good roll model. Tossing his cookies isn’t his idea of being manly. He just started back with the chemo. It’s going to run until the end of October This time.”

“You guys didn’t make the playoffs?” Harold asked.

“No, we didn’t make it. We need one more starter and maybe some relief help. A good hitter wouldn’t hurt, as long as he isn’t a shortstop,” I said, forgetting Harold wasn’t sure what he was talking about. “I’m going to be upstairs for a while. You be okay?”

“J. D., I see you once or twice a month. I think I can get through the afternoon, but thanks,” Harold said, issuing one of his few smiles.

“Wise ass,” I said, heading for the stairs. “Please put the mower away. Andy will fret if he thinks that damn thing is out all night. I’d hate to see him have to make a choice between that mower and me.”

It was early afternoon and all my business in Louisville was done. My next obligation to the team would be in March. If I did my own conditioning, I’d meet the team in spring training after the first two weeks of intense physical conditioning for the young guys.

Coach Bell told me to take all the time I needed and if I needed to be with Andy, he’d expect me on opening day, in playing condition and in a baseball frame of mind. The treatments were to end after one more round in early December. We planned on Andy being in spring training with Pittsburgh, or possibly back to Indianapolis, until the arm was back to full strength.

We were all men of baseball and we knew what was expected and how far we could push the boundaries. Coach Bell would work with me if something came up. He hadn’t approached management with the idea of a limited role for me next season. He wanted to avoid it if we could.

Andy was better for the last month. He spent most of his time in Louisville with me. I was here for him now and Andy didn’t need to do anything he didn’t want to do. Eating would no longer be a choice between fixing something for himself to eat or not fixing it if he was too sick.

I’d cook things he’d had some success with keeping down and his only decision would be if he wanted to eat it or not, but it would be there if he felt up to it. Even when he was feeling good while he was with me in Louisville, he didn’t regain any of the weight he’d lost. His one hundred and eight five pound playing weight was down in the one hundred and sixty pound range. It didn’t look good on Andy.

I would drive him to and from his treatments unless Andy wanted to drive. It was all planned out in my head. It’s all I thought about the last few days.

I’d had a pretty good season. My batting average surged to nearly .260, which was monumental for me. I’d won two games by bunting and I’d walked sixteen more times this season than last season, while having thirty fewer turns at the plate. My on base average was substantially improved and now I was home to stay.

I slipped my shoes off at the door to the bedroom. Andy laid with his back to me, facing the windows, the spot where he always slept. I eased over to the bed and let myself down easy so I didn’t disturb his sleep. I wrapped my arms around him to pull him up against me.

“We’ll need to make it quick. My husband will be home soon,” Andy said unconvincingly.

“Your husband is home,” I said.

“Shit! I been busted,” Andy said.

“How you doing, babe?”

“I think I’m fine until I try to get up and then I want to puke. I took two sips of coffee with Harold and I threw up twice after that. Then I was just plain sick. I hate being like this.”

“Oh, babe, I’m sorry,” I said, kissing the back of his neck. “It’s only a little while longer.”

“Hell, you didn’t have anything to do with it. My beef’s with god. He’s the guy that gets his jollies tormenting us. I’d like to take a poke at the guy.”

“I’ll hold you until you feel better,” I promised.

“We’ll starve,” Andy said.

“Maybe Harold will bring us up some food every week or so. He’s very worried about you.”

“Did he tell you he was in the operating room?”

“He’s quite a kid, Andy.”

“Kid, he’s a man. He’s nearly as big as me.”

“He’s nineteen. I was nineteen. He’s a kid.”

“I tried to tell him I was fine, but he wasn’t buying it. I was selling it until I turned green. You can’t lie to someone about feeling fine, while you turn green. I wonder why that is? I must look pretty gross to him.”

“He cares about you and he worries. He still can’t talk about his feelings but he does express concern for you.”

“Do, I do love you so. I want to show you, but I can’t. I can’t do much more than keep breathing and that hurts sometimes.”

“That’s all you need to do. I’ll do the rest. I’ll do everything that needs doing and you do whatever it takes to get better, my love. My life isn’t worth a damn without you in it, Andy. You get better and leave the rest to me. I’ll carry the weight now. You rest and soon it will all be behind you.”

I held Andy close to me and let my warmth warm him. He didn’t move a muscle. His breathing told me when he was asleep. I never cried if he was awake. I wouldn’t let him see me cry but I cried when he slept. My body finally gave in to the truth about our lives. I hurt because he hurt. I was sick over him being sick. I prayed it would be over soon.

We’d each lived inside of baseball and baseball was our lives. We met playing ball and grew into men playing it. I’d watched Andy become the cornerstone of his team. Each season was better than the season that came before. Andy was in the bigs and he’d gotten his first seven figure contract. He was rising to the top of the game. People began to recognize his name in the parks he visited around the major league.

First he was Rookie of the Year. He led his team in homers and runs batted in that year. A year later he led the league in home runs, was second in runs batted in, and he was the Most Valuable Player for Pittsburgh. He ran third in league voting for Most Valuable Player. Andy was in the big time doing big things.

I wasn’t sure what would happen. An athlete who went down as his career was peaking might never play as well again. Andy didn’t think he was good, he was good. He climbed the ladder a rung at a time to get to where the big time power hitters roam.

It was all gone in one fateful swing of the bat his season was over. What he could reclaim of his career depended on keeping the arm. Then he had to get strong enough to play, but first he had to keep his food down.

I knew the broken bone went straight from Andy’s arm to his heart. That’s where the break was doing the most damage. Andy came to every game I played, after his first series of treatments was over.

Being an athlete gave Andy a toughness that wouldn’t allow him to quit. There was no way he’d give in to the disease. He’d fight it every step of the way. Even when the treatments took everything out of him, he stayed determined.

I was satisfied by holding Andy, but I longed to recover the rich sexual life we shared. Spending weeks and sometimes a month or more a part during the baseball season, meant when we met and had the time, and a place, to bed down, we had sex until it was time to part again. It was those days that made it all worthwhile.

I slept for a few minutes. I remembered Andy liked tomato soup and crackers. If he was outside, working in the cold, he loved piping hot soup when he came in from doing chores. He was always cold while he was having chemo.

It was simple, easy, and satisfying. I wanted to heat some soup and keep it warm until Andy was awake. Ever so slowly, I untangled myself from him, slipping out of the bedroom, and I went down stairs. The idea of doing something for Andy made me feel better.

Harold had gone. He’d come home after I called him at school to tell him I had business in Louisville before I could leave for home. I suspected Andy would be having a rough day, after his latest treatment the day before. I didn’t need to ask Harold to drive down. He said he would before I got that far.

Harold was closer to Andy than he was to me. They shared a sparse childhood. Andy hardly ever spoke of his childhood, except for stories about ball. Harold likewise passed over that subject. He’d adopted us the first year we were in the house. When he found out he was always welcome with us, he began staying for longer periods, until we took custody of him.

The arrangement wasn’t discussed. We were just three people looking out for each other and when Andy and I were gone, Harold was able to take care of himself. He was already motivated in school and began to excel once becoming a doctor was discussed with him by Andy, who was beginning to bank big bucks, and so he set up a fund for Harold’s college.

When he was told the money was available for his college, Harold said it was the first time he felt like he had a family and belonged somewhere. He wasn’t good with verbalizing his feelings but you picked up his feelings by listening to the things that concerned him.

Anything to do with love or gratitude came in the form of him wanting to be helpful any time he could. He didn’t know he was saying he had love for us, but we knew it’s what he was saying.

We never did that much. Harold had almost raised himself. His problem was he had become quite independent and at fourteen and fifteen, the powers that be don’t want to hear how independent some kid is. Harold was and he took care of the house like it was his own, because it was. He spent more time here than we did. By fifteen Harold was almost a man, working to graduate high school a year early. Each time I saw him he looked more mature.

As I stirred the tomato soup, I remembered the time Andy wanted to play catch with Harold, his nearly grown new son. Harold didn’t get the point of playing ball, but it was ball that would pay his way through medical school. What he knew about baseball was that Andy and I played. The day Andy went to play catch with him, he threw the ball to Harold, who let it bounce on the ground before picking it up.

He threw the ball back in Andy’s vicinity. He was gone by the time Andy went to retrieve the ball. I laughed as I saw it play over in my mind. Harold didn’t get it.

I heard the kitchen door open as I stirred the soup.

“What’s that smell,” Andy asked.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t make you sick,” I said.

“It’s tomato soup, isn’t it?”

“That’s what it is,” I said.

“Smells nice. I think I want a spoon or two if you made enough for both of us.”

“Babe, there’s plenty more where this came from.”

He sounded okay. I put a bowl of steaming soup down in front of him, but he wasn’t going to start until I sat down with a bowl. We were soon facing each other across the table. It was a good place to be.

“I’m home until spring training,” I said.

“Me too,” he said confidently.

I put my hand on top of his hand. He looked at me and he looked at my hand. When he lifted my hand off his, he kissed it, sending a chill through me. Just looking at him thrilled me. I was the luckiest man in the world and I only wished I could be sick for him and take away the misery his life had become.

Not only was the most important thing in his life taken away from him, but he was made sick by the treatment that they hoped would save his arm. It hardly seemed fair.

“I would have given up ball, after that year I spent away from you. I would have quit if they told me it was always going to be that way. You know that, don’t you?” he said, looking at my eyes.

“You would never have had to spend another year away from me. I’d have gone to wherever you were, Andy. You always had a career in ball. I had Coach Bell trying to find a way to keep me in ball.”

“I know, but I needed you more than I need ball. I still do, Do.”

“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me, babe.”

“I want you to know that. I want you to remember it. I know you think ball is the most important thing in my life, but ball isn’t forever. Ball is my occupation and I do love… playing,” he said, after thinking about the word he wanted to use. “As long as I have you, Do, I’ll be okay. I want to keep the arm. I want to be in ball. I want to go back and pick up where I left off, but when considering all of it, being with you has always come first, since that year when we couldn’t hold each other at night.”

“Andy, no matter what happens, my love for you is why I’m alive. Nothing else holds a candle to you. I’ll do anything I can to see to it you do play ball again. It’s what you do, Andy. It’s what you were born to do and baseball won’t be baseball to me, until you’re back in it.”

Andy took some soup, holding it in his mouth before daring to swallow it. I watched him to see if his face turned gray and he looked sour, but he looked fine. Between teaspoons of soup, he let the spoon rest in the bowl. Each bite was a separate meal. Each spoonful was a journey into the unknown. This was going to be how it was, until the chemo therapy ended.

For now neither of us wanted anything more than for him to get this bit of soup down without it coming back up. Our goals had been reduced to him keeping enough nourishment down not to starve. I encouraged him by eating my soup, a spoonful at a time, never hurrying.

I sat my spoon down in the bowl, after I took some, acting as his guide, showing him how easy it was for me to eat the soup. He reached for the spoon, took another bite, and let it rest in the bowl once he swallowed.

His color looked fine. His expression was tentative. He seemed to be analyzing the flavor of the soup.

“Compliments to the chef,” he said. “It taste nice.”

“I owe all my culinary skills to Mr. Campbell and Mrs. Smith,” I joked.

Andy smiled, reaching for his spoon. He’d try just one more spoonful and I would be there every step of the way.

Chapter 5

Fire and Ice

Being at home for a few hours allowed me to have a better perspective on where I stood with baseball. I could walk away from ball. Andy was all that was important to me now. t understood better that ball was our family business and always had been. If Andy couldn’t return to the game, he’d be able to have some consolation in watching my career.

I wasn’t the natural he was. Ball never came easy to me. The idea I’d keep playing to keep Andy in the game was important. We couldn’t know what came next or what turns were ahead, but I’d stay in ball for him. Talking about leaving the game for him wasn’t what he needed me to do.

If Andy couldn’t rehabilitate himself enough to play, Coach Bell would allow him to be as close to Louisville as he wanted. After he got over not being able to play, he’d need that in his life. I’d stay and play my best for him.

Andy wanted me in ball. He wouldn’t expect me to play if I didn’t want to play, but quitting now would be seen as his fault. He’d fight me on quitting and there was no fight in me. If Andy wasn’t playing, we’d stay in Louisville together. Mrs. Olson would love that. She’d spoil us to death.

Resolving this question left me to care for Andy as best I could. We had six months to do nothing but be together to get him over the treatments. They could make the difference.

No matter what happened I was able to face it. The worst of it meant being together all the time. The best would be Andy playing ball with our schedule going back to what it had been before he broke his arm.

I built a fire in the fireplace, feeling quite domestic. We sat on the couch in quiet, Indiana farm country. We watched the fire growing for entertainment. An owl provided background music as night took hold.

It was peaceful. The crackling of the burning wood was soothing. The heat was just enough to keep the chill off the living room. The wood was what Andy cut constantly during the off season. Chopping wood was Andy’s off-season conditioning program. If we had to rely on my woodcutting skills from now on, we were in serious jeopardy. We’d freeze in winter when we kept a fire burning all the time.

The piles of wood at the back corner of the house would last us several winters. Andy cleared over a half acre of trees so far. It had taken him four winters to do it. His plan was to grow vegetables on the land he cleared. He hadn’t gotten to the farming part yet, but there were still plenty of trees to cut.

We were always gone all summer, but one day we’d stop playing ball and become gentlemen farmers. It could come a little sooner than I expected. You never know when a change is coming. It’s good to have a plan just in case.

Andy once told me he use to chop wood for his mother back home. Their only heat was a wood stove that kept the tiny house warm. It was the same stove his mother cooked on. She cooked well. The food was wonderful to Andy, but there wasn’t a lot of variety. He ate a lot of beans and peanut butter and jelly.

He didn’t know it was a hardship. He didn’t see himself as poor, until a school counselor gave him a booklet with tickets for the school’s free lunch program. He was too embarrassed to use them. Later in high school a coach told him the free lunches were part of the athletic program. He had to make sure his boys got plenty to eat.

Andy suspected it might be stretching the truth, but that food sure was good. He’d always been pencil thin, but he did gain some weight by baseball season that year. Until he was sixteen, he ate one peanut butter sandwich for lunch each day. I guessed that was why he passed on peanut butter these days.

It took Andy a long time to tell me how poor they were. It either wasn’t important to him or the poverty embarrassed him. His scholarship to State covered everything and if he had a need, it was taken care of without a lot of conversation about how. Most of Andy’s stories about his family were happy tales with little mention made of the absence of creature comfort.

Living in a fine old house, one Andy paid off after his first signing bonus in the majors, each thing we bought was more than Andy had ever had before. He still chopped wood, until now, and he had one suit, one dress shirt, one tie, and six pairs of sneakers, because he liked neat looking sneakers. Sneakers were his weakness and if he saw a pair he liked, he bought them.

Getting Andy in a suit took some kind of major deal. There were no major deals in Indiana. He admitted that he’d been given some suits in Pittsburgh for some commercials he did, but he’d only had them on once..

I bought Andy the shirts that were designed the way I knew he liked. One style was a lumberjack type shirt. Those were the ones he used for cutting wood. They were comfortable and kept him plenty warm when he chopped. He liked a lighter shirt in the house. He had always been plenty warm inside, until now. He sometimes wore only a tee shirt, after I was dressed in layers to keep me warm.

I keep thinking I know it all. While we roomed together in college, we talked for hours every day. Andy had never been a big talker before. He didn’t have much to say to his teammates, his coaches, or to anyone else, but even now he told me a story about his poverty that broke my heart. It’s not a topic he visits often or for long, but I no longer think I know it all. I know as much as he wants me to know.

He has everything he needs now and I make sure he gets things I want him to have on his birthday and on Christmas, and he doesn’t dare argue with me about how much anything costs. I know it doesn’t make up for the childhood he suffered. In time I figure the good times will overwhelm his meager beginnings if I get my way.

The first time Andy played baseball, the pitcher brushed him back off the plate. Andy marched out and punched him in the face. His first season in ball ended abruptly. He liked it fine and most guys were okay, but as soon as he thought the pitcher was throwing at him, intending to hit him, he intended to let him know that it wasn’t a good idea.

Being a man of few words, Andy handled it his way. He was thrown off the team. The coach told him to get his temper under control. Andy said he hadn’t lost his temper. He wanted the pitcher to know not to throw at him.

His second year of ball, no one threw at him. The story about him punching out the pitcher who threw at him got around the league. As a boy Andy’s logic was simple. You couldn’t let someone throw at you and not respond.

When he got into high school ball, Andy was already developing as a power hitter. It’s not unusual for a pitcher to throw inside on someone who hits for power so they can’t get comfortable at the plate. They’ve got to be ready to get out of the way of a ball every once in a while.

Andy spent one off-season practicing how to control where he hit the ball. The following season when some fastball pitcher brushed him back, Andy would wait for his pitch and hit it right back at the pitcher on a line drive if he could. It was a message delivered.

Like you couldn’t prove a pitcher was throwing at you, you couldn’t prove a hitter intentionally hit a ball at a pitcher. In both cases you might suspect the obvious but you couldn’t prove it.

Andy told me, “Pitchers are good at throwing a ball, but hit one at him, and they’re all arms and legs. The coach called me over and asked me did I intentionally hit the ball at the pitcher, because he brushed me back earlier.

“I told him I didn’t know what he was talking about. He threw the ball. I hit the ball. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do, Coach?” Andy told me. “Pitchers didn’t throw at me much after that.”

Andy had a keen sense of right and wrong. He knew what was right to him. That’s what he went with. If it cost him more than he wanted to pay, Andy found a way around the obstacle. He needed to keep the world of baseball and his world in balance.

Andy was dedicated, loyal, and determined. He didn’t like doing a lot of things. The things he did do, he wanted to do well, and he did. I marveled at the way he kept things under control. Right now he was putting his health first. He knew he was in a fight. He intended to win.

It wasn’t life threatening. We weren’t in trouble that way, but the arm was not saved yet. At what point Andy would tell them to take it, I can’t say. That would be a decision he would make on his own. How he’d handle that I didn’t know. We never talked about the unthinkable. If I advised him on this and he lost the arm, he could blame me. He’d have to decide when enough was enough. I wouldn’t, unless it became life threatening.

I’d rather give up my own arm than let them cut off Andy’s. We wouldn’t get to make that kind of concession. Giving my arm would do Andy no good. We would not speak of it now, but it was on our minds. When you are as sick as Andy, you can’t help but think of the worst possibility.

I just wanted Andy to be well. Whatever it took was what I wanted. Seeing him smiling, able to joke, and the way he made life for me was a memory. I could picture it but we weren’t able to go there right now.

“You want to try some more soup. I’ll heat it up and bring it in to you, babe?”

“My mind says to go for it, but I already got away with it once. I don’t want to risk getting sick again. I’ll just stay here and not move. Maybe put a log on the fire before you go up. Pick one that won’t burn down until morning. I’ll be fine.”

I got up and picked out the size log I wanted, easing  it into a place where it would take an hour or two to start burning good. The embers were glowing as I set the log in place. I ran up stairs and yanked the comforter off our bed. I brought it down and I arranged it all around us as I held him close to me.

“Good night, my love,” I said, kissing the top of his head.

Andy did not move or speak. I listened to the fire and watched the glow. Andy’s breathing became slow and steady and this was my crying time.

*****

I built the fire back up, after making sure Andy was covered completely with the comforter. He had turned over to face the back of the couch when I got up. He slept like a rock once he went to sleep.

I went into the kitchen and fixed a half pot of coffee. In Louisville a steaming cup would be sitting on the table with the cream next to it each morning when I came downstairs at Mrs. Olson’s. It was a good life when the woman who runs the boarding house you live in treats you like her son.

I was her only boarder for several years now. Mrs. Olson had closed the boarding house. Keeping six rooms and caring for ball players the way she wanted wasn’t possible for her any longer. Taking care of me and Andy when he stayed wasn’t too much for her. We tried to clean up after ourselves but we were guys.

Andy sat and talked to her while I was over at the ball park being a ball player. Andy was in the dugout during games and he paced when the chips were down. The other ballplayers could only hope to achieve a tenth of the success Andy had. They were young, unnerved by his arm, and intimidated by the pacing man.

“Sit down, Andy. You’re making me nervous,” Coach Bell would bark.

“Yes, sir,” Andy would say, and it would be five minutes before he paced some more.

Andy was out of his element. He didn’t want to be around ball. He wanted to be in ball. He didn’t want to be called a great hitter. He wanted to be a great hitter, and he couldn’t stay away from baseball.

There was no greater harm done to a man than to give him a great love for something and then take it away from him. Even worse was letting him watch other men do what he was no longer able to do. Andy wanted to be in the game not watching a game. It was painful for me to watch, but being at Mrs. Olson’s was just a little worse than being here. Leaving just before the season ended, Andy still stayed until he had to leave to begin the next round of treatment.

Now we were home together and I got to watch him be sick, and each time he’d begin to feel just a little better, he’d go to get more chemo and it would start all over again.

I watched out the back window to see if maybe a deer might pass or perhaps a bear with her half grown cubs. There was still plenty of wildlife on and near our farm. Drinking coffee and relaxing was good to get me ready for the day and whatever came next.

What came next was this afternoon’s chemo. Whatever was waiting for him when he woke up this morning, this afternoon all bets were off. We’d take his car. It was bigger and the ride was smooth. It was the one thing Andy owned that screamed big bucks. He’d driven it home from Pittsburgh and it was in the driveway when I got home.

The house was a present to me. It was how we kept sanity in our relationship. When he paid off the mortgage, against the advise of his tax attorney, he said, “We’ll always have the house. No matter what happens. The house is ours.”

What happened had happened. We were in no danger of being put out on the street, but somehow that wasn’t as important as it once had been to us. The seven figure salary over the past few years was in accounts to assure we couldn’t be wiped out by a bad economy.

Andy was still a poor boy in his mind. We wouldn’t go broke and people who knew what to do with money were advising Andy about what he needed to do with his to provide a good standard of living if the money stopped coming in.

“What you looking at?” Andy said from the doorway. 

“Just looking. Thinking how lucky we’ve been. This is such a perfect place to live. How you’re the perfect man for me. Just little stuff like that.”

“It is, isn’t it?” he said. “The perfect place to live, I mean.”

“What can I get for you. I won’t suggest coffee.”

“No, not coffee. Let’s go to Sammy’s. I want toast,” Andy said.

“I can fix you toast. I can fix you anything you want,” I said.

“I want to go to Sammy’s Diner and Gift Shop. I want some of their rye bread toast.”

“Okay, babe. Sammy’s it is.”

As we got ready, Andy leaned on the sink, looking into the mirror to look at the circles under his eyes.

“Maybe they have a new Dracula movie for me to be in. I’d make a good Dracula, don’t you think?”

“No I don’t. Be careful buster, you’re insulting the man I love.”

“I look awful. Well, one good thing, today’s chemo day. By this evening I’ll be too sick to care how I look. That’s the gift of cancer. It keeps on giving.”

“You look good this morning. We’ll go get you that toast and we’ll take the back way to Indianapolis. We’ll take your car. We’d probably get lost in a pothole if we take mine.”

“Okay. I’ll drive to Sammy’s. You can drive and take whatever road you like going to Indy. It’s a nice day for a ride. We can come straight home once I’m done,” Andy planned.

“Whatever you want, babe. I’m here to serve,” I said, taking both his hands into mine. “Andy, where’s your ring?”

“Came off. I was washing my hands yesterday and it came off in my hand. I thought of how easily it could have gone down the drain.” he said, picking it up out of the empty soap tray.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

I went to the dresser and took the gold chain I gave Andy last Christmas out of the jewelry box. Sliding his ring onto the chain, I took it to Andy, slipping the chain over his head. The ring hung around his neck and he tucked it into his shirt.

“Now it’s close to my heart,” he said. “Makes me feel better.”

“Me too,” I said, kissing him passionately.

Chapter 6

Apple Butter Love

There were ten tables in Sammy’s place. Two tables were occupied when we got there. We’d been waited on by the woman who came over as soon as we sat down. She gave us a big smile.

“Morning, gentlemen. Coffee?”

“Just me on the coffee. Water with ice in it for him,” I said.

“I want toast,” Andy said. “Dark, rye toast. Not burnt, just well done.”

“What do you want on that, hon. A little gravy, some sausage is nice with the rye toast.”

“Toast, dry, well-done, not burnt.”

“I’ll take pancakes. Bring an extra plate in case I can get him to eat one.”

“Oh, hon, you’re not feeling well. What’s wrong?” she asked, focusing on Andy.

“Chemo,” Andy admitted. “Nothing wants to stay down. It goes down, takes a look around and comes back up. The toast will be safe.”

“Now, you let me take care of this, hon. I’ve put up the most incredible apple butter last year. I’m going to put just a little on your toast. It’ll give you something with nourishment in it. I’ll fix you up a cup of tea, mild, with a tiny twist of lemon. You’ll see. It’ll go down like it was meant to be in your stomach. You leave it up to Lula-May, you hear?”

“You aren’t from Indiana,” I said.

“Jackson, Mississippi. My husband lived up here. We came back when the work ran out down our way.”

“Lot of that going around,” Andy said. “Put the apple butter in a side dish so I can try it first.”

“You’ll eat it all. Trust me,” she said with a smile.

“It’s not her I don’t trust. It’s my stomach,” Andy told me.

“She seems to know her stuff,” I said, hoping.

When the pancakes came I buttered my two and slid the third onto the extra plate. I used the blackberry preserves on mine, after floating some butter on top of the steaming cakes.

Andy slid the plate with the extra pancake on it in front of him and opened some butter, spreading it on liberally. He usually didn’t want anything greasy, but I wasn’t going to interrupt him. He checked the packages of jelly until he found the last blackberry preserves and spread that on the pancake.

“Is it good that way?” he asked.

“I love blackberry preserves. It’s delicious on pancakes,” I said.

Andy was still smearing it around as I was finishing my two. He cut it with his fork and began eating it. I waited for the fork to go down, but it didn’t. He ate every bite, amazing me. Andy’s color had changed from a pale white to a pinkish white. He showed no sign of distress on his face.

Lula-May returned to pour my cup full of coffee.

“What did you do to my apple butter?” she said, peaking under the table in a mock exercise to indicate she was looking for it. “Does Lula-May know, or does Lula-May know? I ask you?”

“It was good, Do. Lula-May knows. You have a little more of that tea?” Andy asked.

“Coming right up. I’ll give you a doggy bag with some of the tea from my box I keep in the kitchen. It’s what I drink. It’s really easy on the tummy. You ate all your toast and a pancake. That’s good. You’ll feel better. Having an appetite is half the battle, hon.”

“I do appreciate it, Lula-May,” Andy said. “I’m on the way for my chemo. I’m afraid this will be a fleeting digestive event by this afternoon, but I did enjoy it.”

“Oh, hon, I know. My James…. Well, he had that,” she said, not saying what she began to say.

“He didn’t make it?” Andy said, understanding her look.

“Passed almost two years ago. A man who don’t find work to keep him believing he’s a man, it et him up. That cancer kilt him before you could whistle Dixie. He didn’t want to live if he didn’t feel like a man. What do you do, hon?”

“We play baseball,” I answered.

“Baseball? James loved his baseball. He knew the teams and the names of the good players.”

“Might of known his name,” I said, indicating Andy. “I doubt he knew mine.”

She looked at Andy and wanted to talk more but she decided not to get on unsteady ground. She could see he wasn’t well enough to be playing much ball.

“What’s the damage?” Andy asked, after he’d finished his second cup of tea.

I gave up the $5.38 receipt Lula-May let me take from her. Andy looked into it for the apple butter, tea, and such, but she only charged us for toast, hotcakes, and one cup of coffee. She certainly wasn’t taking advantage of us.

Andy tossed down a twenty dollar bill for the tip and moved toward the door to pay the bill.

“Thank you, hon,” Lula-May said, beaming when she saw her handsome tip.

“Lula-May,” Andy said, turning as he put away his change. “Do you put up blackberry preserves?”

“I do,” she said proudly. “Some say they’re the best this side of Jackson.”

“I’ll buy two bottles from you. We’ll be back Friday morning. I won’t pay a penny over ten dollars per bottle,” Andy bargained. “Two apple butter if you can spare them.”

“Hon, I don’t sell them. I give them to my friends.”

“That’s my final offer,” Andy said. “Friday morning, same time, same place. Ten dollars a bottle. Final offer. Take it or leave it. I won’t let you take advantage of me.”

“You are a very nice man,” I said, after we were out in front of the diner.

I took his arm in spite of our conservative posture whenever we went out in public. He smiled and put his hand on mine. I was so happy to have him, but I knew in a few hours I’d be watching him fighting the chemicals they’d use on him early that afternoon. Happy didn’t last long these days.

“Too few nice people in the world,” Andy told me. “When I find one, I want to do business with them if I can. I have mine, Do. We have ours. Being kind to people who are kind to me is the least I can do.

“I’d never had blackberry preserves before. Sounded pretentious to me. Good stuff. I saw you using it before. I wasn’t even curious. Funny how things change in time.”

“Speaking of good stuff,” I said, patting Andy on the ass as we stopped next to his car.

“You’re bad, Do. I think you’re trying to seduce me.”

“Appreciating the finer things in life is all,” I said.

“One day, Do. One day,” he said, letting me know the love was still there even if the body wasn’t up to his desire.

I started the car and turned toward Indianapolis on the road Sammy’s was on. It was over three hours on a secondary road, but there were things to see and places we might want to stop. We both liked riding in his Town Car.

*****

Harold came home shortly after we returned from Indianapolis on Friday. Andy went straight up to bed. He didn’t want anything to eat. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when Harold came in through the kitchen, opening and closing the fridge before making his appearance.

“Where’s dinner. Your kid comes home from school and there’s no dinner? Is this a way to raise a kid?”

“You have classes on Saturday, Harold. You shouldn’t be home. You need to study.”

“I could teach those classes, J. D. Besides they give me the assignments and it’s mostly reading. I told them, ‘I need to come home to be with my sick dad.”

“They met Andy when you enrolled last year. Don’t you think they suspect he may not be your father, even though he is buying you a diploma?”

“Buying it. I have you know I been working my ass off.”

“You just told me you could teach those classes.”

“Do you believe everything I say?”

“I’ve got to. You’re my only child, Harold. I saw it written somewhere.”

“That’s another thing. I got two fathers. It’s a biological conundrum.”

“’I’ll take your word for it. Can they cure it?”

“Cure what?” Harold asked.

“A conundrum doesn’t sound like something to fool around with,” I said, and he laughed.

“You think they think he isn’t my father?” Harold asked with seriousness in his question.

“You’re black. He’s white. They’re doctors. I think they probably suspect something isn’t kosher.”

“Is this your way of telling me I’m a Jew?”

“Harold?”

“I can’t be a Jew, J. D. I’m thinking about being a Muslim.”

“I didn’t think you believed in a higher power?”

“I don’t, but being Muslim gets everyone’s panties in a bunch. I figured I’d be Muslim. Give the boys at the office something to talk about.”

“They’ll find plenty to talk about without you helping. Keep a low profile and it might make it easier on you. You might consider that option. Your life hasn’t been a picnic. He went upstairs. Wasn’t feeling like much when we got home.”

“I told them A. G. needed me to be home. I wanted to be home. He doing okay, J. D.?”

“Not really. If he can sleep through the night he might feel a little better tomorrow. He’s a tough man but this stuff… if the cancer don’t kill him the chemo might.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t want you to say that,” Harold said, becoming suddenly serious.

“It’s tough on all of us, Harold. He’ll get through it and once this crap is done with, he’ll be his old self again. What do you want for dinner?”

“Got any hamburger out? French fries. Soda.”

“I think we can handle that. We’re almost out of French fries. We’ll go into Seymour in the morning. Andy might want something. How is school?”

“It’s okay. I have a term paper to write and a lot of reading to do. I can do it here. They know I want to be home and I’m far enough ahead they aren’t worried I might fall behind. I’m almost a year ahead on my credits. I’ll buckle down when baseball season starts.”

“How’s Melinda?”

“Melinda?” Harold questioned.

“You met her at the library. You were going to the movies at the student union. You were in love with her as I recall. She was going to have your children right after the movie?”

“Oh, Lindy. Haven’t seen her. I really think you and A. G. are having a negative impact on my ability to get girls. I been told that kind of stuff rubs off. I think I am being influenced by your deviant lifestyle.”

“How so,” I naively asked.

“The girls all keep getting away from me. I meet one I like and we go out a few times and that’s it. We stop seeing each other. Do you think you’re influencing my love life? Both of my parents being guys and all.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to get serious with a girl until you became a doctor?” I said.

“Oh, you remember that. I suppose that could be the cause. It’s difficult changing girls each week. I might run out. I wouldn’t want to think it was my fault.”

“I’d suspect your cavalier attitude toward women.”

“Yeah, that could be it. Not as psychologically challenging as being the product of having two fathers. I’ve read that can be a problem for heterosexual lads like me. Confuses our sexuality.”

“Harold,” I said. “There are no lads like you. You are one of a kind. It’s why we love you. Never a dull moment, and if you fail at becoming a doctor, you can become a comedian, and in your spare time you can operate on the audience for laughs.”

“Don’t be silly. That would go against all the rules of the American Medical Association.”

Harold staked out a corner of the couch and laid out his books on the coffee table. He read until I took him two hamburgers and the last pound of fries we had. I filled his glass with ice and left the 2 liter bottle of soda beside it.

Andy got up around nine and he came down to build up the fire. He was getting cold again and the fire had died down from its earlier peak. He sat for a while but didn’t have much to say.

Harold looked over the top of his book at him from time to time and there was a pained look in his eyes. He’d be home a couple of times a week until the chemo was done.

It wasn’t easy on a boy who never had a family to see the people he’d adopted going through hard times. Harold was tough in the way you’ve got to be tough to survive when you’re on your own. He’d let down his guard around Andy and me, and now he felt our pain and accepted it as his own. He was quite a kid. Having a genius in the house was a little intimidating.

I was sure Harold would make an excellent doctor.

*****

Andy caught me daydreaming at the kitchen window again early in November. The trees had all gone bare and the sky was mostly gray. Black birds came in flocks, settling in the treetops, and then soaring off all at the same time, as if by design.

“There’s money, Do,” Andy reassured me, although the subject hadn’t come up during his ordeal.

The money was Andy’s and I never asked where it went or what he was doing with it. He had an investment advisor and tax account that his club recommended when the numbers on his contract went over seven figures.

Andy didn’t know anything about money and neither did I. I mowed lawns to go to college and Andy played ball. Ball had paid off big time for Andy by the time his career went on hold. We hadn’t talked about money because it was too final, and that suggested something neither of us had a stomach for at the time.

“I know,” I said, watching the birds ballet above our trees.

“There’s lots of time before ball starts, you know?”

“I know.”

“I don’t have another treatment until next month. I even feel half way decent today. Almost, anyway. It hasn’t been a whole week since the final treatment in this series. I’m bound to feel better.”

“That’s good,” I said. “We’ll have a good time then.”

“What’s bothering you then?” Andy wanted to know. “You’ll never want for anything again.”

“We’ve never been anywhere. Don’t tell me about the front yard and the backyard. We travel with our teams but they’re different teams. We haven’t traveled together since my junior year in college and then only to other ball parks. I want to go somewhere.”

“Where do you want to go, Do?”

“Somewhere warm. Not like when it’s sweltering in Louisville in July. Somewhere nice, so I can get you outside. We can walk and maybe even swim if the sharks aren’t in season. It would help your rehab. Swimming is good for you. Warm is nice. It won’t be warm here for a while.”

“Sharks don’t have a season, Do. They live in the water year round. It’s their home like Indiana is our home.”

“I know. Let’s get in the car. Your car, and let’s drive. Let’s just go. Be together.”

“Harold?” Andy said.

“He’s so wrapped up in doctors and hospitals that he won’t even notice us being out of reach for a month. Now that the chemo is done, he’ll be back to impressing doctors and chasing girls. He doesn’t see us for most of baseball season each year. He’ll be glad you’re feeling well enough to travel.”

“I know,” Andy said, and we laughed. “What do you want? Just tell me what you want, Do. I’ll call my money man and we’ll get enough to do anything you say.”

“What do you want? What would be fun for you?”

“Right now I want a cup of coffee with a little bit of that white stuff you put in it.”

“You do?” I asked. “You are getting adventurous.”

“Okay, half a cup but I want the white stuff.”

“That’s half and half.”

“Yeah, that’s it. It makes it easier going down. Can’t imagine myself doing that to coffee. I must be getting old.”

“Maybe you should drink some milk. It’s supposed to build strong bones,” I said. “Easy on the stomach.”

“Did you get me a cow?” Andy asked.

“No. They sell it in stores. If I got you a cow we couldn’t go away. We’d have to feed the cow to get the milk, and you’d need to spend all your time drinking it, because a cow makes a passel of milk.”

“Cows haven’t been finding their own way all this time? We got to feed them. I thought they ate grass. We got plenty of grass.”

“I’ll make a fresh pot,” I said, moving over to the sink to get rid of the used grounds. I got down the coffee and filled the basket to make another pot.

“I only want a half cup, Do. When I say we have money, I don’t mean we can afford a whole pot of coffee every time I want a little.”

“I know,” I said, pouring the last of the old pot into my cup before making another pot. “I might drink another cup or two. Fresh will go easier on your stomach.”

“Do we have any chickens or do the eggs come from stores too? I don’t like milk that much. Let’s cancel the cow and get us some chickens. Do we have to feed chickens?”

I turned around to look at him. His color was pale but not that ugly gray that had hung on the last few weeks he was taking the chemo. He was standing up straight. He washed his face before he came down. We were making progress. He no longer wore his hat in the house. I was getting used to his bald head. Maybe a little tan up there would make him even sexier.

“One or two eggs?” I asked.

“How many chickens do we have?”

“No chickens but I bought a dozen eggs last week. I can scramble them in butter the way you like. No oil. Rye toast. Well-done, not burnt.”

“Yes, two of those and toast the way I like it. Maybe a whole cup of coffee since you’re making a whole pot. Don’t want you drinking too much. Will the half and half hold out?”

Chapter 7

Sailing?

Andy sat at the table, watching me move around the kitchen to take care of him. His eyes were brighter after only five days since the chemo ended. The last two weeks of treatments had been the hardest on him yet. They weren’t very easy on me and all I did was watch.

On the morning of the sixth day, his color was improving. He looked as though he felt better. He was downstairs with me and that was unusual. It had me feeling better. We were getting back to normal.

I’d spent a lot of time upstairs with Andy. I hoped better days were ahead. I didn’t go overboard. I didn’t know how it was supposed to go. I only knew Andy had taken a beating and I didn’t like it much, but I wasn’t sick, if you didn’t count being sick at heart.  

He knew there was no more chemo for a month. Then there would be two weeks of chemo after Thanksgiving in early December. If Andy had no complaints, there was to be a follow up in February to make sure everything was all right. At that time he’d get a go ahead to intensify his rehabilitation. The worst part of being sick was behind us if there were no complications.

Seeing him come downstairs in the morning with an appetite made me smile. I felt good too. I liked looking at him. I liked seeing him. I wanted his life repaired.

“One more,” he said.

“Coffee, toast, or egg?”

“One egg, one toast, hell, let’s go for the whole nine yards. More coffee, Do. I may as well see if it’s all going to come up or not, and if it doesn’t come back up, we’re going out for lunch. I’m taking you to the Pine. No KFC for us. We’re going to waltz all over that smorgasbord. Better take the Tums just in case.”

“It’s a deal,” I sang, slipping the pan back on the stove and dropping a slice of rye bread into the toaster.

I collected his cup, poured the cream into his coffee, and stirred it for him. I knew his color now, and it was easy stirring the right amount of ‘white stuff’ into his cup.

He leaned back in his chair and watched me cooking and cleaning as I went along. We had a beautiful kitchen and I hated leaving dirty dishes or pots and pans. They discouraged me from cooking when I let them pile up.

I wasn’t much of a cook, but I could keep us alive. There were always cans and frozen dinners to fortify the things I could cook. I was learning and when I retired, I’d take cooking lessons to learn how to feed my man right.

“You ever go sailing?” Andy asked, after a long silence, while I finished the last of the dishes

He covered his cup when I offered him more coffee. I poured the rest of it in my cup and washed the coffee maker.

“No. My father knew a guy that sailed. He went out with him a few times. I was young. I remember him talking about it but not what he said. There’s no water suitable for sailing in Statesville.”

“Not where I was raised either. Only what came out of the pipes on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“You only had water on Tuesdays and Fridays? You never told me that before.”

“How could anyone live without water every day? I just thought it up as part of my life’s story. Sounds like I came from nothing to become the man you see before you now. Maybe a log cabin. Did they still have log cabins twenty-six years ago, when I was born?”

“Twenty-seven,” I reminded him. “Soon to be twenty-eight.”

“Hell, if I’m going to lie about the water, do you really think I’m going to tell people how old I am, once I’m old?”

“No one will want to know once you’re old,” I said.

“You just can’t let me have my own story. It sounds good. From humble beginnings came a towering figure in baseball sluggery. It’s a good story. I could be the Lincoln of baseball. I chop wood and everything.”

“Did Lincoln chop wood?” I asked.

“He split rails. That’s chopping wood any way you cut it.”

“Yeah, but your life story should be true. The real story is more believable and it was plenty humble.”

“I think of it as Spartan. I don’t want people to think I was poor.”

“You were poor, Andy.”

“I told you I didn’t want people thinking I was poor. I was there. I know we were poor. I like to think of it as economically challenged.”

“It’s your story, Have it your way,” I said, mopping up the counters for the final time.

“There were no designer sneakers when I was a boy,” Andy declared his true hardship.

“Yes, there were,” I said.

“Not where I lived there weren’t. I had used sneakers until I was fourteen. A coach bought me my first new pair.”

“Used? Like used tires?”

“We did our best shopping at the thrift store. I bought a pair of sneakers for five bucks. Those suckers were hardly broke in. Those were the good old days, Do. I could trot over to Goodwill and pick me up a pair of sneakers any time I had five bucks.”

[“Sailing? You wanted to talk about sailing?”

“Can I have a sailboat?” Andy asked.

“You can do any damn thing you want. You’ve only got five million dollars in the bank. Buy two sailboats.”

“No, I don’t trust banks,” Andy said. “I’ve never kept money in the bank.”

“It’s in our mattress?” I asked.

“I don’t trust mattresses. Money makes them lumpy.

Most of it is in stock in my ball club. Do you know how much ball clubs are worth these days?”

“A lot, but I didn’t think they let ordinary folks buy into a pro team?”

“It’s not that they don’t let them. They don’t offer the stock.”

“How’d you get it then?”

“My tax accountant is Pittsburgh’s accountant. The team officials suggested him after I got the big bonus to sign with Pittsburgh, while staying at Indy until they wanted me. You don’t think they got off cheap for that little holdup. I needed an agent and an investment attorney to get what I was worth.”

“Whatever you are invested in, I’m sure you can afford a sailboat. I just don’t know where you’ll sail one.”

“I don’t really own the stock. The investment company holds the rights to it. If anything happens to me or I leave the team, the stock is sold back to the firm at market value. Then I have cash. It’s written on the papers up in the safe.”

“We can afford a sailboat?” I asked, not usually talking to Andy about his money.

He gave me the house but my little tiny salary didn’t pay the bills and it was our house no matter what name he put on it. It was his way of making certain I was secure.

“We’ve got two million and some in liquid assets and the value of the stock was a tick over nine million dollars if we sold it last July. It’s up a few ticks since that time. I haven’t been in Pittsburgh and I haven’t talked to George.”

“Nice ticks,” I said. “Is a sailboat bigger than a tick?”

“Doesn’t include any of my bonus money last season. I was team MVP and the league’s top home run hitter. We didn’t get that money until mid-season, after I was injured. It’s just more cash sitting around. George will tell me when I call him about the sailboat. I haven’t talked to him since July.”

“George should know,” I said, lost in the money he was making and I didn’t know George.

“We’ll be okay, babe,” he assured me. “We’ll be okay and one of our coaches was a navy guy. He sails. Talks about it all the time in the clubhouse. I like the sound of it. He can sail his boat by himself. He usually didn’t, but he could. He made it sound relaxing. I think I need to relax.”

“And the sharks?” I asked.

“Yes, there are sharks, but the sharks have to stay in the water. It’s not just a good idea, it’s the law.”

“That’s good to know. I do worry about sharks,” I said.

“Hardly any sharks at all in Indiana,” Andy said. “I think you’re safe.”

“But we won’t be sailing a boat in Indiana.”

“Good point,” he said.

“I like the water. I don’t think I’d mind a boat. I’ve never been on many boats and then only for short periods. Sailing could be fun,” I said.

“We could just go and stay as long as we want. Just you and me, Do. No one around but us.”

“I’d like the company,” I said, not needing to be convinced.

“You’d have to cook. There aren’t any restaurants out where we’d go sailing.”

“You’d drive though,” I reminded him.

“You’d know how. You can’t sail and not know how to do it. We can have an engine in case of emergencies but you need to know about the sails, the winds, and how to keep the boat from getting into trouble. It’s common sense.”

“Yes, we’d want to do that. I think I’d enjoy learning if I liked the teacher. He’d have to be cute. I like tall men. Maybe six-one or so, broad shoulders, big hands. I like a man with big hands. I think I like bald guys. He’d need to be bald. You’d make a good teacher. I’d like to learn from you.”

“Oh, if I didn’t have my big hands around this cup of coffee, I’d teach you what bald men can do.”

“You could drink it and then show me.”

“The teacher I have in mind for you sounds just like that. He also happens to love you, but that’s got nothing to do with sailing. That’s another kind of lesson.”

“Do you have a boat in mind, Andy?”

“Well, I can call Bobo, the coach, and see what he has to say. He always knows where a boat is, when a guy asks him. I’ll call George Kelly. He’s our tax account and investment manager. He’ll free up enough money to buy a boat, but not so much that our money isn’t making money. Not a good time to be foolish,” Andy said. “A boat has a purpose and the health issue comes into play. It would reduce my stress. I want to have something besides ball on my mind. Sailing is physical work.”

“We might be able to buy a boat near where we are going to learn how to sail it. It’s the kind of thing I had in mind for a vacation. You me and a lot of sunshine and water. This sounds like that.”

“We may not be able to close a deal on what we want this month. We’ll see about going out on the boat after the first of the year. We’ll take a month and I’ll be able to get exercise. It’ll be as good at this point as rehabbing with the Colt’s people. I’ll be ready to do that by the time you’re ready to go to spring training.”

“You won’t play this year, Andy?”

“I’ll be lucky if I can swing a bat after a year. That’s July. I want to be as strong as I’ve ever been before taking my first real big league swing. I never want to be injured like that again. Don’t know if I could ever take another swing if I break it again. When I go back, I’ll be starting over, Do.

“It’ll be like starting my career a second time. I don’t know if Pittsburgh is going to wait until I’m ready to play. They’ve got a part-time guy in my place but once I’m out a year they’ll be looking to replace me.”

“A power hitter like you doesn’t come along every year, Andy. A club can’t hope to find another hitter as good as you are. Can’t see them giving up on you, until you give up on yourself. They’ll wait.”

“I’ll get as strong as I can. Make sure the arm is able to take the force of hitting big league pitching. I’ll take my time. We’ll start off sailing and swimming. My diet is important. We might need to hire a dietician to make sure I’m getting the right nourishment under the circumstances.”

“We’ll do whatever you think you want. We’ll try anything you want to try. That’s what I think.”

“July or August maybe,” he said. “I want to be ready to start training for ball by July or August if nothing goes wrong. Then it will probably be the following year when I start my career again. I’ll be a new Andy Green.”

“Not too new, Andy. I was pretty fond of the old Andy Green. Let’s keep as much of him around as possible.”

It was the first time Andy told me he had a plan. It was a good plan. It was a plan that went one step at a time. That sounded good to me.

I loved hearing the hope in his voice. I loved hearing him tell me about the future. I’d never doubted he would do what he said he would do. That’s just the way it was. There was nothing else. Andy had come from hard times and he was a fighter. He’d always known he wanted to play ball.

Our lives were about baseball and that wasn’t going to change until…, until it did.

*****

November was cold. Not too cold but cold enough to keep a fire burning all the time. Andy began moving around like he was doing more than just clinging to life. I caught him doing sit-ups and trying to chin himself with just his good right arm.

It was only a matter of time when the inert left hand would be called on to take the bar to hold a tiny bit of the weight. His soft cast had gone into the drawer a few weeks before. He hadn’t gone back to using it. He worked out in his tee-shirt, meaning he wasn’t cold all the time any longer.

We ate out several times a week and we ate more vegetables and fruits. What we couldn’t get in Seymour we picked up in Indianapolis at the green grocer. We tried exotic fruits and I learned how to cook what we couldn’t get away with eating raw.

We made love for the first time in over a month at the end of the first week in November. Andy had been saving up and it was worth the wait. We’d spent the next week making love every time we looked at each other. We had the time and the privacy to have sex all over the house. We had to make sure we knew Harold’s schedule, but once he saw Andy getting back to his old self, Harold didn’t come home all that often. He took school seriously.

There were too many girls and too little time. Andy and I drove the two hours to take him to dinner twice a week, which satisfied his need to see that we were okay. He’d not only been allowed to be in the operating room with Dr. Joy, but he was holding retractors and handing the surgeon instruments as he grew more familiar with the operating room formalities.

“I had my hands in this guy’s chest. I felt his heart beating. The human body is a marvelous piece of work,” Harold told us, between bites of his hamburger.

“You need to have a salad,” Andy said.

“Salad? I don’t eat that stuff,” Harold said.

“That’s why you should have a salad. You need vegetables along with the meat.”

“I get those later,” Harold said. “Are potatoes a vegetable? Onions must be.”

After two hamburgers, fries, and onion rings, there was no room for a salad. He told us he’d get one next time. I doubt he’d ever had properly prepared vegetables, except when he lived next door, and then he refused to eat them.

Harold had a mind of his own and he was going to do it his way. We knew better than to try to make him do it our way. We’d had far better success letting him have his own way, as long as it wasn’t doing him any apparent harm.

We didn’t try to force him into living the way we thought would be best for him. One day he’d have a wife and that would be her job. Maybe she’d have better luck getting Harold to do what was good for him.

Chapter 8

Andy's Plan

We bought a weight training station for the house. They came to install it from the factory and Pittsburgh’s trainer came to plan the exercises he and the doctors wanted Andy to do. He stressed repetition and no heavy weight until his next complete physical.

It had a slant board for sit-ups and a dip station for his triceps. He was forbidden to do dips until it was cleared under the trainer’s supervision. Any part of Andy’s body that needed condition was covered on this highly recommended gear, except one. I was giving him all the exercise he could possibly want. If he wasn’t in condition yet, he soon would be, or I’d want to know why not.

For an hour each day he went into his exercise room and worked up a sweat. There was no strain put on the left arm but he did use it and put some weight on it as time went on. He was as careful with that arm as he could be. It would come around in time and he was going to give it all the time it took.

 *****

The meeting about buying a sailboat was arranged for the week before Thanksgiving. The boat that was available was larger, extravagantly decorated, and in Corpus Christi, Texas. Both Andy and I raised an eyebrow when it was described and a picture of it appeared on the computer screen in front of us. Even in a picture it looked too big.

“I’ve only got one good arm. I want something I’m able to sail. It is supposed to be to relax and get some R&R after the chemo was done. I can’t handle that.”

George turned the computer screen around to look at the boat.

“It’s a boat for a man with means. You have the means, Andy,” Bobo, the Pittsburgh batting coach said. “You asked me to look and when I put the word out to my people, this came back as the best buy anywhere. It has a three man crew. You get to relax completely. They do the work.”

“That’s a lot of money,” Andy remarked, having seen the price listed under the picture of the boat.

“We can slip over to Boston in an hour and I can put you in a brand new sailboat coming off their factory floor in two hours. It won’t be half the boat and it will be more money. This is almost new. It was fitted for the guy that bought it. He died after taking delivery a month ago. His estate has to unload it to liquidate his assets for final distribution.

“The only reason I know about it is because I know a guy that knows a guy. It isn’t on the market yet, as soon as it is, it’ll be gone. A cash offer in six figures will buy a boat that probably retailed at half a million. You can park it in your driveway and sell it in a year and double your money, because you can wait to get your price. His estate wants this boat sold yesterday.

“I’m told it is a honey of a boat, once you get past the inside looking like a brothel. A few thousand dollars and a decent decorator can fix that. The price mentioned to me was one hundred and fifty thousand. The price on the picture is $200,000 because it came from the shipbuilder marked $250,000. Anyone knows anything about boats, knows that’s steal if you can get past the brothel look, which is to our advantage.”

“Shipbuilder?” Andy said.

“We’ll take a look and make them an offer. They want one fifty,” George Kelly said. “My company is looking for a yacht we can use to take employees and customers out on to impress them. I’ll propose a deal where we pay for the crew and the upkeep, you let us have access to the boat during baseball season. You’re too busy to use it that time of year and that’s when people want to be on boats.”

“It’s a steal. I wouldn’t recommend it for a novice sailor if it wasn’t such a bargain, Andy. We’ll look at it. There’s no obligation to buy. You won’t find this kind of boat at this price anywhere and it could be gone tomorrow. They’ll hold off on advertising the sale until I get back to them,” Bobo said.

“Why would they sell it so cheap??” Andy asked.

“Bad economy. The owner picked this time to drop dead. His estate wants to unload it. You just happen to be asking about a boat at the right time. As soon as I saw it, I knew you needed to see it, Andy. Man would you look good sailing this sucker. I’d look good sailing it but my wife has other plans for my money,” Bobo said.

“That’s a lot of boat. I don’t know,” Andy said.

“I told George to advise you to buy it. We can go to Corpus Christi to get a close up view.”

“How long?” Andy asked.

“Forty-eight foot. One man can sail it but it’s more of a pleasure boat. You let your crew sail it and you drink your -- whatever you’re drinking -- on the fantail and give orders.”

“Yeah, I can see it all now,” Andy said. “Turn left at the corner. I’d really sound like a sailor.”

“Hardy any corners out there,” Bobo said, but a lot of glorious water and the most beautiful horizon in the world. This is a ‘be good to yourself’ boat, Andy. You got what, a car, and isn’t that for making commercials for Big Barney Bostic Autos? You didn’t even pay for that. You’ve got more money than you want to keep laying around, son. You need this boat. I want a ride on this boat.”

“Texas?” Andy said, not convinced he wanted a yacht that required a crew to get it away from the dock.

“The big well-armed state with the cowboys,” George Kelly said. “We’ll take the company jet. I’ll write it off to investment opportunity if I don’t get a commission for the sale. Won’t cost you a cent to take a look see.”

No it wouldn’t, but Texas was a long way from Pittsburgh and I wasn’t sure Andy wanted to go. I knew we’d talk about it when we were alone. These were Andy’s handlers. Bobo had been coaching Pittsburgh’s big hitters for decades and Andy was one of his boys. It was something like a father son relationship and Andy trusted Bo Bowers above anyone on his team.

George Kelly handled Andy’s money. He was invested in Andy and the future was paved with gold if Andy’s career continued. George wasn’t going to do anything to violate Andy’s trust. He also handled other Pittsburgh players and some of the club’s investments. He was a straight arrow, who knew my name was on everything Andy owned.

Morris Bronson was Andy’s agent. He kept Andy in the press and in the public eye, except when he didn’t. He didn’t in the off season, when Andy was home in Indiana. Morris arranged all of Andy’s appearances and commercials, during the season. Once Andy left the ball field and the end of the season, he was unavailable and Morris passed on any offers or requests.

None of them knew the extent of Andy’s relationship with me. It wasn’t hard to figure out but their business was business and my relationship with Andy was none of their business. If they didn’t know they were blind.

I stayed out of the conversation. This was Andy’s deal and these were Andy’s people. Andy would do his business and discuss it with me when we were together if he wasn’t sure about what was the best thing to do.

After a meeting in Pittsburgh we boarded a Gulfstream 3 and flew to Texas. The plane was leased by Kelly’s firm for “cleaning up odds and ends” without delay. It was obvious they thought a delay of even a few hours might see someone else making an offer on the boat.

Morris was also Bo Bower’s agent. Bobo ran the deal past Morris before taking it to Andy. Both of them thought it would do him good to spend time on the water while his body healed. They knew the most about the deal, and that had me thinking, ‘why not?’

I played ball in Louisville while Andy played ball in Pittsburgh and the little time we had together during baseball season wasn’t spent entertaining the guys who we did business with. You could do all my business on the back of an envelope, but it wasn’t so easy for Andy.

Andy had an investment manager, an accountant, an agent, and a tax attorney to keep his money his money. It was the first time I met any of them or heard about what Andy was really worth. We had everything we needed and never talked about money, but as Andy said, “We have money.”

Boy did we ever. I knew the numbers went into seven figures in his second season, which was his first full season, spending over half the season in Indianapolis before Pittsburgh called him up.

Bobo was the sailor among us. Andy knew him best and trusted him most and he did what George thought was best in most instances. When the tax attorney did Andy’s income tax, he double checked Andy’s assets to be sure it was earning a reasonable amount of interest

It was all checked and double checked and until now, there were no major purchases, because the house had been bought with the original contract and signing bones. The club had backed up the deal, when Andy wanted the house free and clear.

Since then we’d lived on his monthly allowance and we never used all of it. My entire salary went into a checking account and I wrote checks to Mrs. Olson once yearly for my room and board and any extras I needed while in Louisville.

We’d been very happy being at home when we weren’t constantly on the road playing ball. There was something about that lifestyle that had us staying close to the house most of our off season time. This would be the first time we did anything out of the ordinary. The times required some fun and relaxation for both of us. I was beginning to like the idea as we were on the way to see the boat.

Andy could buy this boat and one to keep it company. Talk had been that he’d sign a five year contract for something around forty million dollars, which didn’t include incentives and bonuses. He didn’t know how much his bonuses were from the previous season. It was just more money than Andy could deal with. He let other people protect his interests.

The most Andy had to say about it was, ‘We got it.’

Having an opportunity to spend a little and at the same time make a good investment and give us some good times, after some hard times, was a good idea to me.

We all sat at a mahogany table to talk boats. The inside of the airplane was like a suite at the Four Seasons. There was wood paneling, wall to wall carpeting, book cases, a bar, and some very comfortable seats with seatbelts, but we sat in regular chairs at a table in the center of the room. The sound of the aircraft was minimal. It was nothing like coach.

“The boat is part of an estate that’s being contested by a half dozen parties. These parties were all in business with the deceased. The estate needs to be liquidated as fast as possible, so they can get the money. If the executor took time to look inside the boat, he understood it was going to be difficult selling it anywhere near its true value.

“The man’s business was oil. His partners had no interest in his toys. With so many partners, and with his property, homes, cars, and the boat being titled to his businesses, everyone wants it in cash. These kind of people want it yesterday. No single asset will add up to much money, but the lot will add up to a pile of cash for each of them, and that’s the name of the game.”

“Show me the money,” Bobo said, downing his drink.

“Now I don’t know the men involved in the liquidation of the estate, because Bobo got word of the yacht through a third party at the Houston franchise. One of the club owners is one of the partners. He told Bobo about the boat when the Houston manager mentioned Bobo was looking for a boat. Bobo called me after talking with Morris.

“Little sailboat is where we started. And now we are talking yacht. A little sailboat I can keep in the bathtub,” I explained. “A yacht sounds like a big boat to me. I can’t learn to sail the Queen Mary. I’m a shortstop,” explained to some laughter.

“Mr. Do… Do…,” he said and then looked at Andy for help.

“Just Do,” Andy said. “We’re not up tight assholes. We’re country boys, but we know the difference between a sailboat and a yacht. So I figure we’re talking investment rather than pleasure craft. Am I reading what you’re telling me right? The disposition of this boat comes down to whether or not Do and I can manage it.”

“You put it better than I could. We’ll look her over and if it’s too rich for your blood, well, it’s a bargain. I’d hate to see some rich fart get it,” George said.

“I am a rich asshole,” Andy said. “I want to see it. I didn’t like the sound of it at first but I’m thinking abut it.”

“Don’t forget old Bobo got you onto this deal. My wife may not allow me to buy this kind of a boat, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be more than willing to go out on it,” Bobo said, draining his Black Jack over ice one more time.

*****

The conversation took a sharp turn toward baseball. Pittsburgh had settled into a .500 season, after July. Their drive toward a pennant stalled and it was one of those seasons when the club couldn’t get on a winning streak. It didn’t have any long losing streaks either. It was a decent baseball season, but with results that were less than satisfying. 

Bobo described the hitting and Morris talked about a new prospect for the pitching staff that was getting a lot of press. With three solid starters, another strong pitcher would beef up a pennant run. The power was lackluster with no mention of what made it that way. It was an objective view of a club everyone there but me knew inside out.

Andy added nothing to the conversation. He knew what Pittsburgh did that season. It made him sad that a team that looked to be pennant bound fell so far short of that goal. There was no blame, no fingers to be pointed. It was baseball and that’s how baseball went some years.

“Do,” Morris said. “That sailboat in your tub is a toy. The Lady Jane is an investment.”

“If we invest, that name has got to go,” I said, feeling a cold chill run up my back when I heard it.

*****

I don’t know how long we were in the air. It didn’t seem like long. When we taxied over to the hanger, a long limo was waiting for us. A well dressed man much older than my father got out of the back, introduced himself, and we got inside for the ride to where the boat was docked.

“They’ll take you out in the` gulf. We’ve put some food on for you and there is a bar. You can chat and look over the Lady Jane and they’ll have you back before dark. I’ll be here to take your money if you decide she’s the boat you want.”

We went up the dock and the engines were already running. Almost as quick as we went aboard, lines were tossed onto the dock and the boat began easing into the channel. We were all impressed at the size and how smooth it ran. We were all of a hundred feet from shore.

A man dressed all in white with one of those commodore’s hats with all the gold piping on the shiny black bill came to show us all his teeth.

“Welcome aboard The Lady Jane, gentlemen. I am your captain, John Paul James.”

“Had a lot of first names they used up on you, son,” Bobo said, shaking his hand.

“We’ll get along way better if you don’t ever say the name of the boat again,” I said. “This deal might depend on it. Why don’t we just call it, the boat?” I suggested.

  “Yes, sir, at your service. The boat is ready for your inspection. I can tell you all about… The Boat. I’ve been her… the captain for as long as she’s… it’s been in the water. I brought it here from the shipyard.”

“No sails?” Andy asked. “They said sailboat. I hear engines.”

“As you can see it has two masts and all the rigging required to send up full sails. The sails have never been taken out of their original packaging. After we brought it around from the shipyard, Mr. Braxton became ill. He only went out a few times. For all practical purpose, she… it’s a new boat.”

“You know what they’re asking?” George asked.

“I know I have a contract that extends for seven more months. The two additional crew members are my hires to adequately operate the vessel and care for the needs of the passengers, and you are the one doing the buying?”

“I’m the man with the money,” George said, tapping his briefcase. “That’s all you need to know for now. We aren’t sold yet, John Paul. What do you want to tell us about the boat we need to know? We would be grateful for your forthrightness.”

“Mr. Braxton had gone around the bend if you ask me. That is a personal observation. He was sick but when he bought this, he was fine, or he looked fine. He bought a boat just like this one late last year. It was another cash deal, same shipyard, and I became his captain then. This year, not even a year, he wants another boat built, this boat. He trades in a boat that hasn’t even had its trash can emptied yet, and he throws in a quarter of a million in cash, but the deal on paper shows it cost a quarter of a million. That was what I was told the asking price would be, but it’s never been advertised. I keep track of such things, because I am under contract to the boat.

“I know yachts and you couldn’t by this yacht for twice the price anywhere that I know about that doesn’t involve pirates. I don’t know what wheeling and dealing was going on, but the way he bought this boat sounded weird to me.

“What else they were buying and selling buying and selling, I can’t tell you, but no one in their right mind does business the way he did it. I concluded he was senile and so accustomed to being in control, he never consulted anyone about the wisdom of what he was doing.

“He was dying and he didn’t know that until he was at death’s door but I don’t know anymore. I never knew anything about his business. I captained his boat.

  “I’ve already been paid. I’d like to remain the captain. She’s a fine craft, hardly broken in. Still has the original tires,” John Paul said. “There is one stumbling block I hate to mention. The interior is an eyesore. His taste left a bit to be desired.”

Bobo laughed. George listened. Morris looked at the trim and how broad the boat was across the back. We could have probably gotten a regulation bowling alley back there.

“We have a man who is recovering from a broken arm. He wanted to sail. This is a bit more boat than he was looking for,” George explained. “He needs to get the kind of exercise sailing might offer him. Be able to swim off the boat and in general get physical exercise.

“What can you do for him? The deal depends on him getting what he needs. Andy’s buying the boat.”

“Andy’s thinking about buying the boat,” Andy said.

“We can hang a moderate size sailboat across the back. It’s a typical setup for a vessel this size. It drops right down in the water and you can sail to your hearts content. We’re talking maybe an additional twenty thousand outlay if we look for a good deal. Market’s depressed and people are giving away boats to get rid of the overhead,” John Paul said.

“You could handle that, John Paul? Finding something that would fit the way you think would work?”

“Certainly. If you need a boat of any kind or anything that goes on a boat, I’m your man. This is the best pleasure boat I’ve ever been on once you get beyond the decor. I’d buy her if I had the cash. They, the estate people, have no idea how he came to have this boat for a quarter of a million. All those bean counters know is the bottom line. They are anxious to make a deal.”

“I’m a bean counter, John Paul, but you’re absolutely right. I get the impression they are looking for a quick sale.”

“I didn’t tell them anything about the vessel. Nothing like I just told you. They don’t really care and they didn’t ask. My loyalty will go with the buyer. I’ll work for him.”

“Someone said there’s a bar?” Bobo asked.

“Yes, sir, just inside the salon. I’ll send one of the mates to serve you,” John Paul said.

“No, no,” Bobo said. “Don’t want no serving. Point me to the bottles and I’ll manage, son. I know my way around a bar.”

Morris laughed and John Paul walked us to the glassed entryway into the salon. Sliding the door to one side, he indicated for us to go inside.

It was all very shiny with wood trim and thick carpets. There were mirrors and lots of glass. It could have been a scaled down whore house. It had no appeal and the former owner had little or no taste, except when it came to stocking his bar, which got the attention of two in our party.

Bobo and Morris didn’t mind the booze. They went straight for the bar to continue their party.

Chapter 9

Boats & Planes

The glasses tinkled with ice cubes as the boat trip continued. I wanted to see it under full sail, but I wasn’t going to ask. I sat beside Andy on a furry kind of coach. It was comfortable, except I had the urge to feed it for some reason. I never found the mouth, but I’m not convinced that there wasn’t one.

George spent some time having a few laughs with Bobo and Morris before he pulled a chair over to us.

“I want to make a deal official if you’re sold on the boat,” George said, sounding all business. “Ball’s in your court, Andy. We’ve all told you what we think, but it’s what you think that matters.”

“What’s our official offer?” Andy asked after some thought.

“They asked me to bring $150,000 cash. I have a cashier’s check for that amount in my briefcase,” George said.

“$125,000,” Bobo said. “They’ll take one twenty-five reliable sources tell me. They want to close a deal today.”

“I just happen to have a cashier’s check for $125,000. You don’t think I was just going to drop down the one fifty, do you? My mama didn’t raise no fools. We’ll see just how bad they want to sell this baby. I put down the $125,000 and if it looks like he might pull back, I’ll go ahead and give him the one fifty.”

“And there’s gong to be a sailboat in addition to that price,” Andy calculated. “How much will that leave me once we buy them both? Ballpark figure works for me,” Andy said with a smile.

“More money than you can count, Andrew. You’re making money as we sit here,” George said.

“Hell, you make money sitting on the crapper, Andy,” Bobo remarked.

“You’ll be a real gentleman with a boat like this,” Morris said. “Maybe I can be your cruise director.”

“They’ll no doubt see us coming, Andy,” I said.

“You don’t like it?” Andy asked.

“I love it and it scares me that I do. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who had a yacht. I’m not the yacht type, but I could learn. Yes, sir, I could learn to love this.”

“Okay, we’ll buy it. I don’t know what I’m doing but John Paul seems competent. If we don’t take to it, we’ll sell it. I need something to do with my time. We wanted to go away and we could certainly go away on this thing.”

“Yes, we could,” I said.

“I understand that,” Andy said.

“I’m going to walk on deck,” I said, not wanting to be in the middle of the business.

“No way,” Andy said, putting his hand on top of mine. “This will be our boat and you need to know the details. If you don’t like something, we’ll talk about it.”

“I don’t like the name,” I said.

“I got that, Do. We’ll have it changed before we see the boat again.”

“The only other business is my companies deal with you to use the boat during baseball season and only with plenty of notice what dates we’ll want it. I’ll suggest that for access to the boat on terms you specify, we’ll pay maintenance, docking fees, and we’ll pay to keep the crew on call. We’ll specify what notice they need to have the vessel ready to go. We’ll pay for the fuel and food we use on these trips. Is that agreeable to you?” George asked.

“Write it up and I’ll sign it. That takes all the work off me and puts it on your people,” Andy said.

“It’s fair for use of the boat. They aren’t going to buy one and this is a sweet boat. I figure there will be some adjustment to the interior before we ask to go out, but that’s up to you two. Don’t know what the man was thinking to buy a boat like this and to make it look like a whore house.”

I laughed at George’s alarm.

“We’ll be making changes,” Andy said.

“Let’s shake on it. Your word is fine with me, Andy. I’ll take it to my people and we’ll seal the deal.”  

“I want John Paul,” Andy said. “You can lease our boat and make arrangements to use it as often as you like, but John Paul stays and he has his own crew to handle whatever group you want to take out.”

“That’s up to you. We wouldn’t change anything you set up. John Paul seems efficient. I liked his forthright approach to our inquiries. He’s no fool. He knew the new owner had arrived and he acted accordingly. I’d think he’s perfect for your needs.”

“Do and I think he’s exactly what we want to assure the safety of our boat.”

“It’s your boat, Andy. That kind of decision is yours and only yours. I want to arrange to use the boat from time to time, when it would be sitting at dock anyway. The company has been talking about making such an arrangement for summer outings, and this is too good to pass up.”  

“It works for me, George,” Andy said, shaking his hand.

“Sound okay to you, Do?” Andy asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I never dreamed such a thing could happen so fast. It seems fast to me.” 

“I work for you, Andy. I’m your employee and I won’t do anything to abuse that. You make money, I make money. You’re happy, I’m happy. It’s good business.”

“This all went very well. I never imagined I’d buy a boat today. I made up my mind I wouldn’t buy anything today. It was just the right people to advise me and just the right advice. I do appreciate it, gentlemen,” Andy said, shaking hands with the three men who stood in front of us.

“They’ll no doubt see us coming, Andy,” I said.

“You don’t like it?” Andy asked.

“I love it and it scares me that I do. I’ve never thought of myself as someone who had a yacht. I’m not the yacht type, but I could learn. Yes, sir, I could learn.”

“ need something to do with my time. We wanted to go away and we could certainly go away on this thing.”

“Yes, we could,” I said.

“The first thing you want to do is relax. You’re still peaked from those treatments. You need to gain some weight and getting some light exercise,” Bobo said, pouring himself another drink. “You’ll be able to start thinking about a come back in another six or eight months.”

“The season will almost be over by then,” Andy said.

“Can’t hurry, Andy. You want to come all the way back and then you’ll know. You try a comeback too early, you could be out of ball this time next year. The big out of ball, not the injured and out of ball while healing. You’ll know when you’re ready, son, you try it too early, well I’ve never coached a better pure hitter than you are. I’d hate to think you’ve done all you’re going to do. You take your time. Let them pay to sit on your ass, and come back on your own time. Don’t let anyone rush you back.”

“George, do I get to sit on my ass and not worry?”

“You have nothing to worry about. You’re covered. No matter what happens, you’re covered. You’ve got insurance, the union, and a club that needs you. They’ll wait. You do what you have to do to get back to where you were.”

It was a pleasant day. Andy and I sat on the fantail when the others went in to eat. We held hands and let the light breeze blow my hair and shine on Andy’s head.

“I could get used to this,” I said.

“It’s a lot of money,” Andy said, smiling when he said it.

“It’s up to you, Andy. It’s your money,” I said.

“How does The Do sound to you?”

“The Do?” I asked.

“Name of the boat. We can’t have that awful name on it any longer than necessary once I buy it. I want to call it The Do.”

I leaned to put my head on his shoulder and John Paul appeared in front of us.

“She is quite a craft. Can I get you drinks? You can dry out fast sitting in the sun. I heard them say you were recovering from cancer treatments. I have a chef who works part time. He worked for Mr. Baxter his last year. He is an excellent cook and is a dietician. I can contact him if you like. Let me have some dates when you’d require him.”

“We’ll think about the dates, John Paul. I was thinking about a dietician. I’ll need to put on some weight,” Andy said.

“You’re a ball player?”

“Baseball,” Andy said.

“Yes, you have that tall thin build. Good hitter?”

“I do okay,” Andy said.

“Led the league in homers two seasons ago,” I bragged.

“You are a hitter. We’ll have to get you back at it as soon as possible. Nothing like sea air and good food. Let John Paul take care of you, sir, and I’ll make sure you are satisfied.”

“Call me Andy. This is Do. We aren’t very formal. I want the name of this vessel change to The Do. I never want to see the name that’s currently on it again. Can that be arranged?”

“I’ll call the painter as soon as we dock. It’ll be changed first thing tomorrow. Anything else, sir?”

“Just Andy, John Paul. No, maybe a beer. I feel like a beer.”

“Any root beer?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t think so. We will stock it from this point forward. I have a very nice ginger ale and fresh fruit juices if you like.”

“Ginger ale sounds good. One beer and one ginger ale, John Paul,” I said, and Andy brought my hand up to kiss the back of it.

“Did I mention how nuts I am about you, mister?”

“Well, you have, but never enough. You can say it again if you want,” I said.

“I do love you so, Do. I’ve ignored what it meant to play big time ball. I just put the money out of my head. The pay for the commercials and the promotions I do for the club. It’s just checks they send to George and he sends me a note saying they sent him the check. This is the first time I’ve taken money out except for the house. That’s the only thing I bought. Now look at us. I’m working with one arm and we’ve opened up the pot of money we’ve got. I can’t imagine me owning something like this boat. Never gave it much thought. The idea I can is what makes it so incredible. I’m doing what I’ve been doing all my life. I just play ball. I’ve always loved playing ball. Now I have money to spend. We have money to spend. Doesn’t seem real.”

“Does George know we’re… you know. He’s standing at the door to the salon watching us hold hands.”

“You’re kidding. Your name is on everything I own. It’s all yours if I croak. If he doesn’t know, seeing us holding hands is [isn’t?] going to matter. He knows. Morris knows. Bobo knows now, but he’s cool. Bobo’s a regular guy. He takes care of his boys.”

“He drinks a lot,” I said.

“He’s got five kids and a wife that spends all his money. That’s why he sails. He needs to get away from the chaos at his house. He’s got three kids in college.”

“We’ve got one,” I said.

“What do you think Harold will make of the boat?” Andy asked.

“Can’t imagine he has ever thought about going out on a boat like this. We’ve never talked about it. No water where he comes from,” Andy said.

“No anything,” Andy said. “We’d probably be smart just bringing him down here and not tell him about it.”

“Christmas. He’ll have time off over Christmas. If I’m feeling okay we can drive down and spend Christmas on the boat.”

“We can’t ask John Paul and his crew to work Christmas. They’ll want to be with their families.”

“We’ll tell him we want him for two weeks. They can go home for Christmas and we’ll stay on the boat at the dock and we’ll set out for Key West the day after Christmas. They’ll have to give New Years up so we can be out on the water for the New Years.”

“Key West?” I asked.

“Supposed to be one of the best gay vacation spots around. It’s supposed to be a quaint city. I’ve always heard it was cool,” Andy explained.

“I’ve never heard you mention any place gay before.”

“I want to be with you on New Years Eve and I want to be with you somewhere we can kiss and dance and make fools out of ourselves if we want,” Andy said.

“What if the gay folks don’t want us carrying on like that?” I asked.

“They can move to Pittsburgh and act proper. I want to go to Key West and act gay. I want to dance with the man I love.”

“He’d like that,” I said.

Andy leaned and kissed my cheek. John Paul brought a tray with our drinks.

“Who’s driving?” Andy asked.

“Automatic pilot. Just goes in a straight line, until I change course. It warns us if radar picks up anything.”

“Radar?” I asked.

“Finest navigational instruments this side of the US Navy. We have depth gauges, sonar, radar for the surface and the sky. It’ll practically steer itself. Needs a bit of help docking and to leave the dock.”

“We want to go out for Christmas. Probably two weeks. We’ll come back so you can be home Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but I want to be in Key West over New Year’s Eve. Can that be arranged?”

“I can ask my lover to crew for you and then I’d have my family with me and we could just go to the Keys for the entire two weeks,” John Paul said.

“I think this is going to be the beginning of a fine relationship,” Andy said. “We’ll have Christmas dinner on board and you and your lover will eat with me and my lover,” Andy said.

“As you wish. I’d enjoy that. Gene loves the water, but I’m always working and he has a business he runs from home.”

“Two of you can handle the boat?” I asked.

“I can do most of it by myself. Throwing a few lines and keeping an eye on the instruments and the horizon. There isn’t much to it once you get underway. Yes, we can take care of everything and see to it you have all the comforts of home.”

“At home we do everything for ourselves. We don’t need a lot of waiting on. We should be able to work it out so we can all enjoy the trip,” I said.

“Absolutely,” Andy said. “We don’t have a lot of friends. I like the idea of having people on board we like.”

“You’ll find us easy to get along with and discrete,” John Paul said, backing away and leaving us with our drinks.

“A boat with built in friends. That’s a classic,” Andy said.

“Since the girls gave up the place next door, we haven’t socialized with anyone but Mrs. Olson and she’s more like our mom.”

“Don’t forget Harold. We do socialize with him. Although he wouldn’t admit it.”

“Yes, we do. This is all going to come as quite a shock to Harold.”

*****

The same man who came to the boat with us was waiting as the boat docked. He walked with George as we left the dock, after Andy and I told John Paul we’d be in touch.

The back door of the limo was open and George got in and sat facing the other man.

Business at this level was done out of briefcases. The price was $150,000 when they got into the back of the limo.

George Kelly opened his briefcase, taking out the cashier’s check for $125,000. He laid it face up so the man with the paperwork could read it.

“This is what I’m prepared to offer,” George said firmly.

The man didn’t even look at George. He looked at the numbers on the check and then he turned his head toward Andy. He knew who was buying the boat and when Andy stood flat footed and without any change of expression, the man looked at George for another minute.

The estate manager picked up the check, looked at it, opened his briefcase and took out the paperwork, signing it in several places. He placed the papers on top of George’s briefcase where he got the check from.

They shook hands and the man got out of the car.

“He’ll drive you back to your plane. I need to get to the bank. My banker is waiting for me.”

The estate manager signaled for a second car to pick him up.

“Looks like you own yourself a boat, Andy. I’ll need you to sign on the dotted line and we’ll see to it that it’s all official.”

We all got into the back of the limo and were on our way to the airport. It had been a long day and we’d just spent more money than I’d ever seen.

Chapter 10

Good News Week

We drove to Louisville to have Thanksgiving dinner with Mrs. Olson. Andy was looking well and he’d begun to use his left arm, putting a little more strain on it. Mrs. Olson thought Andy looked better than he had since the ordeal started, although his hair hadn’t grown back.

According to the scales at home, Andy was gaining weight. It wasn’t a lot but enough to be encouraging. With his regular exercise routine, his body hadn’t undergone major changes, but I could see he’d lost all the weight he put on after he left college.

We had no trouble at all packing it away at Mrs. Olson’s table. She didn’t know anything about the boat and when we showed her a picture, she was flabbergasted. She’d never had one of her ballplayers buy a yacht before, although Evan Lane collected 1960s muscle cars as a hobby.

We told her that we’d take her out for a couple of days once we got accustomed to boating as a regular feature in our lives. She wasn’t sure she was the boating type, but Andy and I still hadn’t got our feet wet as far as boating was concerned, but we were looking forward to it.

Even packing up leftovers so we could enjoy turkey and dressing at home and turkey sandwiches for lunch, Andy wasn’t sure about his ability to eat them. The next round of chemo was looming and it was already on Andy’s mind.

Mrs. Olson told him he was going to be fine and she wanted him to eat until he couldn’t eat anymore, and then when he was having the chemo, he’d have reserves to live off of if eating was a problem.

The boat had been moved to Destin, Florida by then and the interior was slowly being redesigned by Gene, John Paul’s partner. They were living on the boat and were anxious to make the changes and charged nothing but the cost of materials to do it.

Buying a boat had been the best thing we’d ever done together. Andy was no doubt the captain and his spirits were being raised by the constant conversations about what he wanted to replace what was on the boat when he bought it. He’d ask me what I thought and he’d be back on the phone relaying the information to John Paul.

The plan was to drove to Florida as soon as Andy was able to stand the journey after the early December treatments and exams. We’d stay out until after New Years, working our way down the coast toward Key West, where we wanted to spend New Years.

*****

In December we got one of those surprises you can’t prepare for. We were prepared. The physicals surrounding the next round of chemo were extensive and lasted two days. We saw enough doctors to staff our own hospital. Throughout it all, Andy remained ready to be made sick again for the sake of his health.

We had taken a seriously nice hotel room. Andy picked it because it had excellent food and they would deliver anything to the room. While his appetite wasn’t what it had been for the past couple of weeks, he still managed to enjoy some of the food.

On the morning of third day we met with the doctors. They looked down their nose when Andy brought me into the consultation with him. We all sat around a walnut conference table too big for the occasion.

“Mr. Green, we’ve gone over all your exams and we wanted to explain our findings to you.”

“Just tell me if I failed. I never did well on exams,” Andy joked.

“Failed?” the spokesman said, seeking rescue from one of the other doctors and got none.

The four doctors looked from one to the other, baffled by the reference to failure.

“It’s a joke. Sorry,” Andy said, regretting wasting his good humor.

“Yes, well, there’s nothing on any of the exams… tests we’ve conducted over the last few days. We all concur and we’ve decided that more chemo at this time is unnecessary. We will want to see you in February to check again, but you are cancer free at this time.”

“Wait a minute,” Andy said. “You’re telling me what? Try English and skip to the good part. I want to hear that again”

“Your body is cancer free. Your arm is healing remarkably well considering the damage you did to it. We’d advise that you take two more months of very light rehabilitation on the left arm. At that time we’ll want to examine you again, but I see no reason why you can’t begin training for your return to baseball.”

“You aren’t kidding me?” Andy asked.

“No kidding,” the doctor said. “You passed, Andrew, and you can get ready to play ball. Congratulations! We’ll pass the information along to your club if you like.”

The doctor smiled and Andy was the one who failed to get the humor in his remarks.

“Yes, by all means. I’ll talk to them later today,” Andy said.

The doctors filed out of the conference room without anything further to say. Andy sat immobilized by this turn of events. He didn’t try to get up or speak for some time.

“You okay, Andy?” I finally asked.

“I’ve been ready for them to tell me the arm has to come off for four and a half months, Do. I’m ready every time I come up here for them to tell me the arm has to go. I want to be able to grab the arms of my chair so I don’t scream. I wasn’t prepared for this.”

“What wonderful news, Andy. No more chemo.”

“I didn’t ask if it was okay for me to sail,” he said.

“Ask me. I’ll tell you it’s okay. We’re going to have one hell of a vacation now. Call John Paul and tell him to get the boat ready. We’ll close up the house, drive by to tell Harold the news, and it’s Florida here we come.”

“Lets drive down. I want to drive. I want to see the country between here and Florida. I want to eat the food and see the people, Do. I want to be alive. I want to feel completely alive.”

“That would be nice. Maybe Big Barney Bostic will give you a new car if we drive by Pittsburgh,” I said.

“The car only has a few thousand miles on it, Do. I like it. I’ve never driven a car that rides as smooth as this one. I get another one and it might drive like a tank.”

“My love, expensive cars don’t drive like tanks.”

“I don’t want to take any chances, This one is fine for me,” Andy said.

“Anything you say, my love,” I said.

Andy laughed and held my hand tight. We kissed and he held me in both of his arms. It’s the kind of thing he wouldn’t do before, when someone might walk in on us. I felt a sob of relief escape from him as we held each other. I prayed it was over.

There had never been a better hug. He was cancer free. Our lives were cancer free. Lives that were suspended without futures until the doctors cancelled the suspension. We could go on with our lives and be confident we’d be alive to enjoy them, and each other.

Andy had changed. Everything he’d worked to become had been changed now. He wanted to go back and play ball, but it was made different by his fight to beat cancer. He’d been blessed with a rare talent. How far he could come back was the question. It was going to take a major effort.

If he could come back he would come back. He had nothing to prove or no need to prove it. He had been at the top of the game and he’d live if he didn’t get quite so high this time around. Having the chance was a gift he wouldn’t abuse.

He’d been a ‘bonus baby’ who slugged his way from Rookie of the Year to Most Valuable Player. He led the league in homers in his final full season in baseball. That Andy Green left baseball. There was a new Andy Green warming up to play ball.

He would savor ball more. He’d treasure what he’d once found annoying. He’d smile more. He’d be more kind and patient with fans who came out to watch him and his club play. Andy would love it all.

I had no doubt Andy would return to ball. I didn’t know how long it would take him. Andy wasn’t likely to play any of the next season. Rushing his rehabilitation wasn’t going to happen. He’d train, strengthen the arm, and practice as he’d never done before. He should be able to return after a season and a half away if everything continued to go well.

Andy didn’t want to ride the bench or to have a club carry him, because of his name alone. If he couldn’t play the game at a level that excited him, he’d hang up his cleats and call it a career.

There were ways to be in ball and not play ball. It wasn’t something he gave a lot of thought, but he was aware of other ways he could stay in the game. He’d give it his best shot and consider the options if he didn’t make it to the majors a second time. 

One evening, during his chemo, Andy told me about Ted Williams, who played ball for Boston for a couple of years. During those years he was the last player to bat over .400 for a full season.

He went off to be a fighter pilot in WWII for three years. When Williams came back, he picked up where he left off. He’d never hit .400 again but he batted like a demon and was the terror of the American League. He’d been away three years and he was back.

Williams misfortune was to be born at a time when men were particularly enamored with war. Ted Williams, the Splendid Splinter, did not question the wisdom of war. He answered his countries call when it came, and for the second time in his baseball career, he flew fighters for his country. This time he flew them over Korea and way out of ball for two more years.

Williams lost years out of the heart of his baseball career. Nearly fifteen years after first coming into major league baseball, Ted Williams came back to terrorize the American League pitching once more. He was a force of nature and was lucky enough to play more years than most players play.

Andy had fashioned his swing after the swing of the Splendid Splitter, Williams. They were of a similar size and build. They had long arms to reach out over the plate for outside pitches.

Andy understood from Williams that a man could be out of ball for several years and come back as good as before. Andy knew it would take a full effort to accomplish it.

Now he was told he’d play again. It didn’t mean anything to a baseball player. It didn’t tell him he’d play as well as before or that his swing would be the same. It didn’t tell Andy his timing would return to what it was before.

Andy had been given permission to return to ball. He was told that physically he could play baseball again. That didn’t mean he would play again at a major league level.

Andy was on the first step of a long journey back. We would take that step together. I’d hold his hand and reassure him, but soon, too soon perhaps, he’d leave me to let coaches and trainers give him the motivation he needed. Then he would know if he was all the way back.

There were no guarantees but things were a hundred times better than when we arrived in Indianapolis. I felt a hundred times better. We were going sailing. We had a future and it felt good.

*****

Andy called John Paul from the hotel to tell him we were on the way and would arrive in Destin in three to four days. John Paul said our cabin was ready and that he’d fuel the boat and begin stocking the galley for an extended cruise. He failed to mention that Gene was not only a superb interior decorator but he was also a trained chef as well.

Harold was going to meet us in Key West as soon as he decided to begin his Christmas vacation. He was already half way through his next semester. He couldn’t wait to officially start pre-med. He would study the entire week he spent with us, or so he said, and we didn’t argue with him.

Harold told us that Christmas wasn’t his favorite thing. It was always a disappointment when he was a boy. He was looking forward to seeing us and the boat. We sent Harold pictures John Paul emailed us, and he was fascinated.

*****

We closed up the house and packed enough casual clothes to last us, and after breakfast at Sammy’s, we headed south. Andy was more energetic the further we got from the meeting with his doctors.

We headed south, staying close to or on the Interstate much of the first day, getting off on the secondary roads when it was time to find a restaurant, or when we got tired of the high speed driving.

We could go through several towns, coming back to the Interstate periodically as we moved south. Sometimes we got back on the Interstate right away and at other times we stayed on the two lane highway to see what we could see.

We could have made it in little more than a day if we both drove and kept the car moving on the Interstate, but we were starting our vacation and setting a comfortable pace was what we decided upon.

At dinner time we moved onto the secondary road near a town and drove until we found a restaurant we wanted to try. After dinner we’d drive until we found a motel for the night. The weather was mild and partly cloudy. It was good weather for traveling.

We weren’t going to schedule anything beyond Christmas in Key West. Both John Paul and Gene were delighted to be going to a place they knew. It was John Paul’s favorite port in the states. After we found the boat, Key West was the only definite destination in mind, and that’s where Harold would meet us.

I’d never been to Key West. I’d never spent the night on a boat. There were a lot of things I’d never done but was about to do. The one thing I had done and wanted to do a lot more, was to be with Andy in a place where we were at ease, while away from the house.

Andy was at ease behind the wheel of his Town Car. He didn’t mind letting me drive it, but he liked driving and that was fine with me. We stopped at some roadside attractions, which were little more than tourist traps for locals to catch a buck here or there.

There were flea markets in many of the tiny towns along the way. The proprietors were all friendly and very southern. It was there we were able to locate a hidden restaurant that had the best food nearby and the next town where we might stay overnight.

 We stayed in northern Tennessee the first night and we were well into Alabama when we stayed over the second night. We’d stayed close to Interstate 65 and knew where to get off to drive the last three or four hours into Destin.

This was the part of the trip where the landscape all changed. There were palm trees and fields of grass alongside the road. It even felt as if we were in a different part of the country.

Andy wanted to eat and get the room fairly close to where we left the Interstate behind so he’d be fresh to drive across the secondary roads the third morning. We planned to be in Destin at the marina before noon.

Chapter 11

The Do

The parking for Andy’s car was less than satisfactory. It was just a big blacktopped area behind an apartment complex that sat above the marina where The Do was docked. We went down a long set of wooden stairs that took us from high above the marina to the dock we wanted.  

As soon as John Paul spotted us, he raced off the boat to help carry our things.

“Hold up a minute, John Paul. You aren’t a servant. I can carry my own bag. You keep the boat afloat and get us to where we’re going, and I’ll be happy,” Andy said.

Gene stood on deck as we boarded. It ended any pretense of formality as far as Andy and I were concerned. We didn’t want anyone on our boat feeling like they had to bow or curtsy each time we passed.

Shaking hands, we got acquainted.  Gene handled the introductions. Andy asked to be shown our cabin, which was directly under the main salon. We didn’t want to see it the day we were on the boat, because we knew it would need to be changed before we felt comfortable there. We got before and after pictures and the cabin was a cozy looking space.

Gene opened the door to enter a master bedroom size cabin. The ceiling was a bit on the low side for Andy, but it only took him once to find the top of the door jam and ducking became automatic when he approached a doorway on board.

Gene had redone the main quarters in browns, greens, and some turquoise. The mirrors were all gone except for the mirror in the nice sized head. The room was intimate without being tiny or confining. The bedding was all new and different shades of dark greens and brown. It was the same size as our bed at home.

Andy asked to see the other cabins. He explained Harold would be occupying one for a week, while we were anchored in Key West.

The other two cabins were small with a single bed in the smaller of the two and a double bed in the other. They were both just forward of our cabin. Both of the smaller cabins had bunks that folded down out of the wall to increase the number you could sleep.

We went forward to the crew quarters, and there it got tight with bunk beds on both the starboard and port sides.

“Where do you keep your things?” Andy asked, bent down to fit in between the four bunks.

“Here,” John Paul said, sliding out some drawers under the bottom bunk. There was no hanger space or closets in the nose of the boat.

“How many can the boat sleep?” Andy asked.

“If you stack them, a dozen, but that includes the crew quarters. It will sleep eight in the passenger portion. There are also cots that can be placed in the salon, which would probably sleep another four. You wouldn’t want to travel that packed for long, but it could be done.”

“Are there closets in the cabin with the double bed?” Andy asked, as he thought about what he’d seen.

“Two,” Gene said. “One in the head and one by the bed. It’s fairly roomy once you get accustomed to the layout. Not quite up to cruise ship size but comfortable.”

“Could you two be comfortable in the cabin with the double bed?” Andy asked.

“Oh, yes, it would be a picnic compared to up here. This isn’t built for comfort. It’s built to keep your crew handy. Most owners don’t have much concern for their crews unless the boat is sinking.”

“I see,” Andy said. “I guess I’m not most owners. The cabin with the double is your cabin, John Paul. If there comes a time we have a full house or when the company that is paying your salary comes aboard, you might need to move back forward, until they’re gone. I’m told it will be infrequent and well planned in advance. I assure you that no one will show up on the dock demanding to go out on the spur of the moment. That comes directly from the man who owns the boat.”

“That’s very kind, Andy,” John Paul said. “That sounds quite manageable.”

“Hell, I don’t want my captain jammed in up here, when there’s a good cabin sitting empty. We won’t be using that cabin when it’s just us onboard and it will just be the two of us aboard most times.”

“Yes, sir,” John Paul said.

“Let me introduce myself again. I’m Andy. This is my lover Do. I’m just Andy. He’s just Do. Please don’t call me sir.”

“Okay, Andy,” John Paul said with enthusiasm.

“We’ve been driving most of the last two days. I want to shower and lie down. I expect there is plenty of hot water?”

“Yes, the hot water heater is quite large. You’ll find all the comfort of home and than some,” Gene said.

“You can let us know what time you like to eat and we’ll be ready to dine with you. I’d appreciate it if we could dine together for dinner each evening and lunch when possible. We’ll plan to sleep in the morning and we wouldn’t want you to wait breakfast for us. I think it makes sense to think of ourselves as friends, or at least as friendly. I see nothing we are doing that would disqualify us from having a friendship.”

“No, sir, Andy,” John Paul said. “Nothing. I’d feel privileged to be able to know you better.”

“We’ll just be Andy and Do and John Paul and Gene from now on,” I said.

“Yes,” John Paul said. “Consider it done.”

“Fine. I feel the same way. From now on we’ll have conversations about these types of issues and we can forget the formalities, where there is no need for them. If there is something you think we need to know, we can save some time after dinner for such conversations. As for now, I’m tired and we want to rest a bit before dinner.”

We moved away from the small crew quarters and were relieved to get to our cabin and get out hands on each other. Andy wanted to shower and then we tried out the queen sized bed. It was very comfortable and sturdy as well. We didn’t think we rocked the boat, but who can say for sure?”

Much to my surprise we were under full sail when I went up on deck, while Andy slept. We were away from any sight of land as the sails billowed out in a soft breeze that pushed us along in almost complete silence.

I’d fully expected to see we were still at the dock when I came up, but we were far away from where we had been when we went into our cabin.

“Can I get you a drink?” John Paul asked, when he noticed me standing on deck staring up at the main mast.

“It’s quite beautiful,” I said. “I had no idea how wonderful it would look. I was expecting to hear boat engines when we left the dock. I didn’t know we were underway.”

“Perfect day for being under sail. Breeze is right and the seas are smooth. Saves a lot of fuel to use the sails.”

“Two of you can sail it?”

“Two is comfortable. We had a third crew member to make sure Mr. Braxton and his ladies were taken care of immediately, when they wanted anything. Two can sail her without difficulty. One could do it on a day like today.”

I sat on the fantail with a glass of fresh pineapple juice Gene prepared for me. It was as glorious as the day and I sat amazed by the thrill of our boat moving effortlessly toward the far horizon.

*****

We agreed that dinner at seven each evening would be a good time for all of us. The first night Gene prepared fresh fish, a salad, and scalloped potatoes. He’d stocked up on seafood that would last for the first few nights of sailing. We anchored once we were ready to eat and everything was kept warm on a cart Gene wheeled from the galley to where we put the table near the fantail.

After Andy and I stuffed ourselves, we had drinks and chatted about the schedule and where we could dock to keep the food fresh and our vacation filled with a variety of experiences and places to see. 

“I want your suggestions and your thoughts about the places we stop and your ideas on how Do and I can make the most of our time,” Andy said. “We want to relax and feel like we are at home on The Do. I did see you had the name changed and I do appreciate that move,” Andy said.

“Me too,” I said, blushing over having a boat with my name on it.

“Lady Jane was pretentious to be sure,” John Paul said. “The previous owner fancied himself handy with the ladies. I sailed his boat and got him from here to there. He didn’t ask for my opinion on his taste in women and I felt no obligation to reveal my feelings to him.”

“Good thing, too, by the sounds of it. You’d have been looking for a job. I will ask for your opinion because I don’t know a damn thing about being on the water. You can educate us on the  courtesy involved,” Andy said.

“I can do that. It’s not complicated. Most people living on board boats are very relaxed. Some of the owners are demanding but they usually pay for service and stay in places where that’s what is provided. I tend to stay in more friendly environs. It isn’t too friendly but it is friendly enough that you can smile and exchange greetings with the people who dock around us in short-term docking facilities.

“You might think these places aren’t to be trusted, but you’ll find that boaters tend to look out for one another and offer a hand when it is needed.”

“You and Gene plan to live on the boat full time?” I asked.

“It saves hiring security to protect the boat. There are always people about who don’t mind picking up things that might not belong to them. They tend to steer clear of boats that have full time occupants. We both love the water and living on the boat is wonderful. Leaving it empty for long periods could serve as an invitation to someone with larceny in mind.

“Crooks associate wealth with the boating community and they are looking for easy picking. I recommend you don’t keep anything of great value on The Do, but when we are traveling and on and off the boat every day, there isn’t a lot to worry about. Most docking facilities have some security and they know the faces of the bad guys that might be lurking about. Not a big problem if you take precautions, but still something to consider. It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Good,” Andy said. “That’ll keep you handy when we decide to go out on the boat. You can let us know if you see anything we need to avoid. We’ll catch on quickly.”

“We shall be handy, Andy,” John Paul said.

“I bet you will,” Andy said and we all laughed.

“We shall be handy and keep you well fed,” Gene said.

Gene was a large man with a black beard and mustache. He was immaculately trimmed and squeaky clean. Even in jeans and a polo shirt, he looked like a million bucks. I’d never pick him for an interior decoration. He would have made an excellent model.

John Paul was closer to my size. He wasn’t a large man. He wasn’t tall. He had a moderate build. They were both polite and well-mannered. It was pleasant for them to be working together and have a casual relationship with us. Setting them at ease took a little work, because they’d spent so much time serving people that wanted nothing to do with them otherwise. I found both men delightful company. They were very nice to Andy and me.

Arrangements were already made to dock in Key West and a slip was reserved. We could always anchor and not stay in the slip. Being in a place like Key West meant a lot of places to visit and explore. I’d heard Key West was a gay city, but didn’t know what it meant.

Andy and I never needed to search out gay places. We met in college when we were teenagers and had been together ever since. Our lives were full of baseball, travel, and rooming on the road, so when we were able to be home, we loved being home with no need to go anywhere when we didn’t need to.

Andy’s injury changed all that. Getting away was exciting and refreshed us. I’d be back to baseball in a couple of months and hopefully Andy would be rehabilitating his arm. The time away would make that time easier on us. I had no idea how often we’d be able to see each other during the next baseball season, but it couldn’t be any worse than our usual month long separations.

We had almost three weeks before we could dock in Key West and that meant many lazy days of sun and sailing. We would dock in Tampa Bay for a few nights and then work our way down through the Keys. We could fish, swim, or simply sail off into the sunset.

Our first full day was nothing like the first perfect afternoon. Had the first few hours on the boat been anything like day two, I’d have demanded to go home. John Paul had us under engine power and all the sails were down and secured as rough seas and rain squalls dampened the day. We were heading south eastward at a slow pace to make the seas less of an obstacle.

I spent a lot of time in the boats main head, finding new ways to eliminate the food I’d eaten the night before. I felt certain a lot more came up than originally went down. Andy spent much of the day sitting on the fantail and watching sea birds and the dolphins that seemed as interested in him as he was in them. He didn’t seem to suffer the same reaction to rough seas as I did.

By late afternoon we were back in sunny weather and rolling seas. John Paul went back to the sails and cut off the main diesel engine. I was surprised to see that after releasing the sails from the constraints that held them tightly to the rigging, they were raised automatically. It was all done electronically.

The second full day out was sunny and the water was smooth as glass when I got up on deck. We were forty miles from land and John Paul was still heading in a south eastward direction. After the sails were set, a modest breeze moved us smoothly along. The Do was a thing of beauty as it skimmed across the gulf waters.

I sat on the wide bridge that offered a fine view of what was around us. There were television screens to keep track of the main mast above us, both sides of the boat, and what was behind us. John Paul could change the position of the cameras so that he could see anything he wanted to see.

Gene brought a tray with coffee and this time I didn’t refuse it. The day before I never did manage to get any coffee down. There was buttered toast and crumpets or bagels to pick from. I wanted to eat it all but settled for the toast to see what might come of it.

“You’ll feel better when you put something in your stomach,” Gene said. “You should be fine today.”

A few minutes later Andy joined us and it became a morning ritual thereafter. While John Paul set our course and checked the weather for the day ahead, we sat by drinking coffee and eating what Gene had prepared for the morning meal. The bridge was bright and roomy.

Leaving the bridge, Andy and I walked the deck after breakfast. We leaned over to watch the gulf waters swishing up under the boat at a surprising rate of speed. We could look out and see nothing but water and sky. The fresh sea air was marvelous.

The clouds were the white billowy type that looked harmless. The blue of the sky was a deep brilliant blue that you have after a storm passes. We sat on the fantail and let the breeze blow in our face. The air smelled a bit salty. I’d learn in time that each body of water has its own smell. The gulf was huge and our tiny boat was a speck on it.

As bad as I felt the day before, I felt great sitting at the back of The Do with my hand in Andy’s hand. Time became muddled after that. There was day and night, but my two favorite times to be on dick were at sunrise and sunset. Andy was always beside me to watch the sunset, but I watched the sun rises alone on most mornings.

Being out there disconnected from the rest of the world was invigorating. I felt as if I could stay out there forever and never miss anything about the constant motion of the world around us.

As massive as the gulf was, it accepted The Do without protest. We could see everything from the tiny boat on the big water. There was no threat, nothing to fear, no one reminding us of how dangerous the world could be if you turned you back on it.

Feeling safe and without constraint made it a kind of mellow state of mind I’d never attained before. Even as a boy there were responsibilities, fears, worries, and the constant din of warnings from sun up to sun down. They came out of every TV and radio whether I was home or out mowing a neighbors lawn. As quick as the mower went off, and standing in the kitchen of someone else’s house, drinking ice tea, there they were. There came word of bomb blasts, shootings, terrorist attacks in this town or that town.

Everything was dangerous everywhere, except I’d never seen a bomb blast or heard of one anywhere near Statesville. The only shootings were when the cops raided some meth lab somewhere in the sticks, and then it was all said and done by the time I got out of bed. Lab destroyed, bad guys locked up, and there were more lawns to mow.

There was no radio reception on the boat by careful planning. John Paul could communicate with anyone around the world, but we didn’t receive anything about what was going on in that world. We controlled what we heard.   

We were an island in a vast sea. An island the world didn’t touch. There were no alerts, alarms, or worries, and the worst thing that could happen was an upset stomach when the weather turned sour.

I moved when I wanted to move and I sat still and drank coffee when I felt like it. Andy and I were together almost all of the time. Nothing brought us down. We had found heaven. It was called peace.

As unprepared as I was for the idea of buying a sailboat, especially one that wouldn’t fit in my bathtub, I must say these were the best days I’d ever had.

We cut our moorings and were adrift in a sea of joy.

Chapter 12

Languid Days

Time stands still when you pull the plug on the world around you. I didn’t know what day it was and I knew what time it was by when Gene served us meals. Lunch was loosely planned for around one and dinner was at seven.

With two other men on the boat, we could go without seeing them for hours on end. Some of each day was devoted to Andy’s renewed passion. I was never happier. We napped after lunch each day, which was preceded by sex. After our passions were spent, we needed a nap.

Most days we spent walking hand in hand around the deck. We’d look in the water, at the horizon, and at we’d watch the sea creatures that abounded. Dolphin were our favorite entertainment. Some would travel with us for long periods. They sought eye contact and seemed to want to communicate with us. They jumped, flipped in the air, and chased one another around the boat.

We had all sails full of gulf breeze, but we were no match for the speed of the dolphin who ran circles around us, when they tired of the slow pace.

If we looked up on the bridge, which was directly in front of the main salon, elevated six feet or so, and it was wide enough not to make you feel closed in. It was surrounded by windows that offered a view on all sides.

As we walked passed, we might go up to chat and have a cup of the always fresh coffee Gene supplied John Paul. It was superb coffee that made the Eight O’clock beans we often used at home seem as if they lacked something.

We would be adjusting our beans once we were back in Indiana. Gene was spoiling us in many ways. The cooking lessons I planned after retirement, might need to come between seasons. My basic cooking skill wasn’t going to hold us between visits to the Pines or meals with Mrs. Olson. I never knew food could come in such a variety.

John Paul had a GPS along with all the other gear needed to locate us, keeping us on some kind of course, and well out of the way of larger vessels.

The Do had been equipped with all the latest electronics you needed to stay safe and out of trouble. We could monitor local weather, or contact Miami Weather Center for a detailed analysis of impending storms. This time of year was relatively quiet, but we encountered two rough days in a row sometime in the second week out.

John Paul apologized for being unable to avoid it. The entire gulf was rough. He secured the sails and kept us at a steady two knot speed to counteract the waves. I didn’t get sick any longer, but my stomach didn’t love the rolling of the boat. Andy and I could always find something to do in our cabin if being on deck became unpleasant.

Andy and I were forward one afternoon. It was warm and calm. The sails caught what there was of the light sea breeze. Andy had his shirt off so his body could catch up with his head in the tan department. We decided to go swimming off the boat before we had lunch.

There was a solid ladder we hung off the back of the boat. Andy could climb it easy enough. The rope ladder that John Paul and  Gene used at the front of the boat in the evenings didn’t offer Andy the support he needed to climb with his one and a half arms.

This was only done nude and when dolphins were trailing the boat, which was often. It seems dolphins are deadly enemy to the shark and therefore it was safest when we had seen dolphin first.

It didn’t quiet my fear of being eaten by a shark, but I overlooked that possibility to get naked with Andy. Any time Andy was naked around me, I wanted more than to swim, but with his arm less than strong, I settled for getting him excited when he swam with me. When we got back on the boat, we were heading for the cabin to relax before lunch and reduce Andy’s tension.

John Paul and Gene assured us that we could have sex in the middle of the deck and they’d hardly notice, as they’d both lived in Europe, where sexuality was enjoyed and nudity wasn’t discouraged or hidden beyond ordinary politeness.

They laughed and told us the American ideas about sex were Victorian at best and Puritanical at worst. I didn’t think that was good, but it did nothing to quiet my appetite for the man I loved. Andy swimming naked was an open invitation for me to get Randy.

One afternoon as we stood on the bow of the boat, Andy saw something that looked like a stain in the water off to the starboard side.

“What’s that,” Andy yelled, waving to get John Paul’s attention on it.

Andy pointed and directed John Paul off to starboard as we were about to move away from what he had found. As the boat moved closer to the substance, I could hear the sails being lowered to a position that would slow the boats forward progress to nearly nothing. The nose of the boat eased closer to what Andy wanted to see.

The chain on the anchor jangled as it spent some time stopping the boat dead in the water. John Paul came down the stairs and walked to where we stood, looking at something out of a crankcase, but way more gunk. It had collected every conceivable kind of plastic within it.

It smelled awful.

“What is it?” Andy asked, leaning halfway over the rail.

“Oil.”

“Oil?” Andy said, turning to face John Paul. “Oil?”

“Not so much in the gulf. The gulf has been relatively clean. The north Atlantic has gigantic pools that float on top of the water when the conditions are right. In World War II thousands of ships were sunk. Millions and millions of gallons of diesel fuel and oil run in rivers below the surface, or so I’m told.”

“World War II was fifty years ago,” Andy argued.

“I know,” John Paul said. “Oil and water don’t mix. Oil sticks together. I didn’t make it up. It takes many years and many storms to break it up, but it’s still in there. A lot was frozen under the ice in the Artic, until now.”

‘Here? In the gulf? They sank ships?” Andy asked.

“Oh, not so much here. This oil is from oil rigs. The rigs leak. I’m told the floor of the gulf leaks oil without even drilling for it. I don’t know if I believe that one or if it’s a rumor spread by oil companies so they don’t have to pay to clean up their mess.”

“This is common in the gulf?” Andy asked, becoming more angry as he spoke.

“First time I’ve run into this much in the gulf. I’ve seen this amount in seas around the world. Find a way to get all the oil out of the sea and you’d have enough oil to run the world for a year,” John Paul said. “I’ve got to go start the engines. We’re drifting into it. We get the hull coated with that crap and it’ll take a major clean up. You seen enough?”

“I’ve seen more than enough. It’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. This beautiful water polluted like its some cesspool you pour your waste in. Get us out of here. I don’t want to look at it any longer.” 

That was the first order I ever heard Andy give John Paul. It wasn’t a difficult odor to follow. It was the order John Paul was waiting to receive.

The movement of the chain told us the anchor was coming up. John Paul started the engines, reversing them. He eased back a few hundred yards from the stain on the water. He steered to port and we proceeded at the same steady pace we’d maintained for days. The sails propelled us faster than the engines, but John Paul rarely pushed the engines beyond a low idle. We only used the engines when it was required.

We didn’t forget what was behind us. Andy stood for a long time watching the dark spot growing smaller. He was very quiet and I knew our vacation had been interrupted by real world destruction.

Our lives were lived in a bubble that was kept pristine. It was rare that we came face to face with ugly realities. We were purposely protected from it so we could play ball without any cares and woes. The world was less than perfect, even if it could be hidden most of the time.

We sat on the fantail and continued to watch the spot fade in the distance. It wasn’t gone. It wasn’t any less of an environmental disaster. It didn’t kill less of the dolphin who came up close to the boat and watched us when we stood at the railing watching them. Maybe they knew how to avoid it. Maybe it didn’t kill so many of them.

Nothing changed except after a while we couldn’t see it anymore. That was good. I didn’t want anything to destroy Andy’s good mood. We’d been in the gulf going on two weeks and it was the first ugly sight we’d seen.

Andy couldn’t stop looking back at the dark stain on the gulf. The water was quite beautiful otherwise. When it stormed it was dark and looked dirty but on clear days in calm conditions there were several shades of green depending on its depth.

We could sail away from the ugliness. The marine life wasn’t quite so lucky. They were stuck in it. It was done now and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Spills happen. The world still turned and we had our coffee each morning.

We sailed eastwardly when we were well away from the oil, giving up our southern route for the time being. The breeze was light and the sails were once again filled with the pleasant breeze. It was a comfortable partly cloudy day.

It was nice for the middle of December. The water became placid. The sailing was easy. December had always been a month when I shivered and prayed for spring training. That’s when we basked in the southern Florida sun as the Grapefruit league funneled baseball royalty and baseball mediocrity into the same venues for weeks on end.

Most of the royalty had personal trainers, their own gyms, and people who were paid to make sure they stayed fit and trim. They came to spring training when they were ready, and you don’t rush the royalty, because they were readying for another record breaking season. You didn’t want to disturb their preparations.

It’s the only time I got a close up look at Evan Lane, who traveled in a caravan and his wife of a year would kiss his cheek as he went off to the baseball factory and she went home to lollygag next to the pool at the Ritz Carlton.

I caught sight of Chance now and again in spring training. We’d never been able to take a day to renew old friendships, but we promised we would one day. As college faded further into our past, memories of old friends faded away. Chance was a big league second baseman, and I was a shortstop he played with for a few years.

In December and before Christmas we were already basking in a warm southern sun, a few hundred miles from where I’d hear the reframe, “Play ball,” in early March. Coach Bell expected me to show up when I showed up. He wouldn’t be expecting me to show up more tan than I was when we usually left spring training for Louisville.

For the first time in our lives, Andy and I did not talk ball on a daily basis. Often at the morning breakfast table at home, we’d get around to ball by the second cup of coffee, but we hadn’t talked ball at all. I didn’t bring it up because for Andy ball was in the past and perhaps in his future. I was still in ball and Andy was on the outside looking in.

For now we were suspended between real world considerations and a fantasy life neither of us anticipated, before cancer came to call.

One night later than we were usually awake, Andy whispered in my ear.

“I wish we could stay on The Do forever. Never go back to our lives. Just keep on sailing. We could you know. We have money. We have time.”

It was a fantasy. I knew it and I suspect Andy knew it. He knew that as soon as I got to spring training, he’d be on his way to Indianapolis for rehabilitation. I knew that every ounce of his strength would push and drive him on his return to being the player he once was.

In the fantasy we could sail off into the sunset. In real life we had obligations, responsibilities, and the desire to become better at what we did. Andy might never again be the premier home run hitter he once was, but he’d be the best damn leftfielder he could possibly be. If he didn’t get back right away, he’d work harder, longer, and be noticed for his ability to push himself to his very limits.

I thought about ball. Andy probably did too. We just didn’t speak of it. Life was suspended for a few more months. We could do anything we damn well pleased. Then I’d go off to play ball, because I told Coach Bell I would. The first time Andy said, “I need you,” I’d be at his side and Louisville would be looking for a shortstop.

I’d already used my one and only pass on an unapproved absence. Coach Bell turned his back and said nothing, but it wouldn’t happen again. I could either play ball or take a hike. If Andy needed me, I needed to take the hike.

If it came down to my loyalty to Coach Bell and to Louisville and my loyalty to Andy, there was no decision to be made. I knew Andy would never call me away from Louisville, unless he really couldn’t make it without me. That’s when I’d hang up my cleats.

Seeing Andy back in ball was the ultimate goal for both of us. My career had peaked and playing ball was something I loved. My spot on a minor league club didn’t amount to much in baseball circles.

I played well. I was even hitting better, thanks to Coach Bell, but Louisville was my last stop, and Louisville wasn’t the Bigs and it was no big deal. It’s where I could play baseball for a living, but I could walk away at twenty-six. I was ready to call it a career if Andy needed me.

I rarely saw Andy play after college. I’d watched Evan Lane and Andy bat home funs out of Slugger park in Louisville one lazy day. Lane was heading for Cincinnati. Andy went to Pittsburgh a year later. They now squared off against each other a couple of times a year, glaring at each other from opposite sides of the diamond.

Since the day Andy tried to K. O. Evan outside the back fence of the stadium, they’d been pals. Once Evan was in the Bigs, we would watch him on television from time to time as he came or went from some honors banquet. ESPN would catch him getting into this white stretch limo, a girl on each arm, as his entourage headed off to one of the nighttime hot spots. The camera loved him.

Evan didn’t really live that way, but give him a camera and he gave you a show. Evan and Andy had traded the home run hitting lead for the past three years. Andy had two more homers than Evan… when his arm gave out.

The first huge flower arrangement Andy got while hospitalized was from Evan.

“Don’t think falling down gets you off the hook. The next time we go head to head for the home run title, I’m going to win. Get well Champ, Evan.”

Andy won the home run title the season before, taking it from Evan, who won it the year before that. They had almost matched one another home run for home run for two and a half seasons. Theirs was a friendly rivalry, except in the press, where they exchanged pointed barbs for kicks.

I always remembered their brawl. It was hard to reconcile that image with their fondness for one another now. The brawl was Andy throwing one punch and the much more solidly built Evan trying to avoid fisticuffs. With Andy’s right arm in a sling Evan wasn’t going to hit him.

I suppose Andy and Evan weren’t so different. In Pittsburgh Andy was bigger than life. The same was true of Evan in Cincinnati. They each played the role for their fans. Once they left their respective ball yards, they lived relatively ordinary lives. The show began a new once they made an appearance having to do with baseball.

Each of them was available for every interview and every request for time, during baseball season. The unwritten agreement was, you leave me alone in off season and I’ll always be available to you during the season. It was an agreement most sports media figures understood and accepted.

Once we bought The Do, we were living large. It’s not something I planned, but it could grow on me. Being made comfortable with far more than I needed for comfort, bothered me. The problems with having too much is that you have a lot to loose. I didn’t like that idea. I did like the easy life we had on The Do.  

I was a no frills kind of a person. I’d traveled light all my life. I’d used the same glove in high school and in college. I wore the same cleats in high school and college. I reluctantly replaced both once I earned my living playing ball. They were tools of the trade I needed to update.

Spending on things I didn’t need was never in my game plan. I’d bought a computer once. It was top of the line with all the things I needed. One of my friends came over and saw it. He said, ‘You still use the old model, huh?”

Old model what? It was a computer that did everything I needed it to do. When I saw his computer, it looked exactly like mine. It was a little bit faster, had all kinds of bells and whistles, but it did precisely what my computer did, minus one or two functions that weren’t important to me. He was excited by his computer being better than mine. I said, “Oh, it’s nice,” so I didn’t insult him.

I still had that computer. I still used it. It was now eight years old, but it did everything I needed to do. I never saw the point of buying each new model.

I suppose when you grow up without a lot of spending cash, you don’t buy a lot of unnecessary stuff you can’t afford. I worked all through junior high and high school, and at home in the summer while I was in college.

I had my own lawn business. I had people who depended on my service. I couldn’t just walk away from them. I saw myself opening a shop in Statesville. I’d repair small household appliances and do my lawn care.

Good thing I didn’t follow through with that plan. No one repairs anything anymore. It goes to the dump and you buy a new one the next day, if you can wait that long.

Now time was suspended and life was not simply easy, it was grand. I didn’t do anything but breathe. I could stay on our boat forever. I wouldn’t, because I’d leave to play ball, but until then, we were free to follow the horizon. Then we’d go to meet Harold in Key West for Christmas.

After Christmas there was no plan. We hadn’t talked about it and we hadn’t thought about it. The next thing that was on our agenda after Christmas was for me to get ready for spring training in March.

Chapter 13

Cause & Effect

Gene had the table all set and was ready to serve swordfish steak with a lemon sauce, parsley potatoes, peas, and a salad. He brought out an ice bucket with a bottle of white wine. The flavors all mingled pleasantly. The wine was a tiny bit tart but I liked it. I didn’t know much about wine after you got beyond red or white. I did enjoy this wine.

There wasn’t a lot of conversation as we were all mesmerized by the meal. Bananas Foster was the dessert, and it too had our full attention. I’d never eaten better. The location and the company added to the experience.

“You say you’ve never run into that much oil in the gulf before. Why now? What caused it to be there today?”

“I’d say the storm churned it up. Oil and water don’t mix. The oil surfaced after the turbulence.”

“The surface from where?” Andy asked, still stumped by the source of the first ugliness we’d encountered.

“I have no scientific facts, Andy. My understanding is that oil collects in the currents beneath the surface. Sometimes it is hundreds of feet deep, virtually invisible, because of the size of the seas. At times it isn’t more than a few dozen feet below the surface. A storm passes. The rough water brings oil to the top,” John Paul said. “Out of sight out of mind and so there’s nothing done about it.”

“Is it in the fish? The seafood? Do the fish just swim in it?” Andy wanted to know.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Fish is inspected. If we are to believe what we are told, it is safe for eating, oil or no oil. I don’t know more than that.”

“They can’t break it up? Couldn’t they collect it? Do something?”

“Sure, but why go through all that trouble. Plenty more where that came from. They can pour a few million gallons of chemicals on it, but then you’ve got oil with chemicals on it. I don’t know which is worse. That might get it out of sight but not out of the water and it creates an even more complex problem.”

“Seems a shame that they are allowed to get away with soiling such a beautiful body of water,” I said, not hearing any solution. “What do they do when there is no more clean water?”

“Criminal when you come down to it, but who ever sees it? Who talks about it? Oil companies have enough money to keep from being forced to clean up after themselves. There are land spills larger than what we saw. They drill, get what they want, and leave the mess behind. The world needs oil and oil companies provide it. You can’t lock up an oil company and they drill everywhere.

“It’s left for those who care enough to do something about it. It’s not an easy problem to solve as long as you want oil more than you want clean water and unadulterated landscapes.”

“We’ve seen it before,” Gene said, serving Andy more dessert.

I passed. I’d already started hitching my belt one hole short of where I’d been hitching it up for years. Having good food made everything better, until the weight gain became obvious. Losing it was way harder than not gaining it, and so I cut back and took smaller portions, but seeing all that tasty food sitting there was hard to turn down.

“How did you two meet?” Andy asked.

“We met in the south of France. John Paul had just finished a tour piloting cargo ships through the Suez Canal. He was looking to get into mischief, I believe,” Gene said.

“Was not. Just moving back north to see which sea I wanted to see next.”

“Very funny,” Gene said. “The sea you saw was me.”

“I was smitten at first site. Good thing I was between jobs,” John Paul said.

“You captain big ships?” I asked, not getting the picture.

“I’m licensed to pilot anything below the super tanker level. Not interested in those bad babies. Dangerous. I wouldn’t want to be responsible for putting all that oil into someone’s waterway,” John Paul said.

“What the hell are you doing on a toy boat like this?” Andy asked.

“I’ve got to go down to the Panama Canal or do time over in the Suez to make a living, but that gets old fast. A couple of months and I have plenty to live on for several years. I crew on boats like yours because I like the sea and I don’t want to be driving the big boats all the time. It’s too much like work. I put in enough time to keep my licenses squared away.

“I spent my first ten years at sea all the time. It’s how you earn your captain’s credentials. Keep your nose clean and there’s always work. Taking care of your boat is relaxation and it allows me to be where I want to be without the mind numbing responsibility you undertake on larger vessels.

A captain is always on duty. There is no time off when you have someone’s ship under you. Anything happens, any lapse in judgment by anyone, it’s the responsibility of the captain. You can only take so much of that and stay fresh. I do it until I need a break from it. Then I do this. As I grow older, I need more breaks.”

“I’m totally impressed,” I said. “You’re just having a good time handling our boat?”

“I’m having a better time now that it’s your boat. Most people who hire me to get them from here to there, aren’t nearly as much fun to be around. I work yachts to have a place to stay on the water. Instead of work you’ve turned it into a vacation. You make us feel like we’re with you, not working for you. That’s most appreciated.”

“That’s good, but now I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. You are way out of our league,” Andy said.

“I’m where I want to be, Andy. I love this and every day is better than the last. Doing what you love is the secret to having a good life, you know?”

“No, I’ve always done what I love and didn’t think much about it. You were saying how you two met,” I said.

“He stole me from some gamblers in a casino,” Gene said.

I listened closely for the details.

“You did that, John Paul?” Andy asked.

“Of course not. I went into the casino to try my luck. I’d just gotten paid and still had some cash on me. I figured I’d go take a look see. He refused to leave me alone. He obviously saw I was a man of distinction.”

“I knew you had excellent taste as soon as you tried to pick me up, John Paul,” Gene said.

“I don’t pick people up, Gene. You threw yourself at me and I felt sorry for you.”

“How long ago was that, John Paul?” I asked.

“Ten, twelve years. I like letting my boyfriends down easy. Anyway, I figured you needed someone of my character to keep you out of trouble, Gene,” John Paul said.

“He had placed a bet at the roulette wheel, mind you. He looked up and saw me standing at the Baccarat table. He stood up and walked away from his chips and came over to where I stood. I was an innocent victim of a kidnapping and here I am, eleven years and change later.”

“You’re funny,” I said.

“I beg your pardon,” Gene said, flipping his wrist at me.

I laughed. It had turned into a pleasant conversation.

“It was a small bet,” John Paul admitted with a sheepish grin. “Twelve years the week between Christmas and New Years. It was a Tuesday. We spent New Years Eve in bed together. We spent the entire week in bed together.”

“Yes, we did,” Gene said.

“That’s wonderful,” Andy said. “Do and I met in school. We played ball together. We’ve been together since we were teenagers. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

“Childhood sweethearts. That’s so charming. It takes so long to find a good love most of the time,” Gene said.

“You just have to go into the right casino is all,” John Paul explained.

“That’s why I never let you go to casinos,” Gene said.

“I can’t afford casinos now that I’ve got you, my love.”

It was the beginning of a good friendship. Everyone there was there because he wanted to be there. We spent time together because it was enjoyable. It was the first time Andy and I had associated with anyone away from ball.

Andy was surprisingly relaxed. I remembered how uptight he was about anyone finding out about us back at State. When Chance let on he knew, Andy was petrified he’d tell someone. Chance didn’t care one way or another as long as we were happy and didn’t drop balls hit to us. He never once made any remark or acted like Andy and I being together was much of a deal.

Andy never did get comfortable with the idea we made love a few feet from most of our teammates. He didn’t want anyone to know about his sexuality. We didn’t live in the most welcoming environment for gay men. To be successful in athletics you had to play the game and fit in where it might not be so comfortably if the truth was known.

I wasn’t sure he was gay for a few years. We were having gay sex but I wasn’t convinced he might not find a woman and drop me for her. The one year we were separated after he graduated from State erased all doubt. It was the hardest time either of us ever did, until cancer.

Once Andy bought the house and arranged his life around my life, I no longer doubted. We were not only lovers, we were lifetime mates. We were lovers as well as soul mates.

We did everything together, when we weren’t separated by ball. That was the one love we shared that didn’t involved each other, but even in our separations, we were doing the same thing. We had played ball most of our lives, and this would be the first season we weren’t both playing ball, but we’d still be separated.

Ball wasn’t forever, and we had just gotten a dose of how short lived a ball career could be. Once we were done with ball, we’d settle into a life together. With Andy’s multi-million dollar contracts in the bank, we’d never go hungry or want for much of anything, but leaving ball would be hard.

Getting a boat was the first really money spending he’d done. His car was free and he bought the house for me so we’d never be separated again for as long as we were his first year in pro ball. Everyone had to have a place to live, but everyone didn’t need a boat. The boat was an extra. It was a very big extra that was good for both of us.

Andy needed to get away and relax and get ready for the rehabilitation that was coming. It would take all his strength for the next year. We could have stayed home and he could have worked out every day, but buying the boat and sailing out into the gulf was therapeutic, after what we’d been through.

The boat was our decompression time and a way to put the difficulties of life out of mind. I never thought it could be as much fun as it was. I never believed being cut off from the world could be so refreshing. In some ways I never wanted to plug back into the fearful foreboding world we’d left behind, but that wasn’t possible. Maybe one day it would be.

John Paul and Gene made all the difference. They were both in their forties but they were as young and vibrant as Andy and I were. The way we fit together was unexpected. I think knowing that they weren’t really depending on us for a job helped us to feel more comfortable together.

John Paul and Gene had plenty of money in banks and in investments. They left it alone to work in jobs that provided the essentials while doing what they loved to do. It was a great way to live and they were good companions who allowed us to be ourselves somewhere besides at home.

Sailing was like nothing else. The sound was amazing. You can hear the wind in the sails. It isn’t a noise, it’s a presence. You more feel it than hear it. You see it in the sails. When the wind kicks up a few knots, there is the swishing of water against the hull as it cuts through it. The sails rippling in a stiff breeze creating a flapping noise, like my mother’s sheets hung out on a windy day.

The sea birds were magnificent to see. Seagulls were easy to recognize but there were dozens and dozens of beautiful birds that followed us, gliding overhead, as they sailed through the air.

After a few days Andy’s head turned brown. He looked healthier than I had ever seen him. He was happy and he smiled all the time. No matter what we did, he loved it, and we did it often and with exuberance. I knew, when he took my hand and started walking me toward our cabin, we were going to sail alone for a couple of hours. His revised passion was the best thing of all for me. We didn’t just love, we made love.

For the first time since the last ball season began, we had sex every day. We didn’t have any particular schedule. Any time seemed fine. After lunch was good, after walking on deck after breakfast was a fine time, and at night was expected, and whenever Andy looked at me and smiled, taking my hand to walk me to out cabin, that was the best time for love. The sea was an aphrodisiac. Maybe it was a chemical reaction when you mixed a little Do with a lot of Andy.

We’d get naked after lunch and swim, sunning ourselves on deck. On the warmer days sat out of the sun on the fantail if we didn’t go right to the cabin. We didn’t dress again until Gene sounded the dinner bell.

We thought it showed better breeding if we dressed for dinner. I doubt John Paul or Gene would mind if we didn’t, but we did anyway. Some habits are hard to break.

Like the main cabin, our bathroom was as large as our bathroom at home. It was roomy and it was equipped with a large tub that was a Jacuzzi as well. There was also one showerhead off to one side if you were interested in rinsing off, but Andy and I didn’t do anything quickly on The Do.

 Love had never been so sweet. Andy had never been more gentle or considerate. He was a thoughtful man who liked everything to be casual. He’d no more insist I have sex with him if I wasn’t in the mood than he’d ask me to swim with the sharks, but I was always in the mood. My love for Andy had only grown over the years.

When he undressed it was immediately obvious he was in the mood. After being unable to get erect for the longest time, he now had no trouble at all. At times when we walked the deck, I’d blush, realizing how he was poking out his shorts.  Both John Paul and Gene had smiled politely in passing, trying not to pay attention to Andy’s amorous disclosure.

I think seeing how much in love we were made them more aware of their own love. The privacy of the sea gave rise to many truths. We were able to be ourselves. We didn’t hide anything from anyone who might not approve of us. We were free to express our affection for each other.

Andy’s left arm wasn’t as substantial as his right arm. Looking at his chest and shoulders, he was as muscular as ever. The one arm no longer bulged or showed as much mass. The scar was easy to see and while it was still a little pink, it was fading closer to the color of the rest of his skin. He still favored his left arm but not nearly as much.

Something about the salt air made me hungry all the time and in every way. Life had never been this good. We’d never felt closer. Each morning was like waking up in a dream.

The worst was behind us. The threat had been lifted. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy. Taking time out now to heal and renew, before Andy’s rehab, was a good idea. With a clearer view of our future a vacation gave us some pretty nice time together.

Just being together was enough for me, but being together under these circumstances was fantastic. I didn’t want to wake up or give up the best time in our lives. We would have to leave the boat. All vacations must come to an end, but this was a life I could live day after day after day and not tire of it.

We headed into Tampa Bay for our first sighting of land in some time. Gene wanted to stock up on necessities before we worked our way along the Keys, until we were at Key West, where we’d meet Harold.

We topped off our fuel tanks so we didn’t need to do such things at the end of the supply chain, where prices were certain to be higher. Gene also thought the selection of fresh foods would be greater and we had plenty of freezer space for things he could freeze without losing flavor.

Tampa Bay wasn’t much different than being in the gulf. It was huge. You could see land in a couple of directions at the same time, but at first it was all in the distance.

We docked on the south shore to do our business and spend the night, while John Paul and Gene made sure everything was shipshape for the next leg of our journey.

Andy and I took a motel room for the night. We used the phone and got some firm ground under us. There was a difference, after being on the boat for two weeks. By the next morning we were ready to be on the water again. There was a certain urgency in the people we met that made the sailboat a nice refuge from the rushing going on around us.

It was partly cloudy with a light breeze as Andy and I settled back into life aboard The Do. John Paul used the engines to leave the dock and navigate us to the mouth of the bay. We were under sail after that and this time we followed the shoreline south.

Our plan was to stop in Key Largo to see what was there. We’d plan to be in Key West the day before Harold was to arrive.

Once he was on his way back to school, we’d be free to follow the sun.

Chapter 14

So This Is Christmas

It was a fine way to spend Christmas.

Gene had collected a live tree for the salon that could be planted once Christmas was over and smaller artificial trees he’d decorate for each cabin.

The salon smelled sweet with the scent of pine. The lights and other decorations gave the boat a festive look. With Harold coming aboard, we wanted the boat to ooze with Christmas cheer.

Harold wasn’t given to fits of emotion over anything. Christmas was a disappointment to Harold as a boy. When his mother was home, she was usually with a boyfriend who didn’t want Harold in the way. Christmas was just another day for him to stay out of the line of fire.

We didn’t try to erase those memories. What we knew came in two or three word explanations from him. We listened and developed the picture as time went on. Then there were the official reports that told what case workers knew or assumed by what they saw and heard.

“Harold is withdrawn and of average intelligence. He has little interest in a school environment and is combative with teachers and other students.”

It was the state of Indiana’s viewpoint.

We provided him with what he needed. When he moved in, the baseball season had just ended, and we were there for him if he needed anything, but Harold was independent to say the least.

Harold hardly talked about life before he came to live with us. There was no special interaction that you could point to as the reason why he took to us. We had our lives. We made a place for him, and we provided a safe environment.

Harold had his own way of doing things. He responded well to a tutor we found in Seymour. When I was home I spent time helping him with his studies. It was obvious he was way more academic than I ever was. I was limited when it came to explaining what I knew to him. Harold wasn’t.

It came as a surprise to us, when his tutor said, “I don’t know how much good I can do Harold. He’s smarter than I am. He lacks some basic skills that I can teach him, but his grasp on new concepts is remarkable.”

Harold earned a GED the year the tutor came three times a week and then five times a week when baseball season began. I wouldn’t say Harold was happy, but he was happier. His reading had a purpose and he read more than ever.

When he expressed an interest in college, Andy asked, “Are you sure? I’ll make it happen if you tell me you’re sure.”

Harold said, “I’m going to be a doctor. They like you to have a little college.”

Harold had been with us for close to two years by that time. Andy began researching schools. We wanted something close enough for him to be able to get home without too much trouble.

Harold didn’t need to be home very often, until Andy was sick. That’s when Harold began to come out of his shell. He was comfortable with us but still didn’t have a lot to say, but once Andy needed our support, Harold got home as often as he could.

Harold spent as much time with us when Andy was taking chemo, than he had when he was living with us full time. Previously Harold had his nose in a book most of the time and the communication was limited. Once he was away at school, he acted glad to get home.

He even went along when we ate out, as long as he could get a hamburger. We planned things we could do together when he came home. When we were just going out to no place in particular, he started going with us.

We were more like a family than we had been. It was up to Harold, because we always asked him to go with us from the beginning, but we didn’t insist he go. It was still up to him, but these days he asked to go.

We didn’t go far, but if Harold was home and not preparing for a test or a paper, he went. He had made his own assessment about us by that time. We were content letting Harold do it his way. He was no trouble and didn’t ask for anything.

Christmas was a day Harold didn’t particularly care for. We hung stockings and got him things he needed and marked from Santa on the little tag. We didn’t want to exchange presents. Harold didn’t even like getting things from Santa. We didn’t ask him why. It was up to him.

Harold was easier to be around as he grew to be a young man. It occurs to me that he had been adjusting to having a home to go home to. He’d lived in a dozen places before they put him next door.

The social workers came to visit as soon as they heard Harold was at our house more than he was home. We were friends with his two foster mothers and they approved of us, and allowed Harold free range to come over. He often stayed all day and did nothing but read.

When the social workers saw him with us, they liked him being around men. It was a safe wholesome place for him to be. They didn’t ask too many questions about our relationship and their supervisor knew Andy by name from Indianapolis baseball, which didn’t hurt when they were deciding whether or not to place Harold with us.

Andy and I didn’t know anything about raising kids. We were just past being kids ourselves, when Harold first came over from next door where he was one of many foster kids. He wanted to be at our house and we didn’t mind. It was easier for Harold if he didn’t need to deal with other kids.

We never told him to go home. One of the girls would come by to collect him and then they began calling to see when he’d be coming home. Once he began staying over night, there was a discussion about letting Harold stay where he was most comfortable, since he’d had such an unsettled life previously.

Andy was determined to break through his shell after a while. His efforts at playing catch and basketball came up short. It was easy to see by Harold’s raise eyebrow, he’d humor Andy if he had to, but he didn’t want to. That was before we knew how bright he was.

My first clue was when I was in the bookstore, I came across a huge Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. I bought it and took it home and put it on the table beside the couch where Harold kept his books. Almost immediately he was going to the dictionary to find the meanings of words. He didn’t want to ask someone for the meaning, but he didn’t mind looking up words he didn’t know.

It turned out what Harold needed was time and two steady people who were predictable and treated him with respect and didn’t try to push him around. I don’t think Harold needed us, but he knew the state of Indiana would lock him up if he was caught on the street again.

Harold started off looking after the dog we inherited from next door too, only the dog once lived at our house. Tommy came home and became our dog. Harold came with him and became our ward. We had a family without really trying, but it was a nice family.

Four years later we were meeting Harold to have Christmas on The Do and he was about to official become a pre-med student. He hadn’t seen the boat yet. There was  a long pregnant pause when Andy told him we had a sailboat and we wanted him to spend Christmas on it with us. He became more interested when we told him we’d meet him in Key West, Florida.

Harold wasn’t well traveled once you got beyond middle Indiana. We arranged for a combination of driving and flying to get him into Key West a few days before Christmas. We talked to Gene about decorating The Do before he arrived. We wanted it to reek of Christmas, a favorite time for Andy and me if not Harold.

Harold would raise an eyebrow over the extravagance of a boat and the kind of Christmas we didn’t have back home, where it was a tree and stockings hung on the fireplace and clothes and books from Santa.

This Christmas was a special time. We were excited about Andy being on the mend. The sea air and relaxation were good for him. Andy’s arm was beginning to gain strength as he used it with more confidence each day.

Harold arrived on schedule and a bit excited by flying in a jumbo jet to Miami and then took a commuter plane the rest of the way to Key West. He carried a gym bag with clothes and a backpack with textbooks and a copy of Lolita.   He admitted to being a little tired after twelve hours of travel, which included being frisked and manhandled, “Like  I just stole some old ladies purse.”

Andy only flew with his team and thus never experienced the pat down in airports. My team didn’t fly, favoring all night bus trips, avoiding pat downs. We didn’t realize it would make Harold feel like a criminal.

“I thought that was the point of airport security,” I said. “Someone might do something somewhere one day, so being ready for everything everywhere was the best policy. God bless America, home of the brave, land of the suspicious.”

“Traveling while black is a sure way to arouse suspicion,” Harold reminded us. “They also go straight for the grandmother in a wheelchair. ‘You’ll have to get up out of there ma’am. Got to check that chair for bombs and incendiaries devises.’

“When the grandmother can’t get up, she’s thrown on the floor and handcuffed for being uncooperative. Another terrorist stopped by alert security personnel. The world is made safe from grandmothers.”

“Didn’t know you were so up to date on airport security techniques. That in itself is suspicious,” Andy said. “You been flying around without telling us, Harold?”

“The dude put his hands where no man should put his hands on a child,” Harold said indignantly.

“Harold, you’re nineteen and over six feet tall. You hardly qualify as a child.”

“Didn’t need to tell him that. He knew I was no child when he got his hand half way up my thigh. Didn’t need to feel no further than that. He knew I was carrying but it weren’t no bomb.”

“Harold, they’ve got to make sure you’re safe to fly,” Andy argued.

“Dr. Green if you please. Do I look like a gangsta’. I’m a skinny kid. No where to hide no bomb. Shouldn’t common sense have a place in Homeland Security?”

“You learned an awful lot from one flight,” I said.

“The grandmother part and the Homeland Security deal came from listening to doctors talk about flying. I’ve got to get material somewhere,” Harold confessed.

“You’ve never been patted down before?” Andy asked.

“I’ll take the 5th on that one,” Harold said.

“I sense you didn’t learn that in the doctor’s lounge?” Andy said.

Harold was handsome. He was as tall as Andy, but he was thinner. At nineteen he hadn’t begun to fill out yet. He didn’t look much like a gangster, but what did a gangster look like?

“They’ve got a job to do,” I added.

“I want to get felt up, I go over to the ladies’ lounge.”

“Be nice, Harold,” Andy said, as we walked to the cab.

“Yes, sir. It’s true though. Ladies can’t keep their hands off me, you know. It’s my charm. They all see it right off.”

“You’re handsome. You have what they want,” I said.

“He says be nice and you talk about what they want,” Harold said. “How does a child know what’s right?”

“I thought you said you couldn’t keep girls,” I said.

“Didn’t say I couldn’t get one. Hanging onto one is where I’m a failure. They don’t realize college is a place to do more than make girls giggle. I got to study. Can’t get where I want to go chasing the ladies all the time.”

“You do have a tough life,” Andy said.

“Isn’t that the truth. Work, work, work. Why a boat anyway? You looked perfectly comfortable on dry land.”

“It’s relaxing and allows us to get away. We’ll just sail out into the gulf, toss out the anchor, swim, have lunch, and just have the entire place to ourselves. You’ll like it,” I said.

“I’ll read. Do I have a place to sleep or do we just sleep between the sails? How big is it anyway? Where do you park it when you’re out riding around in cabs? Can I take my babe out one weekend?”

“You’ve got a babe?” I asked.

“When I start talking about my boat, I’ll have plenty.”

“It’s docked quite a ways from Indiana. Remember the jet ride? It’s docked in northern Florida,” Andy said. “We might arrange something one weekend, after baseball next year. We’ll go out on the boat.”

“You going to play?” he asked Andy. “You look, good A. G. Healthy. Way better than the last time I saw you.”

“Thank you, doctor. Not this season. Rehab. Can’t imagine playing this season. We’ll see, but I’ll take it slow and make sure the arm is stronger before I want to test it. After Do’s season, he’ll want some relaxation. Now we have a place to go to get away. You can offer to fly your lady down for a long weekend.”

“Don’t remind me. Sardines got nothing on those folks. Even that boats got to be better than a flying. Coming out here on that puddle jumper, I was sure they’d ask us to pedal. We were flying so close to the water I had to hold my feet up to keep them dry.”

“They do that for the people who like the water. I suppose they can fly pretty low out over the gulf,” I said.

“Not as far to fall that way, huh?” Harold said.

“Drop us at the second dock, driver,” Andy said, as the cab slowed and eased to a stop.

I carried Harold’s gym bag and he carried the back pack. When we stopped at the back of The Do,” no one had to tell him it was our boat. I could see his eyes examining the length and width. Harold had obviously expected something less impressive.

“J. D., that’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Harold said, looking at the name on the back of The Do.

“Don’t stretch your luck, young man. I picked the name and it’s a long walk to Indiana,” Andy said.

“Yes, sir,” Harold said, letting his eyes follow the lines of The Do. “Damn! Does it have a swimming pool?”

“It’s in the swimming pool,” Andy said.

I laughed as we went across the ramp onto the deck.

I showed Harold to his cabin, after a short stop to look at the decorations in the main salon. He liked his room. He stacked his books on the table beside his bed and dropped his gym bag on the floor. He stared at the Christmas tree that Gene had decorated for his cabin. I think he looked pleased with it. A Christmas tree all his own.

There was garland around the ceiling with icicles dangling from it. Some Christmas lights were strung in each corner. Harold too it all in. It wasn’t overwhelming but just enough for a room that size.

“There, all unpacked,” he said, patting the stack of books. “It’s very nice, Do. Thank you.”

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to John Paul, the guy who drives the boat, and Gene. He decorated the room and he’s quite a cook.”

“Hamburgers. French Fries. Cola. An onion ring or two from time to time,” Harold ordered.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to eat what the rest of the crew eats. I don’t think he wants to prepare separate meals. The guys a chef. Food is his business. Give it a try, Harold. One day you’ll want to eat like an adult.”

“Bigger hamburger and more fries.”

I was surprised at how mature Harold acted in front of John Paul and Gene. He was well mannered and listened more than he talked. We didn’t spend much time around other people, except when we went to school to see him, and then the people were part of his life and not ours.

It was hard to see Harold as a man, but he was well on his way to becoming a man, but he had been for the entire time he’d been with us. He was always mature, more like an adult than a child, but he talked like a kid.

Harold had talked more in a half hour than he usually said in an entire day. He’d been around doctors and it showed. While he was still somewhat of a kid, he was adjusting to the larger world he’d picked to be his future. Harold was learning by observing.

It had been a long day and he Harold was hungry and tired. His first visit on the boat gave him a burst of energy that carried him for a little bit longer, but it took John Paul to get his attention with an invitation to see the boat.

Harold was going to take to sailing just fine.

Chapter 15

Over the Ocean Blue

John Paul invited Harold to the bridge, once he’d seen him the galley, crew quarters, and engine room. The gadgets on the bridge got Harold’s attention. He wanted to know how the GPS worked and where the radar signals came from. The depth finder was easy enough and the sonar left him scratching his head.

John Paul went through the function of each item, explaining how it allowed him to chart a safe course and he was alerted if there was something in the water that might represent a threat to the hull.

I could see Harold learning to sail The Do, when I didn’t know he’d last over Christmas without wanting to return to Indiana. There hadn’t been many things that got his interest. The Do did. He seemed particularly amazed by the wide open space around him.

When Gene came to tell us he’d put out food in the salon, we broke off to get it while it was hot. John Paul turned off the equipment and followed us to join our first meal with Harold on the boat.

After so much time in airports, there was no doubt he’d be hungry enough to eat what was offered, as long as it didn’t look too healthy. Gene had waited until he saw us before making final preparations for a meal, knowing how screwed up flight schedules could become.

“I like hamburgers,” Harold said, as he put some bacon on his plate and then dished up some scrambled eggs with ham pieces. “But this looks pretty good. Got Coke?”

As we sat at the table nibbling on our food, Gene brought back one of the wine buckets full of ice. Instead of wine it containing a 2 liter bottle of Coke. He put a towel over his forearm, hoisted the bottle of Coke, and brought it to Harold’s place at the table, pouring his glass three quarters full before going back to bring ice to fill the glass.

Andy and I laughed at Gene playing waiter for Harold.

“This dude for real?” Harold asked, and then quite by surprise, he added. “My room, it’s quite nice. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Gene said. “I decorated each one especially for the occupant.

We didn’t know how Harold would take to John Paul and Gene, but he acted the part of a gentlemen around them. He made an effort to be polite and curb his propensity to sarcasm, but both John Paul and Gene found Harold adorable. We’d raised a pretty neat kid.

Spoiling him was done on purpose, because he’d never had anything before he adopted Andy and me. He only knew us from the house. He knew we played ball but he saw us as regular guys who were home all the time in the winter. When we were gone for most of six months, it was easier for him to understand that’s how our work worked.

We also made a point of not going overboard with Harold, but when you never had anything, everything is going overboard to some degree. Andy and I did what was reasonable to us, until it came to college. After the tutor told us Harold was smarter than he was, we wanted Harold to have as much education as he wanted.

He had been deprived as a child and as an adult we wanted Harold to go as far as he could possibly go. He’d never need to depend on anyone else to provide for him ever again. Harold’s destiny was now in his own hands. He hadn’t disappointed us.

In our wildest imaginations we never saw Harold as a surgeon. It was a nice surprise. We had almost matured together. Andy and I were just beginning our lives on our own terms, when Harold came to stay. Now he was a happy young man, or as happy as we’d seen him.

Harold saw us as mature images he could relate to, but his maturity surprised us at times. He had an excellent grasp on who he was and what he had to do to assure his own well-being. With us as his caretakers Harold was free to go as far as he wanted to go. It was a good feeling to help him.

After a year and a half away at school, Harold was confident with his success. He didn’t need to stay at school for fear his future might slip away from him while he was gone.

This was a Christmas vacation further from Indiana than he’d ever been before. He saw it as decompression time before the next leg of his education would go full speed ahead. When he went back, he’d officially be pre-med.

On The Do Harold acted naturally. He wasn’t a lot different from when we were home. His attitude toward John Paul and Gene was surprisingly mature. Andy and I were there and that made it a familiar environment.

Early on when I tried to help Harold with his studies, he was clever enough to accept my help and not act as if he knew it all. He let me explain what I knew about the problem, and at times it did help him. He’d question me on something I knew better than he did.

I suspect he feared being perceived as a wiseass if he questioned my conclusions. He always listened and was willing to repeat my instructions back to me. He may have liked the attention or maybe I was helping him a little.

It was similar when John Paul was describing the functions of the instrument. Harold listened intently and spoke only to pose a question to clarify what he’d been told. He sounded as though he had some knowledge of the working systems on The Do. I knew what the gadgets were but I’d never asked John Paul how they worked. Harold wanted to know how things worked.

The doctors at the hospital took time out to introduce Harold to medicine and after his first year, being certain he would make an excellent surgeon, he was allowed into the inner sanctum, the operating room. I sensed as I watched Harold digest information John Paul gave him, I was seeing what the doctors saw when they instructed Harold.

This was one experience Harold didn’t mind talking about. He was both impressed and made to feel special by the time John Paul gave him.

Some of Harold was still a kid, because he’d never been a kid. We indulged his childishness without criticism. Harold lived in a safe place with people who cared about him. The kid in Harold came out in his playfulness, which didn’t surface often. His maturity was unmistakable and Harold was going to be a fine man.

Whatever small part we played in offering him a safe friendly environment, where he could finish growing up, came naturally as Andy and I finished maturing. Harold added as much to Andy’s and my life as we added to his. Being able to give a kid a chance made both of us feel like we weren’t totally pampered as ball players.

Harold showed up in Key West more lively and outgoing than we’d ever seen him. He certainly talked more than usual. He was excited by a new adventure. He’d been in motion almost twenty hours by the time we reached The Do.

We were happy to see him and he was happy to see us. If we hadn’t really been a family before, we were one now. It felt just like when I was going home for the holidays, while we waited for Harold.

The old Harold would have stayed at school and studied. The new Harold had limitations he recognized. A vacation was just the ticket. This was a vacation to end all vacations for all of us and Andy and I were happy Harold was there with us.

Any apprehension I had about Harold wanting to be put back on a plane to Indiana were gone. Even Gene’s wonderful culinary skills tasted better once Harold went back for more bacon and eggs and ham. He tried the potatoes and took a big slice of pineapple, eating it carefully, but finishing it all. It may have been his first fresh pineapple.

Gene poured him more Coke.

“I’m going to need to go on a diet,” Harold said, patting his stomach.

“I know the feeling,” Andy said. “I’ve gained weight since we sailed.”

“You needed to gain some weight, A. G. I was getting worried once you were skinnier an me. You look good.”

“I do, don’t I,” Andy bragged, as he sipped coffee.

“Yes you do, but you always have in my opinion. Just less of you to look good the past few months,” I said.

“I feel good. Food tastes good again,” Andy said, eating another strip of bacon. “I’ll have to give this up once I start rehab. No bacon and no fancy sauces.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I know I’m not a chef, but I try,” I kidded him.

“You do fine, Do. It’s just that Gene does real fine. I never knew food could taste this good. I suppose just getting past a period when all food made me sick has a little to do with my new appreciation for it.”

“I accept your apology,” I said.

Andy smiled and let me have my way.

John Paul cut up his link sausage and ate small bites, standing next to the table to avoid spilling anything.

“Harold, do you play chess?” he John Paul asked.

“I’ve been watching the doctors play. I’m learning how the pieces move. Not exactly move, but the techniques to maneuvering the pieces to gain a strategic advantage. The doctors who play are way too good for me to want to show them how bad I play. I’m busy trying to make a good impression. Playing chess would give me away.”

“You work at a hospital?” Gene asked as he dished up some eggs.

“I go to school at a hospital. I’m allowed privileges by a couple of the surgeons. They’d call themselves my mentors. After an operation they take me to the doctor’s lounge to drink coffee, and talk about what I’ve just seen. They ask me questions on what they’ve just done.”

“Sounds serious,” Gene said. “You want to be a doctor, Harold?”

“Surgeon. I’m going to be a surgeon. Neurology or cardiology. Maybe both. They’re the best.”

“That’s a big bite for anyone to take,” John Paul said. “I’m impressed.”

“I am too,” Harold said. “It’s scary looking down into someone’s open chest. I’ve felt a human heart beating. The most efficient engine ever devised.”

“I can honestly say I’ve never known anyone who has felt a beating human heart. I’ve been of the opinion not all of us come equipped with a heart,” Gene observed.

“If I have occasion to look into someone’s chest and there’s no heart in there, I’ll give you a call,” Harold said.

“That was a philosophical belief that isn’t necessarily supported by fact,” Gene said. “I might say some folks act like they don’t come equipped with a heart.

“I get the picture,” Harold said. “I’ve met some of those folks.”



*****



As soon as Gene finished his eggs, he began to clear. It was our second breakfast and officially a brunch, but no matter what time it was, Gene was full of surprises for each meal. Breakfast didn’t offer him a lot of challenges but every day was different.

. “I’m going to move us away from Key West. The sun is shinning and the storms are predicted to stay south of us. We can anchor later this afternoon and you can watch the sunset from the fantail. Always beautiful after a storm passes.”

“Sounds good,” Andy said. “We’ll see how Harold likes open water.”

“We’ll talk about a friendly game of chess before dinner, Harold,” John Paul said. “I might be able to teach you what little I know.”

“I shouldn’t be hard to find,” Harold said.

Once again the engines propelled us away from Key West as we finished our coffee, chatting with Harold about school. He told us about his most recent operation and how he’d assisted Dr. Nothing major but it offered him experience in the operating room. I’m glad he waited until after breakfast to give us those details.

Harold’s world had expanded in a short period of time in major ways. I do believe he always knew he was the smartest kid in the room, but having doctors believe in him made it official. There were no students Harold’s age assisting doctors. No one had to tell him he was a clever lad.

Andy had picked the school with the help of the team doctor, who called it a hands on teaching program and a place where doctors take a keen interest in good students. The class sizes were small. Students advanced at their own pace.

When Andy went with him to take the entrance exams, they’d seen his transcripts and what was written about Harold, during the years he was a ward of the state. Andy called them less than encouraging as far as Harold’s interest in their medical program was concerned. It was made clear to Andy that no amount of money would get an unqualified student into their excellent medical program, but if Harold was willing to do what was necessary to gain skills in the areas he was deficient, they’d work with him.

Once the exams were graded, they went from agreeing to accept Harold to wanting Harold in their medical program. Andy expected Harold would need to do some work to catch up with the other students. Harold was way ahead of us.

“It’s the first time I’ve seen the people in charge do a one eighty from what had been said previously. A man from the school’s administration came over to accept Harold and say he was happy to welcome him.”

I thought Harold was pretty intelligent. Making it out of the kind of childhood he had was quite a feat. With very little organized education under his belt, Harold figured out a way to survive it. How impressive was that?

The attitude expressed by the school’s administration, offered us more insight into Harold’s intellect. He was more than a little smart. We were told that by one tutor. We weren’t ready to bet the farm he was right. Andy commented that Harold was cool as a cucumber. He never mentioned options beyond medicine. Later he told us he wanted to be a surgeon.

Harold didn’t fit in many places before. Now he had adapted to school and his life was there. He took more classes than necessary and went out of his way to spend time with the real doctors and surgeons. They did nothing to discourage him.

We liked hearing him talk about what he was doing and what came next. It excited him to tell us about it. It excited us to hear him tell us about it. We mostly listened and enjoyed his enthusiasm. Andy was getting more for his money than he’d ever dreamed was possible.

After Harold got another glass of Coke, we left the salon to go out on deck. At first Harold wanted to get a look at the fantail. It was about the only spot he hadn’t checked out. Harold was seeing the perfect place to read.

Harold turned when he heard the wind in the sails. They billowing in a good breeze. The Do was quite impressive when the sails were filled with wind and the boat skimmed smoothly across the surface of the gulf waters.

“Awesome,” Harold said. “I heard engines. How did he get the sails out so fast. He showed me crew quarters. Is there more crew?”

“It’s easier to leave the marina under diesel power. Makes maneuvering easier,” Andy explained. “Mostly it’s a sailboat, when the weather’s good.”

“Yes it is,” Harold said, holding his hands up to shade his eyes to get a full look at our propulsion system.

“John Paul and Gene are the crew. They sleep in the cabin next to yours. Most of what’s done is done electronically,” I explained.

We walked the decks and enjoyed the fresh air. Harold stopped when we came across something he didn’t recognize. We went up to the bridge to have John Paul show Harold how he raised and lowered the sails automatically.

John Paul explained that the sails had to be secured when not in use and then they had to be freed before he could raise them. Harold volunteered to help him secure the sails once he’d lowered them for the night.

Harold hadn’t had his nose in a book all afternoon. That was a first.

“Wow, just like a movie,” Harold said, watching the sails. Seagulls were flying just over top of the mainsail.

The Do skimmed silently along. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue. It was dotted with huge white clouds. Seabirds appeared and followed us.

We were in the hands of Mother Nature and good hands they were. The smell of the sea was magnificent. The three of us went to sit on the fantail and let the day slid past.

“Lot of water,” Harold said.

“We’ve been all over the gulf. It’s beautiful,” I said.

“Nothing like I ever seen,” Harold said. “How’d you two think this one up?”

“I wanted a vacation,” I said.

“I wanted a sailboat,” Andy said.

“Here we are,” Harold said. “Didn’t you think of starting off with something smaller. I mean this is like a cruise ship. I got me my own cabin. Food’s good. Pretty damn neat.”

“You can sleep on deck if you want,” Andy said.

“No, the cabin is fine. It’s just a lot of boat. I’d figure you two starting off smaller is all. This is a way big jump from rural Indiana don’t you know?”

“It’s what was available, Harold. We asked some friends that know about boats, and this popped up the same day we asked. Best not to question your destiny. As skeptical as we were at first, it’s the best time we’ve ever had. Sailing is about the best thing I’ve ever done?”

“Baseball, A. G.?” Harold questioned.

“Second best thing,” Andy admitted. “But very nice.”

“It is something. I can’t say this is what I expected, but after all that flying around, I like this a lot better. I feel like a sardine that’s been liberated,” Harold said.

“You don’t mind spending Christmas on the boat?” I asked.

“No, this is cool. I don’t mind. Just tell me we aren’t going to be running into no guys with wooden legs and a patches over their eye. A vast yee matees.”

“A vast indeed,” Andy said.

Gene brought us cold drinks. He gave us the lunch menu he planned. Harold didn’t know what baked scrod was. Harold sat silent, not sure of what to make of having a chef cooking for us. He said he’d try whatever Gene fixed. This pledge lacked enthusiasm.

“You have servants?” Harold said.

“They’re the crew. Came with the boat. Gene’s a chef. He also decorated the boat. It was an eyesore when we first saw it. Something like a floating brothel.”

“I won’t ask who owned it before,” Harold said. “There’s a Christmas tree in my cabin.”

“We want you to feel like it’s Christmas,” I said. “Gene put the trees in the rooms. We talked about the big fresh one in the salon, but he decided on putting smaller trees in the cabins. I like it,” I said.

“There’s a Christmas tree in my cabin,” Harold repeated. “I can’t count the years there was no tree for Christmas. There wasn’t no anything some years. Some Christmas’s there was no mom. This is different than that.”

“I’d say,” Andy’s said, understanding poverty. “This is to make up for that. We can’t undo that but we can do this.”

“Enjoy it, Harold. It’s not going to be like this every year,” I said. “We might take to flying one day.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Andy said.

“Thank heavens. I’m thinking about take a bus back.”

“They’re every bit as crowded as a plane and it takes days instead of hours to get anywhere.”

“I’m not complaining. You two aren’t given to fits of fancy. This will take some getting used to. You got servants. I got me a Christmas tree in my cabin. Go figure.”

“We have crew,” Andy said. “They’ve become friends.”

“They’re more like companions,” I said. “They know where everything is. They make sailing easy.”

It was a lot all at once. It had taken me a few days to adjust. After a few weeks, I felt at home on The Do. I thought Harold could feel out of place, but he was adapting.

We sat together on the fantail. The sails were full of the wind. The birds hung suspended alongside the mainsail. The sun warmed what had become a perfect day.

Chapter 16

Family Hour

I think for the first time since Harold came to live with us, we acted like a real family. Harold was excited and happy to be with us. We were delighted to see him, and the boat had his complete approval. Of course it would, it was another universe for him to explore.

The confines of The Do meant we all interacted at every meal and in between meals much of the time. I sat in the salon sipping coffee and nibbling a crumpet with blackberry jam on it. Andy sat next to me, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

It was after ten and the sun hadn’t risen yet. The boat was a bit unsteady under us as rain showers tapped above us in a muffled overture furnished by Mother Nature. Andy’s eyes had focused on the chess board at the corner of where Gene put out different delights for our early morning pleasure. As I said, early morning was more moving toward afternoon and the rain had us all indoors. Andy still slept late each morning, and Gene kept food coming.

“No, you don’t want to do that,” John Paul said softly to Harold. “Make that move. I move here. I take your Bishop. You take my knight. I take your queen, check mate. You always need to keep your king several moves away from trouble. Someone moves in for check, you move away to a safer position. It looks like a good tradeoff, but you leave yourself exposed for me to close in on the pieces protecting your king. Do you see?”

Harold’s eyes never left the board. He watched John Paul’s hands as his voice explained how his second or third move wasn’t what Harold expected or could see in his unfamiliar mind. It was the second time they’d played.

Harold spent time processing the positions on the board. He finally decided on his next move.

“Very clever,” John Paul said. “I didn’t see it until you did it. That’s an experienced player’s move. Where did you come up with that?” John Paul wanted to know.

“Two games ago. It’s the move you made to take my queen. Then I tried to keep my king away from you, until you put me out of my misery.”

“Man, I’ve got to keep my eye on you. You remember a move I made two games back. You didn’t even know which way your bishop moved two games back.”

“No, I wasn’t clear on how the bishop moved but my memory was working fine. It’s like a jigsaw puzzle. You find one piece you need and a dozen others fit into place.”

“Yes, they do,” John Paul said. “I didn’t expect you to see that far ahead. I’ve got to alter my thinking. I’ve also got to watch what I show you if I want to keep beating you.”

Andy leaned and whispered in my ear.

“I want to get Harold his own chess set for Christmas. It’s a better idea than money. I can always put money in his account. It’s not a good present.”

I nodded not wanting to say anything out loud.

“John Paul, how long are we having weather?” Andy asked.

“Window from two to five. Might get sun. Rain most of the night according to Miami. Camp Springs isn’t so sure the afternoon break is happening.”

“Camp Springs?” I asked.

“National Weather Service. Miami more keeps an eye on the southern waters and what’s developing and where it might go. Camp Springs does the entire deal as a complete picture of the U S weather at any given time.”

“Can we go to dinner in Key West. Gene, anything you’re into for dinner that you can’t hold over for tomorrow?”

“No. I haven’t done the clean up from brunch. I don’t have anything out for dinner yet.”

“For dinner?” John Paul said. “I can make 7 knots and keep the ride acceptable. If we start at noon, I can have you docked in Key West at five.”

“Dinner in Key West?” Harold said.

“We can get off the boat. Stretch our legs. Try the local restaurants,” Andy said.

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, not revealing what I knew about it.

Harold didn’t seem put off by staying indoors. I think the flying wore him out and there was a lot to adjust to once he got to The Do. He read in the salon as John Paul hoisted the anchor and took us toward Key West. Camp Springs was correct, the cloud cover didn’t lift but the rain was intermittent. I needed my sweater to be comfortable.

The trip wasn’t rough but it wasn’t smooth. I was smart enough not to pile on the food. The idea of eating out appealed to me and I wanted to be read for a good feed.

There were a lot of people near the marina and the streets were wet. It was more windy than when we left. It was warmer away from the water. I still wore my jacket and was happy to have it.

John Paul and Gene showed us the way to the restaurants and pointed out some of the highlights on the way. It was a small town, quaint. It looked like something I’d seen in a movie. I liked it.

There were any number of shops and stores. They showed us the bar where Ernest Hemingway used to drink. There was a spot dedicated to him. It was what I expected. There were a lot of happy people drinking and one side of the bar was entirely open to let in the fresh air. That had to be careful planning. Made it easy to throw out drunks.

We picked an Italian restaurant. Harold would eat spaghetti and meat balls. I wanted lasagna and Andy wanted antipasto, garlic sticks, and an Italian plate with three different dishes in small portions.

We chatted about our trip so far and where we’d head once we sent Harold back to school. John Paul had a couple of ideas but nothing was decided. The food was delightful and it was a nice place, although it wasn’t very big. Nothing in Key West was very big.

After dinner we found an ice cream shop and Harold’s eyes lit up when he saw the banana split. He’d never had one and he thought it looked incredible. Andy and John Paul went off together to do some business. Gene came with Harold and I to check out the ice cream.

Andy and John Paul were weighed down with packages, when they caught up with us. We sat and watched them sample the ice cream. Actually I was too full to move so watching them gave me something to do as my body absorbed a ton of calories and fat. I was going to show up at training cap ten pounds over my playing weight. I hadn’t gained weight since I was sixteen.

We walked the streets of Key West for another hour, checking out where the bars and dancing places were. Harold wasn’t old enough to drink. We weren’t interested in taking in the more colorful parts of town while Harold was visiting us. We were planning on making a return trip to go to our first gay bar and Andy, believe it or don’t, wanted to dance with me. I’d never danced with anyone before.

There was more chess and Gene fixed us some fruity drinks to sip while I read and Andy watched the chess game. John Paul offered to show Andy how to play. Andy was content to watch. He took a particular interest in how Harold approached a game he couldn’t win, yet.

I went to bed early and Andy came to bed an hour or so later. I couldn’t go to sleep until he slid in beside me and wrapped his arms around me.

I loved his smell. If I fell asleep before he came to bed, when he got into bed, the smell of him brought me to the awareness of his presence. When we were separated during baseball season, his smell often came to me in bed at night. It was a comfort that made our being a part easier.

We were never closer than during the days on The Do. There was nowhere Andy could go to get out of my sight for long. There was no lawn to mow or trees to chop. Andy enjoyed the inactivity. He’d been inactive for six months, but he was sick the entire time, until now. He looked better and was getting stronger. The sea did wonders for him.

If we had gone through tough times with his cancer, we were going through good times in its absence. The fresh sea air was good for me as well. I’d never felt better but I was with the two people I loved most. I couldn’t ask for a happier Christmas, but with Andy around there was always more than I expected, more than I needed.

Christmas Eve morning we sat through a few more showers. Gene kept us entertained with food. John Paul and Harold were back at the chessboard. Andy and I sat together on the couch, nibbling at food and sipping our morning coffee. It got better with every cup. Gene prided himself in flavorful and rich coffee bean choices. He’d collected several more pounds of beans in Key West.

“Check,” Harold said tentatively.

“Nothing worse than the contemplation of victory, only to be met with the agony of defeat. I move my castle to protect my king. You take my castle. I take your queen. Your king is exposed and in two more moves, check and mate. You moved right into my strongest positions. Check isn’t the name of the game Harold. Study the board before you move.”

“I do,” Harold said in frustration.

“You need to see all the pieces and how they’re going to react to each move you make.”

“I know, but I like saying check. It’s as close as I’ve come so far.”

“You are making smarter moves but you still haven’t put the game into its larger perspective. Practice, practice, practice,” John Paul said.

“What about speed chess, John Paul? You going to show me speed chess?” Harold asked.

“It’s a game. Like much of what makes me uncomfortable in today’s world, it’s objective is to make a cerebral exercise into a footrace. I don’t play speed chess. I’d be bad at it. Over time I’ve learned that things I enjoy are things I take time to enjoy. I enjoy chess as is. Rushing it won’t make it a better game, but it’s just my opinion.”

“Never thought about it that way,” Harold said. “Take time to enjoy it. I like it.”

“In any event, you’ve got to learn by seeing the moves and the strategy in action. I don’t think speed chess will give you the same feel for the game. Still, it’s only my opinion,” John Paul said.

Harold turned to look at Andy for some confirmation.

“Don’t look at me, son. I’m still waiting for someone to jump something. Those are the strangest checkers I’ve ever seen.”

John Paul burst out laughing and Harold grinned. I didn’t know anything about chess. I could see the concentration it took was different from most games I’d played. I was raised on Risk and Sorry. Baseball required focus but I wasn’t sure it was anything like chess.

As I matured baseball took up most of my enjoyment time. I played a game for a living, not that I could have done it without Andy’s support, but anyway you looked at it, baseball was a game and most of my adult life had been spent playing a game. When I wasn’t playing, I was thinking about playing.

The rest of the day saw the weather clearing with the wind picking up a bit. It wasn’t too windy to be on deck but the wind was a factor with anything you put down that wasn’t of some weight. Lolita wasn’t going to blow away and neither were Harold’s text books. We spent some time on the fantail reading as we sailed into the gulf once again.

Andy disappeared into the cabin and I didn’t think he was sleeping. Each Christmas Eve Andy went about preparing what he’d selected for me so that it could both be a surprise and exciting. I already knew what we were giving Harold, but he’d have it wrapped and under the tree in the salon for Christmas morning. It was always a surprise, because Harold didn’t expect anything. He insisted we’d given him everything possible, but he was kid, what did he know. Christmas was for kids and having Harold made our Christmas more fun.

There was a wonderful meal for Christmas Eve. I’d never had roast duck before. I preferred not to think of ducks as roasted. I use to feed ducks the lake in a park in Statesville. I never once thought of eating one.

Gene’s ability with food would probably have turned a shoe into a feast. I’d never be able to eat my cooking again. Even the side dishes were things I’d never had before. Rice potatoes with a fabulous chess, chestnuts, oysters, and a combination of vegetables in a white sauce. It was right out of a Charles Dickens’ story.

The happiest camper among us was Harold, when Gene delivered his meal under a metal cover. When Harold took off the cover, he was staring at two thick and juicy hamburgers with French fries and onion rings. Harold was in heaven. 

“Oh, man, thank you. Real food!” Harold blurted.

It did get a chuckle out of the rest of us, but Harold knew what he liked. I lived on hamburgers and pizza when I was nineteen. I was sure his tastes would change as he matured and he had an opportunity to try different foods.

Harold was already beginning to take bits and pieces of what we were eating. He thought the duck was rich, which it was. He like the potatoes and even tried one oyster and didn’t know what to make of it, but he didn’t spit it out.

Can’t tell you what a nice walk on deck after dinner did for me, because I packed away another major meal. Andy and I held hands and marveled at the crystal clear night with a million times a million stars overhead.

We embraced under the starlight and kissed from time to time. It was like I’d just fallen in love all over again. Andy and I had been together for nearly ten years. He was the only man I ever loved and it suited me fine.

At twenty-seven that was half of the memory of my past. Nothing before Andy could compare with life since I met him. I was alive until I was eighteen, but I hadn’t lived. Andy breathed life into me. Even baseball was better after Andy was in the game with me, although my baseball and the baseball he played were two different games now.

We had some drinks with John Paul and Gene after Harold went to his cabin for the night. We exchanged our gifts and celebrated a friendship that had grown out of the purchase of a toy, a very big toy. A toy that brought us joy.

Andy and I had never known another gay couple. Seeing John Paul and Gene together and hearing how they related to one another made us feel even better about our relationship. Seeing two other men very much in love was a nice thing to see. While I never thought about it before, it was the first validation I’d had about the relationship.

I found myself resenting my culture. Andy and I were adored for what we did, but would have been scorned because of who we are. Scorned because we were in love.

In the 21st Century two men couldn’t be seen in public sharing affection. I didn’t need to love Andy in public, but seeing someone else doing it would have made me feel good. It would be a reflection of who I was.

I lived in a society that celebrated violence, death, and hatred. The idea of two men loving each other was an anathema. If there was more love, if love was as popular as hate, it might be a better place to live.

Luckily, as much as I love Andy, nothing could make me give that up. The joy of having him in my arms, of me being in his arms, was awesome. It’s beyond unreasonable to think only a man and a woman should be allowed to share love. To me that was fucked up.

Love needed to be exposed for what it was, wonderful. Hatred should be banned. It made no sense for so many people to spend so much time preaching hatred. No one who was in love could be hateful. Love defeated hate every time. Seeing John Paul and Gene made me aware of how little I’d read about the love Andy and I shared.

At home we didn’t watch TV or listen to the radio, because the natering nabobs of negativism abounded. There was no point to what was said, except to incite anger. There were always people wanting to deny marriage for Andy and me. It nauseated to hear people condemning my love.

Seeing John Paul and Gene gave new depth to the meaning of my love for Andy. For the first time it wasn’t hidden on a farm in Indiana. The reflection of love was inspiring and enlightening, but a reminder of how love was often stifled. Everyone wasn’t as lucky as Andy me. Everyone couldn’t afford to buy total privacy.

I was twenty-seven and I’d never seen two men in love before. How was that possible? How was it I didn’t think about it or notice nothing gave me a view of my own love.

Celebrating Christmas with a couple just like ourselves was one of the best gifts of that Christmas, when there were so many gifts. Seeing love, not just feeling love, reinforced what Andy and I felt and it made it that much more important. At the same time it was eye opening.

Nothing could have made those languid days better. If there was such a thing as perfection, we’d achieved it in the Gulf of Mexico with people we cared about and loved. The rest of the world be damned. Those days were the best days of our lives, but I didn’t see them as a peaking of something that might never be quite so good again. I saw it as the beginning of a new chapter in my life. Doing nothing had never been so nice, but there were now tings I not only wanted to do, but had to do. That was becoming apparent.

Andy and I stood outside the salon doors and kissed, looking up at the sky as Christmas closed in on us. We were in each other’s arms at mid-night.

“Merry Christmas, John Dooley.”

“Merry Christmas, Andy Green.”

“I love you more than words can say,” Andy said, as Christmas began with the best gift of all in my arms.

“Not half as much as I love you, Andy Green,” I said, kissing him and wrapping my arms around his neck.

When we went into our cabin the Christmas tree was a blaze. It was the most unique Christmas tree ever. It’s decorations were sand dollars, starfish, and tiny shells Gene had collected around the world.

All the lights were white and the silver garland that wound around the tree reflected the light back onto the shells and such. It was a work of art that I was going to take home to Indiana to put in our living room as a centerpiece and memory of our first voyage on The Do.

“I want to give you something,” Andy said.

It was Christmas and he always gave me plenty, but when he put the ring boxes out under the tree, I wondered what this was about.

“What?” I said. “It’s the ring boxes.”

I felt my wedding ring, still puzzled.

“Take it off,” Andy said.

“I never take it off,” I resisted.

“Take it off,” he repeated, and I put it in the palm of his hand.

He took my hand and turned it to put the ring back. I was puzzled, until he spoke.

“Do, you are the only person I’ve ever loved. I love you more each day. With this ring I thee wed,” he said, slipping the ring back in place.

We kissed and I started to cry.

Andy turned and took his ring box from under the tree. He opened it, revealing his wedding ring. He hadn’t been wearing the chain with the ring on it for fear it would be lost in the sea, but I didn’t know he’d brought it with him.

He put the ring in my hand and held his hand out for me to put it on him.

I slipped the ring on his ring finger and I gasped and then I really started to cry.

“It fits. It stayed on. You are gaining weight,” I shouted happily, getting the kind of Christmas present money can’t buy.

I threw my arms around his neck, kissing him with all the passion I could muster.

“Do, we can’t get married now. My career won’t allow it. It doesn’t mean our love is less a love than people who get someone to say they’re married. I don’t need anyone to tell me what we are.

“One day we’ll tell the world. Seeing John Paul and Gene together made me realize we need to do that. It isn’t necessary for you and me, but it’ll mean a lot to other people who are in love but must keep silent.”

We kissed, we undressed, and we made love.

We held hands, rested, and watched the beautiful Christmas tree.

We kissed some more and made love again. His passion was as great as it had ever been, maybe greater. I fell asleep once we’d made love the third time. I awoke from time to time to remind myself I was firmly within my true love’s arms.

Love had never been so fine. No love was ever greater than our love, and one day we’d tell the world.

Chapter 17

Floating Away

We were late getting out of bed Christmas morning. Harold was reading in the main salon when we went out for coffee. There were good morning and Merry Christmas hugs exchanged. Harold opened the small gifts from Santa Claus. Mostly it was clothin and items for school.

Andy gave Harold the gifts we’d held out for when we got up to watch him open it. The first was a rather stylish jacket Harold had taken time to try on when we were out shopping one day back home. Andy went back the next day to buy it.

“Oh, this is just the ticket,” Harold said. “I’ve seen this before. It fits nice.”

“You have,” Andy said. “You can exchange it if you like.”

“No, it’s perfect for when I go to the doctor’s lounge. I’ll look as distinguished as the real doctors. Thank you,” Harold said, hugging Andy and then me.

“Inside pocket,” Andy said.

Harold slipped his hand inside the pocket and brought out the computer chess game.

“Oh, man, thank you. I can practice. I need practice,” Harold said.

“It’s only for chess. They had them with a 1000 games, but you’ve got to spend some time studying. I’m not going to give you things to distract you. You seem to enjoy chess.”

“This is fine. I don’t play that much, A. G.”

“Here,” Harold said. “This is from me. A. G. had them made, J. D., but it is my design. I took it to him and told him what I wanted. I hope you like it.”

Andy and I opened the small gifts at the same time. In my box was a chain with the letters, AG&JD, at the center point on the modest gold chain. On Andy’s chain was, JD&AG.”

“It’s beautiful, Harold. I love it,” I said, putting it on and checking it in the mirror behind the bar.

“They did turn out beautifully, Harold,” Andy said.

“Boy designs jewelry in his spare time?” John Paul said.

“I get ideas about things,” Harold said. “My mind doesn’t sit still much.”

“You sure do,” John Paul said.

“Andy took it to the jeweler and he designed it,” Harold explained.

“He did what I told him to do,” Andy said. “I gave him your design. He built it.”

“Turned out nice,” Harold said, looking at Andy’s.

“Very nice,” I said. “I can wear it under my uniform.”

“One more gift, Harold. I found this in Key West.” Andy reached behind the tree and brought out the gift.

The case was a shiny cherry wood. Harold released the latch and opened it to reveal a chessboard. On either side of the playing surface were onyx chess men, beautifully carved.

“Oh, rock chess pieces. How clever,” Harold said.

“You keep this in a safe place. When you go to the doctor’s lounge to play chess, you take this board, and they’ll know you mean business,” Andy said. “Then I want you to kick ass.”

“Yes, sir,” Harold said, feeling the wooden board before checking each chess piece.

“That’s a fine chess set, Harold. Your doctor buddies will be impressed,” John Paul said.

“I’m impressed. You shouldn’t spend so much money on me, A. G. You’ll spoil me.”

“Someone’s got to do it and I kind of like it,” Andy said.

Gene was busy loading up the serving counter with food. The inside of The Do smelled like a fine restaurant. I needed coffee and couldn’t resist one of Gene’s thin pastries. We’d be eating all morning as Christmas Carols played softly over the speakers as we chatted and chewed.

“Weather’s clear. Next forty-eight to seventy-two hours will remain calm and partly cloudy. I suggest we set sail and move away from the mainland to avoid the currents and random showers that can pop up,” John Paul advised.

“Carry on, John Paul. Sounds like a plan,” Andy said. “You’re the driver.”

“Can I help you? I want to see how you unfasten the sails,” Harold asked.

“Come on. Get some shoes on. Don’t want you stepping on anything,” John Paul said.

It turned out to be a nice Christmas. After Gene started clearing so he could begin working on Christmas dinner. Andy and I went out on deck to enjoy the fresh air. We’d begun walking off the meals we enjoyed.

There wasn’t a lot of exercise, once we came out of our cabin in the morning. We did swim when the conditions were good but the last few days weren’t that nice. Even though the weather cleared, the sea was still a bit choppy, after the storm system passed.

It wasn’t rough enough to be unpleasant, but it wasn’t conditions favorable for swimming. We talked about it at dinner and John Paul told us conditions were improving by the hour. The clouds had begun to diminish.

Andy and I retired early, after Christmas dinner and some conversation. John Paul and Harold were sitting down for another round over the chessboard. Andy and I planned to go a few rounds ourselves. We hadn’t had our hands on each other all day, even if it was only five o’clock. It was still Christmas and there were still gifts we had to give.

I left the cabin early the next morning to get my first cup of coffee and grab a muffin with butter and jam out to the fantail where I’d continue to read Lolita.  Harold had beat me to it. With his legs crossed and barefooted, reading one of his textbooks as the breeze ruffled his white polo shirt.

The sun was bright and the clouds moved lazily in the sky above The Do. It was the kind of day John Paul predicted. I arranged myself beside Harold and we exchanged smiles and without a word we read.

It was about seven thirty. Andy would sleep until about nine. I tried not to bother him when I got up, wanting him to get all the rest he needed. He needed a lot when we spent half the night making love.

When I emptied my cup of coffee, I finished reading the page, and I went in to get another cup and I brought back one for Harold.

“Thanks,” he said, putting the textbook in his lap to sip the hot brew. “A. G. looks good, J. D. He’s all tanned up. Looks like a brother with that brown head of his.”

“He’s feeling better. He’s eating better,” I said.

“Rehab’ll be no picnic,” Harold said, looking into his coffee cup.

“I suspect not,” I said. “He’s tough. He says he’ll play again. I wouldn’t bet against him.”

“You know your coffee, J. D. It’s perfect.”

“Gene picks out the beans special. Best coffee I’ve had. The man is an artist,” I said. “I’ve had some rank coffee in my time.”

“How are you? You like this water deal?”

“It’s great. Like being at the house, only water instead of grass. Nothing for A. G. to mow,” I said smiling.

“No, not hardly. When he goes to rehab, you make sure I know his schedule. Once you’re back in Louisville, I’ll get home from time to time when he’s going to be there.”

“I think he’s going to do four days in Indianapolis and three days at the house. He’s got his weight room at the house and he can use that. Once I’m back in Louisville, he plans to spend a day or two a week with me.”

“Just keep me in on the plan. I don’t mind driving home,” Harold said, picking up his textbook.

When I went in for my next cup of coffee, Andy stood with his plate, thinking about bacon or links. Gene brought out some fresh eggs with ham and onion, a favorite of ours.

“Andy, you were married?” Gene asked.

“Me? Not as anyone would notice,” he said, smiling at me. “Do and I are a couple. We haven’t found a need to call it being married. I’m not into labels.”

“I see the resemblance between you and Harold. You have similar builds. I figured Harold was your son and not Do’s,” Gene explained.

“He’s our son,” Andy said. “He was hand picked, or we were hand picked. I’m not sure. No biology involved, just good luck.”

“Ah,” Gene said. “How did you decide on a black child? I thought maybe you had a relationship with a…. When you were younger.”

“I am younger,” Andy reminded him. “No, Do and I are college sweethearts. I was too skinny and too poor to date before Do. All I liked was baseball.”

*****

“John Paul and Gene were about to go swimming a few minutes ago,” I told Andy. “Harold was in here reading, but he’s disappeared too. Our kid doesn’t swim, does he?”

“I don’t think so,” Andy said. “We better go make sure he doesn’t drown. You know he’s fearless.”

“John Paul and Gene will look after him,” I rationalized.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure he knows what he’s doing,” Andy said. “Harold thinks he’s indestructible.”

“Have you ever known Harold not to know what he’s doing?”

“Good point,” Andy agreed. “Let’s go check on him anyway. We haven’t had our walk yet and we are out in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.”

I followed Andy out of the salon.

Sure enough, up near the bow, John Paul and Gene were swimming, as they often did from the same spot. Harold was in the gulf with them and they were having a grand old time.

They didn’t notice us because of the horseplay and the noise they made. Harold was doing fine. I wasn’t sure how Harold would take to the two men on the boat with us, but he’d taken to John Paul right away.

“Go down and get a couple of towels, Do,” Andy said. “They’ll freeze when they come out. The breeze is cool this morning.”

As soon as I came back with the towel, Harold swam to the ladder and came out of the water.

“Thanks. I knew it was going to be cold when I came out. You’re a life safer.”

“Where’d you learn to swim?” I asked.

“School. They have a pool. It’s good exercise. You don’t think I keep this lean body by sitting on my ass, do you?”

“No, speaking of your skinny ass, where’s your bathing suit?” Andy asked.

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. What bathing suit?”

Harold didn’t seem to have any inhibitions about being naked in front of us. The idea he was swimming naked, wrestling with two gay men made me uncomfortable, and I didn’t know why. I wanted to protect Harold, which was a bad road to head down with our boy.

“Harold, you shouldn’t be swimming naked with other guys,” I explained without explaining anything but my ignorance.

“Why not? They’re guys. I’m a guy. You’re guys.”

He made it all quite simple.

“Yes, but I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I said, as Harold dropped the towel and stood there in all his glory trying to analyze what the hell I had on my mind.

“I don’t have a swimsuit and they’re naked. I’m naked. What’s the deal, Do? You’re not a prude.”

“It’s not appropriate,” I said, looking at Andy for help and he got busy watching the horizon.

I was on my own.

“Why? I can’t think of anything that makes it inappropriate. Unless John Paul and Gene are… they are aren’t they? You think one of them is going to make a pass at me? Is that it? J.D., you don’t think I can’t say, ‘thanks, but no thanks? I don’t swing that way?’ I’m not a child,” he explained.

“No, you aren’t. I wasn’t thinking you’d know how to handle that. We never discussed it,” I explained, because I wouldn’t know what to say.

“You think no one has ever made a pass at me? I’ve had more passes made on me than they make at the Indy 500. One day I might think about trying it, but not so much today. I’ve got enough responsibility keeping up my end with the babes, you know. Adding a new wrinkle at the moment isn’t in the cards.”

“I suppose. Go put on your shorts,” I said.

“What, you embarrassed by the fact black boys make you white boys look a little deficient in the dick department?”

Andy began to laugh, which made me laugh, and Harold began laughing. Harold did have plenty to offer in the dick department, but he’d rarely been naked in front of us.

“You don’t have anything on Andy,” I said, trying to sound a little less like someone who had lost his mind.

“What would you expect? He is my Dad,” Harold said with a smirk, and the dick deal was done.

Andy was left laughing as Harold went to get his clothes on, ignoring my over reaction to nothing.

Why the sudden attack of homophobia concerning Harold, I didn’t know. I felt protective of him. I didn’t want him upset or made to feel like a piece of meat, but he was right. He was capable of handling such things himself.

I felt bad about bringing it up. I felt worse that I could think John Paul or Gene might be inappropriate with Harold. I had no reason to think that. I didn’t know what was wrong with me, but it didn’t please me to set straight by a nineteen year old.

He was an intelligent adult who could figure out how he wanted to handle such situations. I was embarrassed that seeing them have a good time made me think something sexual could be going on without Harold being aware.

I’d never been around gay people. I’d been around homophobes all my life. As a boy the fear of homosexuals was biblical and universal. There were so many stories about teenage boys being touched inappropriately in parks and in bathrooms that I couldn’t keep up with them all.

Teenage boys being molested was epidemic in Statesville, but these events were a lot like terrorist attacks. I was constantly hearing about them, but I never knew anyone who was molested or blown up. I only wish I’d been able to find someone who was interested in me. No one was and I wasn’t sure anyone ever would be.

When Harold first began coming over to the house, it was obvious he was analyzing what the relationship between Andy and I was. Somewhere along the line he’d figured out we were lovers. No doubt the affection we showed one another gave us away.

We didn’t purposely show affection in front of him, but you can’t hide fondness. Once Harold figured it out, he no longer watched our inner actions with curiosity.

We were told by his caseworker that there was a good chance Harold had been molested by adult males, who dated his mother. This wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but Harold never spoke of it. I wouldn’t know how to bring it up.   

At the time Harold came to us, he was more mature than we were in some ways. He could take care of himself, but he wasn’t allowed, once he was in the system. He had to be with someone and so he picked us. The social worker knew it was the best option available.

In a few months Harold would be twenty. All three of us would be in our twenties. My desire to protect him wasn’t appropriate. I couldn’t claim it as my reason for going off the rails about John Paul and Gene. I felt bad about it.

As loving as my parents were, and as much as they loved Andy, the religious overtones at my house were stifling to a young gay boy. My parents would fight anyone who said something disparaging about me loving Andy, but I knew they didn’t approve of my love for Andy. It went against their religion and religion was way more important than love, even the love of parents for their child.

I was an intelligent adult, but when it came to my son, adopted or not, I went straight to regarding any contact between Harold and two gay men as sexual in nature. All the evidence ran against it. The only thing sexual about it was what went on inside my head.

One more problem was the way I saw Harold, who was a charming handsome young man. Was it my own sexual feelings being projected onto other gay men? I didn’t think so, but I didn’t think I was homophobic either. I couldn’t find an answer that was satisfying.

I thought of all the possibilities, because I needed to know if I needed some professional help. Was I carrying around things that needed to come out? Why would I suspect people who were beyond suspicion? I didn’t like it. I din’t like myself very much for thinking it.

 *****

Harold’s departure from the Key West airport was sad. We’d had a wonderful time, Andy and I wanted him to stay with us. For the first time I had the feeling Harold would rather stay than go. It was probably the most unique experience of his life, and he didn’t want it to end.

We were going to eat in Key West, after Harold’s plane left, and we’d spend the night docked there while we made plans for the next two months. We’d head back to Destin the last week in February, when our vacation would end.

We decided on seafood for dinner. Andy and I were becoming addicted to the stuff. There wasn’t a lot in the way of seafood in our Indiana, and then it could never have been as fresh as we were getting on the gulf.

We had drinks after dinner and I got something off my chest. I couldn’t remain silent any longer.

“I have an apology to make to both of you,” I said, without Andy encouraging me. “When you were swimming with Harold. I was worried about him… About you…. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry I was capable of thinking such a thing. I don’t know what I was thinking. You’ve been wonderful friends and you deserve better.”

“Andy mentioned it,” John Paul said.

“You what?” I said to my one true love.

“Cool your tool, babe. I know how you dwell on things when you think you’ve done something wrong. I could see this coming and I wanted to make our friends aware of it. You beat yourself up over anything you can’t explain.”

“Where are you from, Do?” John Paul asked.

“Statesville,” I said, not seeing that mattered.

“Indoctrination is a powerful force. When all you hear are negative descriptions about queer people, it’s difficult to sort through it to get to the truth, when there’s no countervailing argument to refute the bullshit.”

“I’m gay. I’m ashamed of myself,” I said.

“Don’t be. What’s the last book you read about queer people?”

“Books?”

“You’re reading Lolita, one of the most scandalous books ever written. You don’t read queer literature?”

“No,” I confessed. “I never thought of it.”

“I’ll give you a list of queer books I like. You need to learn something about your own people. Don’t feel bad, Do. The most homophobic people I’ve known are queer,” John Paul said. “You were concerned. That’s allowed. Now it’s over, but if you educate yourself about being queer, you’ll feel better. You can’t rely on what you were told as a boy.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, hon. You’ve treated us good as gold. Having a misguided thought loose in your head isn’t a sin,” Gene said. “If that were the case I’d be in a world of trouble.”

“If it eases your mind, Gene and I decided a few years back, letting someone else in on our relationship is a good way to separate us. We do a solo act. Harold is a lovely lad and he’ll have no difficulty attracting his share of lovers, but he’s too young for our taste. Not that I didn’t love him. He’s as impressive a young man as I’ve met in ages. I hated to see him go.”

“Yes, he is,” Andy said. “We want to protect him, even when there’s no reason. We’re learning.”

“How would you like to go dancing. I know a club with a dance floor. It’s not usually too crowded this time of night,” Gene said.

“I’d love to dance with you, Do,” Andy said.

“I’ve never danced with anyone before,” I said.

“Nothing to it. Just let him lead and you’ll find your way,” Gene said.

“Don’t be sure. I’ve never danced before either, but I am an athlete of note. I’m willing to give it a go. I hope I’m not too hard on your feet, Do.”

“You be as hard as you want, Andrew. I love it when you’re hard.”

It was a lovely evening. Having a few drinks did help to numb our lack of dancing skill. It wasn’t too difficult once we watched the dancers.

We watched gay people dance. There were some straight couples as well, but it was a gay club. It was the first time I’d been around my own people. They seemed fun and they were having fun.

We had fun. We left the dance club just before midnight. John Paul and Gene walked in front of us holding hands and Andy and I held hands. We’d never held hands in public before. We passed people and people passed us. No one paid any attention to two couples holding hands on the streets of Key West.

As small a thing as that was, I felt liberated doing it. I was expressing something about myself I’d never openly expressed before. It was good to feel free. It was better to feel free, holding Andy’s hand.

Chapter 18

It's Spring

Leaving The Do was difficult. After nearly three months of bliss, it was time to get back to our regular lives. The baseball season was in spring training mode. We docked in Destin, said goodbye to John Paul and Gene, telling them we’d see them again in the fall.

We’d had a lovely time together. We’d been on the water nearly all of the time after Harold left to return to school. Putting into port for fresh food and fuel from time to time, we didn’t hang around, preferring the solitude of the gulf. It was a peaceful life without conflict.

I don’t recall ever having a better time, but I was with Andy, and that was always good for me. Thinking about another long separation for endless months wasn’t on my mind until it was.

“I really don’t look forward to being away from you,” I said, as we moved down Route 99 from Destin, driving toward Mobile, where we’d pick up Interstate 65, which took us almost to our door.

“I know, babe. I got to do rehab. You’ve got to play ball. We’ve been separated before,” Andy said, sounding comfortable with it.

“I know we have. I didn’t like it then. I want to be together.”

“Do, we’re always together. What if I drive you down to spring training. I’ll say hello to Coach Bell and whoever else is around.”

“Cincinnati will be playing a half dozen games near where we train in week 2 of spring training.”

“Oh, maybe we’ll see Even. I need to thank him for the flowers he sent. I meant to send him a note. I’ll kill two birds with one stone. I don’t need to buy a stamp to send Evan a note and we stay together a while longer. It’ll only cost $300.00 in gas. What a bargain.”

“You just can’t live without me, Andrew. Admit it,” I said, putting my hand high up on his thigh.

“You got me, babe. Want to stop at a motel?”

“Andy, we just got out of bed an hour ago. Let’s get a little way up the road before we go back to bed.”

“It’s been too long for me. We need a motel room. I don’t want to waste a good erection. We can make love and start again tomorrow. We’ve got a week before you need to be there,” Andy said smiling.

“At that rate it’ll take us a week to get home,” I said.

“You’re no fun, Do. Having you so close to me for so long has spoiled me, you know? I will need to adjust to not having you with me all the time. I don’t know I want to do that. We’ve got enough money we can sail off into the sunset and never come back. That is a tempting proposition.”

“Say the word, Andy. The day you want to do that, I’ll be ready. You think you can walk away from ball?”

We drove into Pensacola and decided on a seafood lunch next to a fish wholesale house, someone directed us to, when we asked where to get fresh seafood. Joe Patti’s was a wholesale fish house, but they had a small restaurant just to the west of where the fishing boats unloaded their catch.

That was fresh.

The seafood wouldn’t be nearly as good as we got further from the gulf. The food was delicious. It lacked the gourmet flare Gene spoiled us with, but it had great flavor at a modest price. We both packed it away.

We were in no hurry but Andy couldn’t hold back the horses in the Town Car once we hit Interstate 65. A few hours after we finished lunch, we were half way through Alabama by.

“Want to stop?” Andy asked, as the light of day began to fade.

“No, let’s drive. I’m enjoying this. Let’s get home.”

“Good as done, babe. I’m just waking up. I think the next bed we sleep in should be our own,” Andy said.

“I like that idea. It’s pretty warm for this time of year. We’ll open up the house when we get home. Let the fresh air in. It’s been closed up all winter.”

“Won’t be this warm up there. Indiana is way north of Alabama.”

“I’ve heard. It’s still warm. I kept reaching out to steady myself when we got to that restaurant. I forgot we were on dry land,” I said.

“Me too,” he said.

We laughed at the problems befalling a couple of landlubbers.

It was nice being on solid ground. It was sad leaving the gulf behind. We’d had the first vacation of our lives and it had been a big success. I’d never had more fun or felt more at ease with the world. With all the turmoil from the year before, it was a wonderful way to get our lives back on track.

We hadn’t listened to the radio. Typically Andy would be looking for something to listen to within a couple of miles from the house, but he never turned the radio on. We’d become accustomed to peace and quiet. The only communication were voices speaking about what was relative to us in that moment.  

Our lives had been devoid of the constant alerts and things we should fear. In three months the world hadn’t stopped rotating, the economy didn’t get so much worse that we couldn’t afford gas, and people drove like they had a little sense, but no more than when we’d last driven the highways of the south.

We didn’t need to be reminded of anything. We weren’t worried about anything. I assumed Louisville would be there when I needed to find it. I was sure Indianapolis and Pittsburgh would be there too. I didn’t need to listen to the radio to be reassured. The Interstate was still there and cars still drove it. Nothing had changed.

We gassed up north of Birmingham and again in Nashville, wasting no time. It grew still in the middle of the night. We’d be in Louisville by first light and at home shortly after we stopped for breakfast. Andy showed no sign of tiring. We’d been resting for months.

“I want to give it a try,” Andy said after breakfast. “I think I’ll be able to get back. I’ll give it two years. If I’m not rehabilitated and playing in the bigs, I’ll reconsider putting anymore effort into it. Can you give me two years, babe?”

“I can give you a hundred, Andy. You do what you think is best. I have no complaints. I may not be in ball in two years. I may not be in ball in one. I’m getting a little long in the tooth for the minor leagues. It’s fun. I don’t know what I’ll do when I don’t play ball, but that time is coming.”

Andy looked at me as we approached the exit that put us on the road that took us home. He put on the turn signal and slipped onto the exit ramp. We turned right and then we turned left a mile later.

We were home.

It was warm in Indiana too. The inside of the house was cool and smelled musty. I opened up all the windows right away. There was no need to build a fire or turn on the heat to take the chill off the house. There were two drinking glasses on the counter from Harold and there was a bowl that imagined he once put water in it, but it was now dry and ugly looking with the remnants of an unidentifiable substance.

Andy was in the weight room while I ran a damp cloth over the counters and the table. We met near the fireplace as we came from different directions.

We kissed before I thought about a kiss. Andy’s once useless arm was wrapped around me with a little strength apparent as he held me close to his body.

“I’m bushed, babe. I need a little sleep,” he whispered in my ear.

“Can I help?” I asked, feeling for some evidence that he was looking for such a thing.

“That was my next question. Want to help? I see you’ve found the evidence of my deep feelings for you. I suppose I can’t hide it any longer, Do. I’m crazy about you. Want to fuck?”

“How romantic. I’d love to. We have some catching up to do. We haven’t been in bed for almost twenty-four hours.”

We held hands going up the stairs. I’d turned back the bed when I opened the window to let the bedding air out. We kissed again and a few more times as we undressed each other with little time spend folding our clothes.

When I hit the bed it was like I’d been on my feet for days. All of whatever energy I had left, draining away.

I wrapped myself up into Andy’s warmth and I was sleeping before I remembered what I was there for. It was nice to be home.

*****

It was three days before we left for spring training. Andy set up his rehabilitation schedule which would begin right after he returned from getting me where I needed to be.

I felt like I did every spring, after too long away from ball. The only thing new was Andy driving me. At this time of year he was usually in a different part of the country from where I trained. We crossed paths a couple times a month, but not this season.

Soon Andy would be working to get strong enough to play ball. Not hitting a baseball for two seasons was not good for someone who makes his living hitting baseballs. Eye hand coordination is part natural and part constantly seeing it and doing it. I wondered if there was a computer that duplicated the visual aspect of batting so Andy could maintain his timing.

There were fast pitchers, slow pitcher, inside pitchers, outside pitchers, curve ball pitchers, fast ball pitchers, off speed pitch pitcher, and a dozen different kinds that you didn’t know about until you faced them. When a batter came to the plate, he had to be ready to see almost anything.

Experiencing it was how you learned to hit a good pitcher. The first time you see him, he can tie you in knots. After facing him two or three times, the advantage begins shifting to the hitter, unless the pitcher is very good, and then he’s always hard to hit.

Andy was as aware as I was that timing was everything and he lost a little each day. What was coming wasn’t going to be easy. It was going to be frustrating, because his team was playing without him and would be until sometime next season. The overall goal was to get back as close as possible to the hitter he was before he was injured.

A ballplayers playing years were limited by time. Some players, like Andy, could play until they were forty, or older if they became a designated hitter, but first he had to play major league ball again.

Most ballplayers were played out by the time they reached thirty-five. The legs go first. There are the nagging little injuries that flare up by the time you’re in your mid-thirties. Playing every day can put a strain on joints, muscles, and tendon. The constant conditioning necessary to be a professional ballplayer takes a toll in time. Each body ages differently and the playing life for even the best players is a mystery, until your time begins to run out.

My eyes and legs were probably as good as they’d ever been. Months at sea had given me a peacefulness that I’d never known before. I was prepared for what came our way. I would be there for Andy no matter what he needed or wanted me to do.

I accepted that we faced a section of rough road. No matter how rough, I was going to remember how fortunate we were. No matter what happened, we’d already had better luck than most people get in a lifetime. We played a game for a living. You can’t beat that. 

Ball is a game of inches as well as a game of minutes. Each player comes with an uncertain amount of good playing years. A slugger of Andy’s caliber reaches his prime by his mid-twenties. If he’s lucky he plays at his peak until he’s in his mid-thirties.

Andy would be thirty in two seasons.

At thirty, getting his timing back was a long shot. Getting some of it back was probably more realistic. Andy wasn’t going to settle for some of his talent returning. He wanted it all back. He’d work to get back where he was. Andy wanted to walk to the plate and see the outfielders backing up toward the walls one more time.

His bat had been that respected. Odds were, if he got the bat on the ball, it was traveling a long way. Getting there a second time was a long shot. I’d do all I could to help, but this was Andy’s battle and one no one could fight for him. There were no pinch hitters in healing.

I’d watched Andy hit all through college, until he graduated and left me behind. He’d always worried pitchers and had outfielders moving back. His confidence was obvious. He stood tall at the plate. He could hit a ball a long way. There was every indication he’d become a good outfielder who hit a fair number of home runs.

After a year in the minors, Andy was twenty pounds heavier. He had filled out. He had the arms of a powerful man. When he held a bat his arms bulged. They weren’t obscenely large, but they were large enough to see. Their natural shape and the contours of his body screamed strength. Andy grew into a power hitting outfielder by the time he turned twenty-two.

Coming most of the way back wasn’t in his mind. I doubt Andy would have gone to rehab if they told him he might be eighty percent of the player he was, once he was done. That wouldn’t be good enough. Andy had always conditioned himself.

Exercising was part of his game. In the off season he chopped cords of wood each month to maintain his conditioning and to keep him strong. He never got out of shape, so when he showed up for sprint training, he was at his playing weight. Andy was a ballplayer twelve months a year.

I knew the design of Andy’s future. I didn’t know how it would turn out. I sure wouldn’t bet against Andy Green. My fate was far less certain. I couldn’t keep hanging around Louisville because Coach Bell was a friend of mine. There would be other shortstops on their way up. A shortstop on his way to nowhere had to get out of their way, except I still plugged the holes come game day. I was hitting better than I ever had, but the hands of time were ticking.

My ability to get walks as often as I did probably saved my career. Learning to bunt effectively had added ten points to my batting average. My glove ruled in the Louisville infield. I prided myself on the amount of ground I could cover to get to a ball and throw a runner out. My reflexes were good. My throwing arm was accurate, and no one played in the minors for six seasons.

Plugging holes in an average infield wasn’t a career. The only thing in my favor was that Louisville’s infield was a mess again. We’d lost our second baseman to the majors, the third baseman couldn’t hit, and the first baseman couldn’t catch.

I’d be safe holding down the infield this season. New players would come to fill the holes. One day soon a fair hitting shortstop was coming and Coach Bell would show me the hand writing on the wall. He had a certain say in who played for him, but when the general manager told him what move to make, Coach Bell made it.

One day they’d decide that they needed a shortstop with a future, not a past. He could make me a coach again, but I had a good run. I’d stayed in ball longer than anyone expected, including me, and once my time was up, I wanted to be with Andy and not hanging around a clubhouse, trying to hang on to my past.

The motel at training camp wasn’t what I’d call five star. I was back in the minors. Andy wanted to get me a first class accommodations, but it wouldn’t look good if I stayed separate from the team. I was tempted by the idea of going first class, but I didn’t. 

I put my clothes in the closet before going to the ball yard to report to Coach Bell. He’d want to see Andy and know what the plan was. After coaching us in college, he’d always given us a helping hand in our careers if he could, especially me.

Baseball was everywhere when we arrived at the park. Both practice fields were alive with activity. The sound of bats cracking against balls rang in my ears. Andy stopped to watch the batter in the nearest batting cage. Excitement ran through me. I’d come back to ball for one more season. It felt good to be there.

Heading for Coach Bell’s office, Andy knocked twice and swung the door wide open. Coach Bell was sitting behind his desk with his feet up. His ball cap was pushed back on his head, and he was deep in thought, or maybe he was napping.

“Come on in. Door’s open now.”

“Hey, Coach, how’s it hanging?” Andy said.

“How indeed. How are you? Good to see you, John. Who the hell is this. You be a brother or what, Mr. Green?” Coach Bell said, standing to shake Andy’s hand. “You been keeping this from me all these years?”

“We were sailing. I haven’t been able to grow hair since the chemo. My head just tanned right up,” Andy said.

“It certainly did. I’ve got to say I like it. We could be brothers if not for my stout build and you being so slim. How’s the arm?”

“It’s coming along. Didn’t do a lot of work over the winter. We have a sailboat now and we spent the winter sailing on the gulf.”

“I heard. Queen Mary isn’t it? They said you had gone big time.”

“Not so much. It’s not all that big after a few months out in the gulf. Didn’t want to come back. It’s a leisurely life, Coach,” Andy said.

“Speaking of coming back? You have a plan?”

“I start rehab next week. I’m giving it two years,” Andy said.

“You’ll know a lot more in a couple of months. You’ll see how fast it responds. Good you rested. You’ll be ready for a little work.

“John, I was hoping you’d be here today. We don’t play for two more days. Cincinnati is short a shortstop. Contract craziness. Sanchez isn’t coming and the two kids that they sent me couldn’t hold their own in my grandma’s infield. You’ll have your work cut out with those two, but first, if you don’t mind playing with the big boys for the rest of the week, they asked me for you by name. There A squad hasn’t reported yet, but it’s still called the big leagues.”

“Play shortstop for Cincinnati?” I said excitedly.

“Funny, I heard the same rumor,” Coach Bell joked.

“You’re serious?” I asked.

“John, I’m too old to be a kidder. If this good looking brother isn’t busy, he could run you over there. I assume you came in car. It’ll be an hour’s drive. I’ll call to tell them to expect you. They play at one. It’s only ten fifteen. You can get in some scrimmage time if you feel up to it. Otherwise report and listen to see what they want.”

“I can drive him. No problem. Cincinnati,” Andy said. “The big time. One of us is still in the bigs.”

“They want to borrow him. Their backup has the flue and Prather is holding out for some obscene amount of cash. He’s 37 and probably looking at his last contract. They’ll be in the pennant hunt this season.”

Coach Bell dialed the phone and talked to someone for a couple of minutes.

“Ballpark’s right off the freeway ramp. Here’s the directions, John. Most of the first string players haven’t arrived yet but they have five games this week and they want you for those and today’s game would make six.”

“I can play,” I said.

“You look a little heavy, John. You might want to take it easy. Wouldn’t do for you to injury yourself trying to make plays you ought not be making at this point.”

“We were pretty well fed,” I said.

“I can tell. Looks good. You’ve always stayed pretty thing. Maybe work that into some muscle. We’ll see. I’ll keep the diapers changed on my new infielders until you get back, but you tell them I’m only lending you to them. I need you here, John.”

“Coach!” I complained. “It’s big league ball.”

“It’s a contract dispute, John. I wish they were calling you up to start for them, but that boy Prather is pretty good. They’re haggling over how many million he’s worth as opposed to how many million he wants,” Coach Bell said.

“I’ll play for food, Coach. I’d like one shot. I’d like to walk into a big league park to play just once,” I lamented.

Andy put his hand on my shoulder. He knew how I felt.

“I know, John. Knock ‘em dead. Maybe they’ll discover they can’t live without you. Do your usual in the infield, John. Don’t tighten up at the plate. You’ll do fine. Hardly any of the higher ups around to impress this early. It’ll be you and a few of the regulars who want to play some ball. The rest probably aren’t half experienced as you.”

Andy took the directions and we drove to where I was going to play that afternoon. We had to ask directions and be told how to get into the park. We ended up walking down out of the stands and onto the playing field. A few dozen feet away Even Lane was signing autographs for a group of excited kids in the stands next to him.

“Evan,” I said.

“I’ll be damned. I heard they were looking for s shortstop. I was hoping they’d get you,” Evan said, signing one last autograph. “I’ll be back in five minutes. I need to talk to a friend, kids.”

“Andy, you look like a million bucks,” Evan said, rushing us with his usually wide grin. “You going to play with us too?”

“You look like fifty million bucks,” Andy said, or did you renegotiated after last years home run championship?”

Andy stuck out his hand as Evan approached, throwing his arms around Andy, hugging him fondly. He patted Andy’s good shoulder as they separated. Both realized hugging made them a little uneasy.

“That’s the old contract, Green. I got a new one my agent is negotiating as we speak. Whatever they pay me, it’s way more than I’m worth, although there are those home run championships.”

“I was ahead of you in homers when I broke my arm,” Andy argued.

“Yes, but you did break your arm and I hit the most homers. I’ll let you win the year you come back to make up for it,” Evan promised.

“Let me? You won’t have a choice. I’m going to beat you.”

“Children, the kids are listening. Maybe act a little mature,” I suggested.

“What are you doing here this early? I never reported until week three,” Andy said.

“It’s the second week. Rookies came last week. Can’t stay away. We’ve got these B team games to get the kids in condition. I figured I’d see come down and see if I can still hit a baseball,” Evan said. “I’d been sitting around the house with nothing to do for months.”

“Wife told you to go play ball I bet,” Andy said.

“You found me out. You’re a sight for sore eyes, you know,” Evan said, looking Andy over. “You’re looking good, Mr. Dooley, for such an old fart.”

“You’re older than I am, Evan,” I said.

“Yeah, I’m an old fart too. How long has it been since we played together? A long time.”

“Five years,” I said.

“Funny, I’ve been coming here for five years,” Evan said. “Let me finish with the kids and I’ll show you where to put your gear. We’ll be warming up in a few minutes. You’ll have a chance to loosen up. What about dinner after the game? I haven’t had a good meal since I got here.”

“Sure,” Andy said. “We still eat. With all that money, you can take us out, Lane.”

“You’re on,” Evan said, reaching for something to sign as the kids stood around him excited by his presence. “You know who that man is over there,” Evan said softly, but loud enough for us to hear. “The tall one with no hair. That’s Pittsburgh’s Andy Green.”

Half the kids took off to surround Andy.

“Can I have your autography?” they all yelled at the same time, pushing up close to Andy.

Evan laughed. Andy smiled and took the pen out of his shirt pocket to sign whatever the kids shoved at him.

Andy beamed. I could see how familiar this was to him. He’d been surrounded by kids before. He smiled at them, answering their questions, signing gloves, baseball cards, and pieces of paper the kids handed him.

I didn’t know what to expect. I was nervous as all get out, but seeing Andy with the kids, talking to Evan, got my mind off of playing ball with big league ballplayers. I'd been playing ball for most of my life. I wasn't going to forget how to play.

Chapter 19

Big Boy Ball

Evan took us to a backwater restaurant that wasn’t on anyone’s top ten eating spots. The waitresses were in shorts. The bar was bigger than the dining area, and the patrons were loud.

We began with a bucket of buffalo wings, and it confirmed to me why the buffalo had nearly died out. They sure couldn’t get far on those wings. I must admit they were tasty, if spicy, and plentiful. You simply yelled, “Wings,” and a bucket appeared a minute later.

Evan wasn’t quite outgoing away from the ball yard. It was easy to see the difference between the ballplayer and just regular guy. He liked places where people were less likely to recognize him. Once spring training began, after the long off-season, people in the area of ballparks were on the lookout for their favorite players.

Andy didn’t have the same problem as Evan, because Evan made baseball his stage for his creative side. He went everywhere in public in a white stretch limo and with a girl on each arm. They were always dressed to kill, as he was, and few places where he was expected during baseball season, or to baseball events, didn’t have media waiting for him to add pizzazz to the proceedings.

In a small restaurant bar no one paid any attention to three more men in tee- shirts and jeans. To be sure we we’d driven fifty

miles from where the game was that afternoon. We had beer with our steak and baked potatoes. Andy and I had salads on the side, having acquired the taste from the exceptional salads Gene prepared.

“This isn’t bad,” Andy said, chewing his T-bone. “This place doesn’t look like much but the food is good.”

“My agent found it for me. I don’t end up eating cold food after signing autographs for an hour. People in this place don’t know me from Adam. They’re here for the buzz and I get to eat and talk in peace,” Evan explained in a voice a bit above a yell.

“Peace,” I said, straining to hear him.

“All things are relative,” Evan explained.

“I thought it was all about being seen, Evan,” Andy said.

“That’s business, Andy. I like putting on a show for the fans. Baseball is too conservative at times. No excitement. I give folks something to get excited about. I figure I’ll be a sports announcer for a lot longer than I play baseball. People will know me from baseball, because I make a point of being noticed.”

“Yes, you do,” Andy said. “By the way I never thanked you for the flowers. I should have dropped you a note. They were nice.”  

“We spend all season locked in mortal combat. That’s as much a show as anything, but I’m fond of you, Andy. I’ve liked you ever since that day when you tried to knock my block off.”

“Don’t remind me. I was so full of it back then,” Andy said. 

“You with your arm in a sling and thirty pounds lighter than me. I had to admire your spunk if not your good judgment.”

“I was a kid, Evan.”

“Weren’t we all,” Evan said.

“I was jealous. That’s a compliment. I’d never loved anyone before and being away from him. Knowing he was with a guy that looks like you, drove me nuts.”

“Love can make you do some stupid things. Remember our home run hitting contests at Slugger Stadium? I’d stand on the left side of the plate, you stood on the right, and they alternated pitches. We could lose two dozen baseballs in a hurry and no one knew our names.”

“Yes,” Andy said, not having much to say about that.

“Everyone stopped to watch you two. No one sat down while you slugged away,” I said, remembering the events.

“Little did we know back then that we’d be battling for the home run championship every season,” Evan said, tipping back his beer.

“Little did we know,” Andy said sadly.

“I don’t know about cancer, Andy. I don’t know much about anything but ball. What I do know is, if anyone can get up the comeback trail, it’s you. You’re a natural, Andy. You were born to hit homers. I wish I had your sweet swing.”

“We’ll see, Evan. We’ll see. I was leading you in homers when I broke my arm. You do know that?” Andy reminded him.

“You were beating me because you’re better than I am. I’m part slugger part rodeo clown. I get big press and I make big bucks, but you, you’re pure baseball. What you see is what you get. There’s no show when it comes to the game you play.

“You say I said that, and I’ll call you a liar, but I’ll try to keep the home run championship warm for you. I’ve always admired that both of you are all business when it comes to baseball. You’re dedicated to the game in a way I’m not. I love the game. I love the show. If I walk away tomorrow, I’ll be fine. Neither of you can say that.”

Evan seldom philosophized. I believed he believed what he said.

“I learned years ago that I was good and I needed to make the most of it. There is no guarantee in this game. You’re a hero one day and a has been the next,” Evan said.

“If I don’t play again it won’t kill me. It took me a few months on a sailboat to realize it. I’ll give it all I have. I know the odds are against me. I’ll be two years older the next time I face big league pitching. My swing will changed. My timing might never come back. It’s a long shot but I’m planning on beating the odds.”

Evan listened to the hope in Andy’s voice. One slugger to another, there was nothing to say. He admired Andy’s grit. He wanted to think he would battle Andy for some future home run title. He wasn’t sure he would.

“I don’t know if I’m a better hitter than you. That’s why we play the game. I appreciate your confidence in me. I appreciate the flowers you sent. It did get a smile out of me and I never thought you were celebrating my injury.”

“Lord I hope not. Never thought it would. I was sick when my agent brought me the picture of you lying across home plate.”

The band had begun to play and we had to talk louder to be heard. A rather inebriated man staggered back from the men’s room, and stopped to steady himself on the back of my chair. He stared into Evan’s face.

“Aren’t you,” the man said, forgetting what was on his mind before he finished, and then he recovered. “You’re!”

“Victor Showenberg at your service,” Evan said.

The man stood up very straight as if he was going to try to look dignified and not like a drunk, but he slumped back against my chair before ambling off.

“Almost blew your cover,” I said.

“It happens. When someone recognizes me, I scratch that joint off my list. This is a pretty out of the way place. I can usually fake my way out of it. Most people come here to get drunk,” Evan said.

“He was more than half drunk,” I said.

“He knew who you were. He just couldn’t come up with a name,” Andy said.

“No he didn’t. He thought he did. I talked him out of it.”

We stopped competing with the music and took our time finishing the meal.

It was early evening but it wasn’t night yet. I wanted to get a full nights sleep to be ready for tomorrow’s game. Evan was staying in a house his agent arranged for him. We were spending the night there. Evan would take me to the park the following day and Andy could come just before the game if he wanted.

“You going back tomorrow?” I asked Andy once the band took a break and the noise came from voices again.

“I think I’ll watch you play a few games. This is a big deal,” Andy said, talking about me playing for Cincinnati in spring training.”

“That’s good. You don’t want to cut it too close. I don’t want you rushing back for rehab,” I said.

“Do, I’m a big boy. I’ll call them and tell them I’ll be a day late if I need to. I want to be with you for a few more days.”

“We’ve been together every day for months,” I reminded him.

“And I want to be with you every day for a little longer,” he said.

A waiter came over with three more beers.”

“I didn’t order these,” Evan complained.

“Gentlemen over there said, ‘take the beer to this table and say thank you Mr. Lane.”

We all looked in the direction where the drunk disappeared. He was sitting at a table with six or seven men and women. As soon as our eyes were on him, he raised his beer in a salute to Evan. Evan smiled and returned the salute.

“Told you he recognized you. Took him a minute to put it together. That’s what too much beer does for you.”

“Nice he respected your privacy,” I said.

“Very nice,” Evan said. “People can surprise you.”

“People are generally decent, until someone talks them into being assholes,” I said.

“Do, I’m surprised at you. Are you calling my fans assholes?”

“You know what I mean,” I said.

Evan and Andy laughed at my seriousness. It was a problem I had never overcome.

We ended up around a card table in the bar at the house where Evan was staying. Evan and Andy drank beer. I drank soda. Our conversation went on late into the evening. We hadn’t spent that much time with Evan since we both played in Louisville. We were more mature and more experienced, but we still had a lot in common.

In spite of Evan’s success he was still an earthy guy and nothing like the character he played. He had once told me the men who helped raise him used to play old movies of Gorgeous George, professional wrestler, surrounded with women spraying him with perfume, holding his long flowing robe off the floor, as he made his entrance into the wrestling ring.

Evan understood it was all show business and it didn’t have a thing to do with wrestling. The reaction of the couple who showed him the film, hooting and hysterical over G. George’s entry, gave Evan an idea of who he’d be one day, when he became famous.

He was only then starting to play ball, so he didn’t know he’d be successful at the game, but he already knew he’d be successful. Baseball, a conservative game resistant to change, meant he’d do a modified version of George. A woman on each arm, dressed all in white, as they emerged from the white stretch limo was Evan’s trademark entry at most public events. His imitation of George.

Everyone loved his audacity. When baseball officials suggested he tone it down a few degrees, Evan made sure his chauffeur was black and he was dressed in the old fashion, Driving Miss Daisy, chauffeur’s uniform, dutifully playing the subservient negro role to Evan’s staring role. Opening all nearby doors and bowing and scraping to Evan and his luscious babes. Evan also was a fan of Jack Benny.

Only the black players got the joke and official baseball, after considering a suspension for Evan’s behavior, decided he was too rich to suspend or risk pissing off. They realized that they were better off letting Evan be Evan rather than trying to tame him. The news coverage of him continually increased and the stands were filling up like in the days of Johnny Bench and Charlie Hustle.

Evan was good for ball but he never took himself seriously. He was smart enough to know he grew into a body that just happened to be built for power. Like Andy, Evan watched motion pictures of the great hitters. He was heavier and not as fleet of foot as Mickey Mantle, but he copied his swing, learned to bat on both sides of the plate, and he took a course in physics to better understand the art of hitting homers.

Evan was at Louisville when I got there. He was rude, obnoxious, and full of himself, but once I got beyond the show, we became friends, pissing Andy off, because he was a thousand miles away. Being around Evan again was okay. I’d never before related to anything as just like old times, but it brought back good memories.

Andy’s initial desire to punch Evan in the face for being handsome and in close proximity to me passed, when Evan assured him that he wasn’t into boys. Being competitors could get them going from time to time, but when all was said and done, they were friends and respected one another. Andy being hurt gave Evan no satisfaction.  

Somehow being around Evan made playing with a higher level of baseball talent less threatening. Maybe my maturity was showing, as many of the major league prospects were younger than I was and some were my age. I’d been playing ball for so long I was confident in what I did.

The first game with me in the big boy infield went seven innings. They took me out in the sixth inning for a pinch hitter. I’d walked once and struck out once in my two at bats, facing two very good Miami pitchers. My knees didn’t shake when they threw a couple of inside pitches that I’m sure brushed my uniform shirt.

These were big league pitchers. I trusted they wouldn’t hit me, but I didn’t get so close to the plate I was asking to get hit. The second game Andy had a front row seat with a clear view of the shortstop position. The crowds were modest for the second seven inning game in a row.

I knew the second baseman’s name by the second game. It was written on the back of his shirt, which came into full view when he charged in front of me to take a ball well within the shortstop’s range.

He’d done it once in the first game and two times in the second game. I was working on a strategy to get him back into his piece of the infield and out of mine. He was a backup second baseman on the Cincinnati roster. I was nobody and I didn’t want to start a ruckus the first time I played big boy ball, but I had no urge to be upstaged either. One of us was the shortstop and it wasn’t him.

I was forced to remain silent in the second game because a ball hit straight to me dug into the too loose dirt, took an odd bounce, and hit me in the chest, dropping onto the ground in between my feet. I took my time picking it up, because it was too late to make a play, and the odds were if I rushed it, I’d throw it away.

I picked up the ball, looked the runner back to first base, and accepted the error that should have gone to the ground’s keeper. Two pitches later the next batter hit a sharp grounder to my right. I took it on the first hop, turned and flipped it to second for the first half of the double play that ended the inning. My error didn’t cost us.

In between innings the grounds’ crew came out to rake the dirt out in a more even fashion. I took that as vindication. Someone else saw that the loose dirt made the infield sloppy. No one said anything to me but my glove was my bread and butter. I didn’t like making errors for any reason.

Evan came out and sat next to me in the dugout in the fifth inning, just before he pinched hit for me. He’d hit for me in the sixth inning the day before. He’d stood in the doorway for a couple of minutes before he took the walk to the plate in that game.

“You’re looking good, Dooley,” Evan said, talking to just me.

“I made an error,” I complained.

“You should see some of the errors I make,” he said, laughing.

“I’m supposed to be a good glove man. I should have made the play,” I said, happy that he sat next to me.

There was a stir among the youngsters every time Evan appeared. They all kept an eye on him.

“You worry too much. Play your game. You’ll be fine,” he said confidently.

“You sound like Coach Bell,” I said.

“I consider that a compliment,” he said. “Maybe I’ll coach one day,” he mused.

“You know better than that. You’re a trouble maker, Lane. You don’t respect the natural order of the game. Once you stop hitting homers, they won’t be able to unload you fast enough.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” he said, standing up to get his bat out of the bat rack. “I don’t kiss no one’s ass.”

He swung the too small bat easily as he moved up to the plate. I watched the outfields going back to the fences. The outfield was relatively small with deep center not being much more than three hundred and fifty feet. If Evan got a pitch he liked, it was going to drop on the other side of the fence.

It was the third pitch. It was up higher than the pitcher intended. Evan’s modest swing was enough to loft it into the middle of the bleacher seats. The crowd stood and applauded. It’s what they came to see. Only half the first string players were in camp and the stands were less than half filled. The people who did show up came to see Evan Lane hit one. He didn’t disappoint them.

Evan tipped his hat as he rounded third and he pointed right at Andy as he passed where he sat. Andy tipped his hat to salute his rival, but no one knew who he was. He was just a bald guy wearing a Pittsburgh baseball hat and sitting in the front row a few feet up the third base line from the plate.

We were leading 9-7 and we went on to win 14-9. There were over thirty hits, but these games were meant to let players play, limber up, and get into condition. Players didn’t strain at this point in the season. No one was paying attention yet.

Andy decided to stay one more day. The next game was nine innings and he wanted to watch it. We were playing the Braves and they were pitching three of their starters for three innings a piece. They also had most of the starting lineup in camp. This would be more like big league ball. Cincinnati’s starters were beginning to arrive.

That night at dinner Evan gave us the names of the players who were now in camp. Two starters were still among the missing. One was the starting shortstop, Prather, who was still holding out. Evan heard he’d been seen in the area but hadn’t been seen at the ballpark.

“When are you going to put Bitters in his place, Dooley?” Evan said to me out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” I said.

“He’s been running all over top of you since you got here. You just let him run wild in your infield, son. You can’t do that if you want to play big boy ball. You’ve got to put the showboat in his place or he’ll crowd you even more tomorrow.”

“What should I do. He’s on the team. I’m just passing through,” I said.

“You give the asshole a taste of his own medicine. You’re faster and a better fielder. Take his balls away from him, and not politely. See how he likes it. You don’t make any points being a good sport. Lots of eyes are on these scrimmages, son. You never know whose watching or what they’re looking for. Time to play ball, Dooley.”

“I didn’t think about that. I’m only here a few days, Evan.”

“Make hay while the sun shines, son. You’re here now. You might not be here much longer. We go back to Arizona after this weekend. They’ll send you back to Coach Bell so they don’t need to pay for your plane ticket.”

It made sense. Bitters did piss me off. I’d be the showboat in the next game. It didn’t take long for me to get my shot. In the first inning the second batter hit a sharp grounder at second base. I broke toward the ball, cut in front of Bitters to scoop up the ball, and fire it to first for the out. Bitters stood with a scowl on his face.

I smiled at him and went back to where I belonged.

In the third inning I went even further to my left, cutting in front of Bitters, fielded the ball and threw the runner out at first.

“Hey, you do that again and I’ll deck your ass,” Bitters said.

“You mean you’ll try to deck my ass, kid. I got a fine idea. You play second base and let me play shortstop. You like that idea? If you don’t, you’ve fielded your last ball in my infield.”

He followed me with his eyes as I settled back into my shortstop position as the pitcher stood watching us, holding the ball until he was sure we weren’t going to fight, but we weren’t. For the rest of the game Bitters stayed on his side of second base. I stayed on my side.

I walked in the first and bunted for a hit in the third, moving runners to second and third. In the fifth inning I hit a double, knocking in a run, and I scored on a single.

We were leading 8-5 when Evan came to sit beside me again. He patted my back and smiled at me. He was letting me know he’d seen me shut Bitters down. I was having a good day all the way around. It was early in spring training and the pitchers weren’t straining, but they were Atlanta starters. I felt pretty good about that.

“Lane bat for Bitters,” the coach hollered down the bench.

“Hey, he’s leaving you in,” Evan said. “I was supposed to come out to hit for you. You’ve been noticed, my man.”

“Cool,” I said, liking the idea of finishing a game.

Evan struck out and walked back into the dugout, slid his bat back in the rack, and went back out the door to go to the locker room. I went to the on-deck circle, but we made the third out before I could bat. I felt great about taking the field in the 8th inning.

We won the game 10-9. I began double plays in the 8th and again in the 9th inning. I ended up with two hits for three at bats and a walk. I scored two runs. It was a good day. I felt comfortable.

Andy and I spent a lot of time making love that night. He was leaving the next morning and I wouldn’t see him again until I returned to Louisville to play ball. I didn’t get much sleep. I still felt lonely as I watched Andy drive away. Evan was going to drive me around.

Bitters wasn’t at second base the next day. He was riding the bench. Cincinnati’s starting second basemen was in the lineup. We warmed up before the game and he came over to introduce himself.

When we took the field in the fifth inning, the second basemen came over to have a conference with me.

“Behind home plate. Up next to the first big roof support. That’s Prather. He’s got his eye on you, son. He’s come to take a look. First time he’s been to the park. He’s still holding out.”

Prather was smaller than I was. He had on big sunglasses and he wore a Yankees’ cap. He studied the infield as we tossed the ball around before the umpire got into position.

The first batter walked and I moved up a couple of steps to be in position to cut the ball off to make a double play. The next batter struck out and I moved back a step to give myself more room.

The third pitch to the next batter was a fast ball. I leaned hard to my right as soon as the batter connected with the ball. I stretched out to stop it from going into the outfield, rolled onto my back to toss it to second base. We got the lead runner and instead of men on first and third with one out, there was a runner on first with two out.

It was the best play I’d made. The second baseman came over to pat me on the butt. He glanced up to see if Prather was still there, but he wasn’t. The third baseman said, “Nice play.”

I’d learned a long time ago that such a play really got my juices flowing. It jacked me up and sent adrenalin surging through me. I batted second in our half of the fifth inning. I hit the first pitch into the right field stands. It tied the game at 4-4. Several players came to greet me as I returned to the dugout. It felt good to play well.

Evan came out to pinch hit again in the 7th inning. He walked and stayed in the game to play left field for the 8th and 9th innings. Atlanta won the game 8-6, but the entire nine innings was more like real baseball. The players were beginning to settle in for another long season.

This is the way it was in spring training. You reached a point where everyone showed up to play. The muscles weren’t as sore as they were the first few days. Everyone got ready to play the best ball they could play for the next six months. Guys like Evan put themselves in and took themselves out of games as they liked. No one pushed the stars. They were on a different schedule.

At the end of the week I turned in my Cincinnati shirts the equipment manager furnished me the first day in camp. Evan drove me back to Louisville’s spring training motel. It was a let down to return from where I’d been. I’d never taken a step down before.

“I’ve enjoyed playing with you again, Do. You’re still the best shortstop I’ve ever seen. You did okay. They’ll remember you.”

“Thanks for the confidence in me. Too bad someone else doesn’t see it the way you do.”

“They know it now, Dooley. You did good. You play a good game of ball. You were a rookie when I left Louisville. You’ve improved.”

“Yes I was. I’ve learned a thing or two about a thing or two since then, Evan. I know enough to know I’m coming to the end of the line. I got one shot to play in the bigs. It was only spring training, but it was spring training in the majors. That’s something to remember.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Do. You did fine. Maybe I’ll see you next summer when someone else holds out.”

“Maybe,” I said. “See you later.”

Evan smiled and drove away.

It was a letdown being in a rundown motel on the wrong side of the Interstate. I’d been here before. I might be back one more season and I might not be. It was time for a plan for what came after ball. It was never more apparent to me than when I stood alone in the parking lot in front of that dump of a motel. I’d returned to Louisville.

I’d dreamed of playing major league ball and now I’d played it.

Chapter 20

Louisville Ball

The next morning I woke up with someone banging on my door.

“Coach?” I said, feeling like I’d been chewed up and spit out.

“You hear the news, John?”

“No, I don’t think so. I was late getting in last night.”

“Prather signed for twelve million after last night’s game. They gave him one season. He was holding out for twenty-five for two seasons. You must of scared the boy into signing before they decided to sign you to take his place.”

“Yeah, only no one talked to me or even showed up to take a look at me. I saw Prather. He didn’t look scared to me, Coach.”

“You saw Prather? Where’d you see him.”

“He was at one of the games. The second baseman pointed him out to me. Said he must have come to check me out. He was in the stands behind home plate.”

“Someone told him he better come check on his job before you ended up with it. You got him thinking one season added up to more than none. They have the backup shortstop and a utility infielder, who can play shortstop, but they ask me to send you over. That’s very interesting, John. There’s more going on than meets the eye. The intrigue of baseball. I love it.”

“Doesn’t matter now. He’s signed and I’m back here,” I said with little excitement in my delivery.

“He signed for one season. He wanted two. He won’t get another contract from Cincinnati. This is his last year. He wanted to sew up another big check next season, even if he didn’t play, but it wasn’t going to happen.”

“And I’m still playing for Louisville, Coach. Doesn’t feel any different to me. I played with some big leaguers and I enjoyed myself. I even hit big league pitching, Coach. How do you like that?”

“I saw. A double and a homer, three walks, and you scored three runs and batted in three. You batted over three hundred for the six games. That’s respectable hitting, John.”

“Spring training isn’t exactly when you get your best pitching,” I said. “I did hit Atlanta’s aces. They don’t come to spring training out of shape. I felt good about that.”

“I want you to think about keeping on the extra weight. Do a little weight training. Not so much you’ll slow yourself down any, but a couple of pounds of muscle. It might serve you well, John.”

“Easier than trying to lose it. I’ll hit the weight room a couple days a week. Andy put a weight machine at the house. I can keep in better shape in the off season.”

“I don’t want you to overdo the weights. Maintain a few more pounds than your normal playing weight. Keep yourself toned. Shouldn’t take away any speed.”

“What are we looking at this season? You didn’t say much before I left here.”

“It’s going to be a long year, John. We’ve got a new infield. They’re going to run you ragged. I need you to keep them in games. They get younger every year, you know?”

“Tell me about it, Coach. I’ll give you one more season, Coach,” I said.

“John, John, you’re just coming into your own. What are you talking about? A major league club just gave you a big kiss.”

“Yeah, Coach, and half the guys over there are younger than me,” I said.

“John, good shortstops are worth their weight in gold. Prather just got twelve mil for signing his name. He’s thirty-seven this season. You’re ten years his junior. They just played you in front of guys who are already signed to the squad. You’re in an excellent position.”

“He’s in the bigs, Coach. I’m in the minors. There’s a big difference,” I said. “I’ve been here too long. I’m getting tired, Coach.”

“It’s not an easy life. I realize you are frustrated. You’re a damn good shortstop in a time when the best shortstops in the game are aging out. You jump out of here too soon, and you’ll miss your call, John. I’ve been around a long time and your time hasn’t come yet. That doesn’t mean it won’t come. I want you to think carefully before you make the final decision. What’s Andy say about it?”

“I haven’t told him yet. He’ll support my decision. He won’t have a choice.”

“This have something to do with his arm?” Coach Bell asked.

I had to give that some thought. Andy was on his way back to the house and I was away from him for the first time in months. We’d been together more time in the last few months than we’d ever been together. I missed him big time.

“I suppose it does. I’m not sure it does. I’ll talk to you about this before I make my final decision. I’ll need to talk to Andy about it. I’m not saying I won’t be here next year. I’m not saying I will.”

By the time I took the field in a Louisville game, I was in pretty good shape. I’d played enough games to have my timing back and to be ready to play nine innings, although Coach Bell rarely wanted me out there for more than six or seven. We had a lot of new infielders to look at.

We had new infielders to look at and they needed some playing time. One was a keeper and two were going to require some work. That’s where I came in. I was the only tried and true infielder now. Even the catchers were new this season.

The challenge of training new players to fill the holes in the infield had always excited me before, but it didn’t excite me this year. As well rested and relaxed as I was, training new players was hard work. The younger players came to us more arrogant and less talented each season. It didn’t make working with them any easier.

Louisville had been raided by the big leagues at the end of last season. Other experienced players retired when a big league club didn’t pick them up. I envied those guys most. Each game I faced another day of errors and disagreeable players, who thought they played better than they did.

Some athletes who have successful high school and college careers think playing minor league ball will be easy. It wasn’t. In the minors you played three times as many games. You played every day and you couldn’t have a bad day and expect to play tomorrow. All those good high school and college players were standing in line waiting for their shot, and only a handful made the transition.

You had to make every play, not most of them. It was the most difficult aspect of minor league ball. You could boot the ball and throw it away in spring training, but do it two games in a row, or cost your team a game by blowing a play you should have made, and you might be on the outside looking in the next game. Other teams might take a look at you after another team releases you, but news traveled fast in baseball. 

I wasn’t going to play in an infield with players who didn’t hustle. I wanted every play to get a maximum effort. Young players liked to leave a little something for later. My unwillingness to let them get away with that caused friction, and so none of us were happy. If I called an extra hour of infield practice, it didn’t go over well. My ability to reason with newer players wasn’t working either.

“You’re being hard on those boys, John. You need to lighten up. They’re screwing up to spite you. You want more than they’re ready to give,” Coach Bell told me in his office one morning.

“I know, Coach. I can’t seem to get myself in gear. I yell at one of them and I know I shouldn’t as soon as I do, but it’s too late. They’re not very good. They don’t seem to mind, but I do, and I expect you do.”

“It’s called spring training because it’s training. If you make it too hard on them, they’re not going to respond and we’re wasting a lot of time. I can talk to them and let them know how precarious their position on the team is, but all that does is create openings for more raw talent, and they’ll need training too, John. If we train these kids properly, we won’t need to do it all over again so soon.”

“I know, Coach. I’ll try to lighten up,” I said.

“Andy?”

“He’s off four days this week. Goes to rehab three days. He doesn’t like it much. They’re working his ass off, but he’s not seeing any progress,” I said solemnly. “It’s early.”

“You know what you told me the morning after you came back from Cincinnati’s training camp?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, wondering why we were going there.

“You better make up your mind you want to play this year, John. If you don’t want to play, than maybe you need to retire now. I want you to give that some thought. I need help. I need you to be here and not in Indianapolis or at your house. I want you and your mind and your glove to all be here at the same time. If you are so worried about Andy that you can’t play for me, we might be reaching that time.”

Coach Bell had never said an unkind thing to me in ten seasons, except for the season when he told me goodbye. He was an easy going man but he didn’t pull punches when it came to ball. If he thought I should think about retiring, it was something to consider. I did feel old. I’d never had a season when I wasn’t ready to play before. I didn’t want this to be my first.

“Tell you what, John. You come in here every morning before we start. You sit in that chair for five minutes. You get your mind and your body here, and then you go out to play ball. On the morning when you decide you don’t want to play, you tell me. We’ll make arrangements. My infield needs work, John. It’s the kind of thing you’ve done a half dozen times before. It’s what you do. When you can’t do it, or don’t want to, you need to rethink what it is you want to achieve.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

    “That’s all, John. You go back to the motel for the rest of the day. Come in fresh in the morning. Sit there for five minutes and if you go out to the field, I expect you to give me your best.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, closing the door behind me.

I had been scolded. Coach Bell had every right to tell me like it was. He was responsible for giving me a career in baseball and if he didn’t think I wasn’t pulling my usual weight, he had the right to say so and my mind wasn’t always in the game.

Thinking about Andy made it better. Thinking about being away from him didn’t. There were many facets to my discontent. I’d never been restless at spring training before. I’d never been less than ready to rock and roll when they called, “play ball.”

As I grew older, I had more on my mind. Starting off spring training where I’d love to be as a ballplayer didn’t help. It was a great adventure. Coming back to Louisville in a rebuilding year wasn’t.

Add Andy’s struggle to my worries and being so far away from him made me anxious. I had the world by the tail. Yet I was dissatisfied with my life for the first time I could remember. I figured being back in Louisville would give me access to most of the things that were most important to me. I’d play through my doldrums and get home the first chance I got.

I made certain I didn’t leave Coach Bell’s office without spending the full five minutes sitting in front of his desk. He wasn’t there, but it didn’t matter. I knew better than to cheat him when he asked me to do something. I got my mind on what I wanted to do that day and went out on the field ready to play ball.

We had a game in two hours and by the time I warmed up and showered and dressed in my clean uniform, the stands were filling with fans, all two hundred and fifty of them. It was the minor leagues and two fifty was better than fifty. The way we were playing fifty was good.

We were losing 9-0 when Coach Bell pulled me out of the game in the 5th inning. The infield had made four errors, most were throwing errors second to first. The second baseman must have thought the first baseman was nine feet tall. He kept powering the ball into the stands down the right field line.

I had three chances to start a double play. We turned none into two outs. I got the ball to second fine but the first baseman never got the throw. Coach Bell didn’t want to test my patience. He brought me into the dugout and had a chair next to his where I sat so I didn’t get the idea it was time for a shower and a Coke break.

“Jackson is amped up,” Coach Bell said. “I understand your frustration, John.”

“I’ll work on his throw. The adrenalin won’t be overcharged as time goes on. He’s got a good arm,” I said without thinking.

“Great arm if he was playing center field and throwing to the plate. I need a second basemen to get the ball to first base. What do you think about lifts?”

“Lifts?” I asked, not getting the picture.

“Lifts in Babshaw’s shoes so he can reach Jackson’s throws?”

“They don’t make lifts that size,” I said, picturing the baseball sailing over the first baseman’s head. “A box might work better.”

Coach Bell laughed at the idea of Babshaw moving the box in place to stand on it to reach Jackson’s errant throws.

“Maybe I’ll retire, John. I don’t know if I can go through this again. We just put a pretty good team on the field a year ago, and now we’re starting over again. I do understand your frustration.”

“It’s the nature of the beast, Coach. It’s what you signed up for.”

“That’s the truth. I’m not getting any younger, John. Unlike you, I wasn’t a kid when I began managing in the minors.”

Coach Bell was a difficult man to read. His anger looked similar to when he was delighted. You had to listen to what was in the words, because his face gave nothing away. Perhaps it was the way a manager had to play his cards. This was the tenth year I’d known him, and even coaching State, he was the same as when he managed Louisville. I never knew what was on his mind until he told me. He was frustrated to.

I worked with Jackson and I worked with him. He was a pretty fair batter but his fielding sucked. I needed to cover balls hit to him to keep him from blowing plays. Babshaw was getting better at reaching Jackson’s throws. Babshaw couldn’t hit and that was no help. It was a rebuilding year and we were already beating the bushes for infielders.

I was hitting well. After working my way through my mental fatigue, I felt better. I finished spring training batting over three hundred for the first time. I kept five pounds of the ten I’d gained on The Do. I felt as good as I’d ever felt physically. It still didn’t translate into me seeing five or six more seasons of baseball in my future.

I was the oldest player on the Louisville team. I wasn’t as old as some of the coaches, but I’d been at Louisville longer than any coach, except for Coach Bell. Even the general manager and all the staff behind Coach Bell had changed by my sixth season there.

We returned to Louisville with a pathetic record, 7-15. You weren’t supposed to win spring training games. You were supposed to make moves and improve in spring training. We weren’t going to have a good season with the current infielders. It would be work playing with these guys and at the same time maintaining an even keel. I was working on it.

Loving the game and playing the game were no longer the same thing. Breaking sprint training camp meant a twenty hour bus ride to Louisville. There was no overnight stop. We arrived behind the stadium at 6 a.m. on a Friday morning.

We were all stretching and yawning after being stuffed in that bus with nothing but MacDonald’s stops for the last day. We had to do all our business in a half an hour and the food ended up being eaten on the bus as we traveled.

The highlight of the trip was seeing Mrs. Olson standing on her porch watching the bus pull up on the opposite side of the street. She must have heard us coming and came out to wave. I would be her only border for the season and that included Andy when he came down to be with me.

It wasn’t as nice as being at the house but it allowed us to be together more often. Andy was coming tomorrow with Harold driving my car down Sunday. They’d drive back together in Andy’s car. I couldn’t wait to see him.

I waited for the driver to get my bag out of the baggage compartment. Luggage for forty guys was enough to fill up the storage area. Of course my bag was one of the first to go in and the last one to be put on the ground. My mouth was already watering for a cup of Mrs. Olson’s coffee. A thought about Gene’s coffee came to mind and my mouth watered more, but I wasn’t going to get his gourmet coffee. Mrs. Olson was a good cook and her coffee was good enough after twenty hours on a bus. Best of all, she had nothing to do with ball. We would sit and talk and laugh over old times. It was hard for me to think about having old times. Life was moving on.

I picked up my bag and walked to Mrs. Olson’s porch.

“Hi,” Mrs. Olson said as I stood at the bottom of the stairs.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” I said.

“Why, John, so are you. You’ve gained weight. You look good. Could be worth a few points on your batting average,” She calculated.

Maybe Mrs. Olson wasn’t completely devoid of a connection to baseball. She knew more than I did about Louisville’s history. She’d have another two dozen new players to learn about this season.

“I sure could use a cup of coffee, Mrs. Olson,” I said, stifling a yawn and starting up the steps.

“I just happen to have a fresh pot I started when I heard the bus. Figured you to be asking for a cup.”

I followed her in through the front door and was blindsided and almost knocking down, except Andy wasn’t about to let me fall.

“I didn’t think you’d ever get your ass in here,” Andy blurted. “Sorry Mrs. Olson. I meant butt.”

“Andy!” I said, and all the disappointment, fatigue, and uncertain disappeared.

Andy’s hold on me was surprisingly strong. I started to cry and I didn’t know why. It just felt so good having my one true love in my arms once more. It made everything better.

My life came back into focus. Nothing mattered but Andy. 

Chapter 21

Good Days

Being with Andy improved my disposition. I didn’t have time to be hard to get along with. We spent Friday at Mrs. Olson’s house and we decided to drive to the house on Saturday. I didn’t need to report back to the team until Monday afternoon for a short practice and team meeting before opening day on Tuesday. This gave us more time to spend with Harold at the house and it saved him from making the roundtrip to Louisville to bring me my car.

Andy was as glad to see me as I was to see him. At a time when he was usually waiting for opening day, he was struggling with hours of rehabilitation each day and a long way from the playing field. It was determined his range of motion was about seventy-five percent.

The seventy-five percent he could use was fairly strong and flexible and the other twenty-five percent was nearly useless. When Andy was working in that range, he could hardly lift any weight at all. In nearly a month he’d recovered possibly one percent of the motion in his left arm. This wasn’t progress that made Andy happy.

He understood it was a long slow process but the progress was so slow it was difficult to measure at this point. While working on the seriously impaired twenty-five percent, he was strengthening the seventy-five percent without a lot of pain or discomfort.

The doctors were encouraged. Andy wasn’t. After we talked about his arm and how its rehabilitation was going, the rest of the conversation switched to Louisville ball. Andy wanted a blow by blow description of what I did after he left me.   

I gave him a rundown on our less than adequate team and he remembered his first year in the minors when all he wanted was to get it over with. My view was less sympathetic than his, but I had to play with the new players. Sensing my frustration, he didn’t dwell on how to approach a rebuilding year and make the most of it.

We stayed in bed much of Friday, visiting with Mrs. Olson when we got up. She loved having us in the house with her and was sad to hear we would go to the house Saturday, but it was the start of a new season and I would be staying at her house when I couldn’t get home.

The five hour roundtrip from Louisville to the house and back meant I wouldn’t go home as often as I liked. Andy was in rehab three or four days a week and he stayed in Indianapolis when rehab was on consecutive days. He stayed at the house when there was a day in between days when he was working with the trainers to gain some motion in the damaged arm.

Harold was excited to have us back in easy driving range. He was also going to come home on the days Andy wasn’t in Indianapolis. His studies had increased in difficulty now that he was taking all pre-med courses. On the days when he was allowed in the operating theater, he stayed at school to be well rested. This was what Harold loved and lived to do. He talked excitedly about such experiences.

Harold was growing more reserved and less hyper. The change since Christmas was easy to notice. The doctors had begun to influence him as he sensed he’d be one of them soon. Time was speeding up for Harold. He remarked several times that it seemed like yesterday we were all on The Do. It seemed like forever to me, and yet it didn’t seem all that long ago I was playing college ball. Time played out in odd ways inside my head.

Being back home, even for a couple of days, improved my disposition even more. Knowing I could make it home from Louisville in a little over two hours made life easier on me. My underlying feeling of being ill at ease so far away from Andy was better explained once we were together. His first month of rehab hadn’t gone that well.

It was only month one but he wasn’t seeing any progress when working in a range of motion he no longer could access without more pain than he liked. It wasn’t a surface pain that ached and was annoying long after he took the medications prescribed. This pain ran to his core and told him how far away he was from swinging a baseball bat again.

He had to force his arm to go where it had little interest in going. After doing it for hours a day, they did it some more. Andy was no sissy and he played ball when he felt lousy, but he never played ball with his body working against him.

A simple thing like having my arms around him made the mental strain, and the overwhelming nature of the task at hand, take less out of him. As it was during the darkest days of his chemo treatments, we laid together every time we had a chance, and this too gave Andy the strength to continue.

This was my trouble all along. It had nothing to do with ball. It had everything to do with what Andy was going through. We began planning a schedule that gave us the maximum time together. When Louisville was away on a road trip, Andy turned up the number of days a week he did rehab. When I was playing in Louisville, he would spend more days in Louisville, which got him closer to the playing field and baseball. His spirits were raised the more time we spent together. When we had a Sunday afternoon game and didn’t play again until Tuesday afternoon, I would go to our house after the game Sunday, returning to Louisville before the game Tuesday. This was a bonanza of time, after a month when we didn’t see each other at all.

I realized it was easy to talk about rehabilitation, but doing it was tough work. It was easy to become pessimistic. Andy wasn’t given to depression. His career hung in the balance. He had to believe he was coming back before he could come back.

He didn’t say he couldn’t do it but he was worried he couldn’t. I knew by what he didn’t say, he was doubting himself. Being together several times a week was good for both of us.

My job was no big deal compared to what Andy faced. Being frustrated by new players who weren’t as good as they’d been led to believe, was child’s play compared to the strain and pain on Andy’s daily schedule. If it got him down or he needed to be encouraged, I was close enough to get to him, or him to me, which made life easier.

I was back in Louisville for a light lunch at Mrs. Olson’s and a long shower before I suited up before opening day. Mrs. Olson had my uniform clean and pressed for me by the time I got out of the shower. It felt good to be back in one of my regular uniforms. The idea it wasn’t too tight in the waist or the ass was nice to see.

I’d managed to confine my weight gain to my chest and arms with a bit of new muscle going to my thighs. I felt good and I was ready to play ball. Coach Bell was in better spirits by game time and we both accepted we had the team we had and that’s all we had. There was always the chance we could be pleasantly surprised.

When Andy came to watch our first game, Coach Bell had a deal ready for him. He'd set a chair down next to where he sat, and he indicated for Andy to sit there, when we came into the dugout.

“You look like a caged animal, Andy. I've got just the ticket for you to get out of Louisville and let the wind blow through your hair for a few days. How you feeling?”

“I was fine when I got to the dugout. I'm not sure about the sounds of this, coach.”

“I have a prospect in Arkansaw. I'd like you to take a look at him for me. The kid was a second baseman. We drafted him as a junior in high school. He told us he planned to play ball in college. Last year's draft was full of top notched prospects, Jackie got lost in the shuffle. Our scout never got back to him. Now, his family is having financial problems. He's working in the local mill to bring in a paycheck,” Coach Bell said.

“The point is, he isn't in college, and his family is in financial difficulty. They depend on his paycheck right now. I don't know what he's making, but you go take a look see. I told the club what I'm going to do. Tell him we have the option on him, Andy. Unless he's a flash in the pan, guarantee him more money than he's getting at the mill. The club will make good on it. They'll give him a bonus if you say he's got the right stuff. Can you do that for me?” Coach Bell asked.

“Beats sitting here watching the grass grow,” Andy said.

“I don't want another club to get to him first. We need to talk to this kid and see what he's all about, Andy. Do is going to need a good second baseman. Maybe I can talk the club into letting me have him. The other scouts are all too busy to get away.”

“Sure, Coach. It’ll only take a day if the kid wants to show me what he has.”

“I'm told he's playing pickup games in Stuttgart, Arkansas. He works at the Comet Rice factory. He might recognize your name, which wouldn’t hurt. I’d like your opinion before we get him up here for a tryout,” Coach Bell explained. “It would be a big help.”

“The boy’s in rice?” Andy asked.

“I don’t write the details. I merely report the facts. That’s what the letter from his coach says, “Works at Comet Rice,” Coach Bell said.

Andy agreed to make the trip on one of his days off. He could stay the night before at Mrs. Olson’s and leave early the next morning.

In the first game of the season we won 2-1 with our only returning starting pitching. Blanchfield struck out seven and gave up three hits and one run in nine complete innings. I walked my first time at bat, singled and knocked in a run my second at bat, and then I struck out.

Jackson made one throwing error, but Babshaw was able to reach his inconsistent throws the rest of the game. We could use some help at second base. Considering how we played in spring training, this was a good start to the season. It got Louisville off on the right foot and the fans appreciated that we started with a win, after all the talk of a rebuilding season.

Nothing flies quite so high as a win by the home team on opening day. We lost the next two games in the series and won one out of three games over the weekend. The stands were nearly full on opening day. We didn’t come close to filling them again by the end of our six game home stand. Louisville was 2-4.

It was during the second week of the season that Andy went to Stuttgart,  Arkansas to see Jackie Parks. Coach Bell had already had enough of Jackson and put our utility infielder, Jim Jacobs, in at second. Our fielding improved immediately. This tightened up our double play threat and allowed Babshaw to become more relaxed at first base.

After making arrangements to meet with Jackie Parks and his father on a Wednesday around noon. Comet Rice agreed to let him have a long lunch so he could get a shot at playing minor league ball.

Just before seven that evening, Andy was standing in the Louisville dugout before we went out to warm up before our only home game that week. He looked a bit tired but he looked happy.

Andy and Coach Bell spent quite a bit of time talking before the game and they sat together once the game got underway. I didn’t have much time to ask Andy what he thought of the kid, but he was spending the night at Mrs. Olson’s before heading to Indianapolis for two days of rehab the next morning.

That night Andy told me that the kid was the real deal and while he wasn’t playing for any organization and he hadn’t signed any contract with an intent to play for a designated club, there had been some interest after a Little Rock paper did a feature on him two Sundays before. Andy was the first person from baseball to come to talk to him.

Andy wasn’t able to show the kid much but he gave him some tips when it came to hitting for power. He thought the six foot one, one hundred and sixty-five pound boy was going to grow into a good hitter. He had Andy’s long arms and broad shoulders and his swing hadn’t been developed because of where he played ball.

There was no telling how Jackie Parks would react to a minor league club, because he hadn’t played for people who knew how to train a real talent. Once he’d finished high school it was taken for granted he would go to work at the mill, putting baseball aside, except as a weekend past time and at the company picnic.

Andy watched Parks’ father hit his son grounders. The kid could cover a lot of ground. It wasn’t possible to do much but watch the kid go through what Andy considered to be routine drill. Jackie took it all in stride and the only time he appeared awkward was when he talked to Andy faced to face. He had no training in self promotion. Andy thought that was Jackie’s best feature. 

“He reminds me a little of you,” Andy told me that night. “Fields like you did at nineteen. Needs some practice time but he had good range around second base.”

“Did he know who you were?” I asked. “Thinking that was the most important thing.”

“Did he know me? He had the picture of me lying across the plate with my broken arm hung up inside the family chicken house. He also has a poster of Evan hanging on his bedroom wall. I told him Coach Bell was Evan’s coach.”

“You’re in good company,” I said.

“With the chickens or Evan?” Andy asked slyly.

“With me silly. I missed you.”

Holding Andy always made everything better for me. He’d talked to Coach Bell once he returned and Louisville was going to ask the kid to come to Louisville for a tryout with the club. Andy told Jackie and his father that this was probably a good bet before he left for home.

It took two weeks for Jackie to show up in the Louisville dugout. There were a couple of people from Cincinnati who came to take a look at the newly discovered prospect. Jackie watched the evening game from the dugout. The next morning he’d report for his tryout.

The kid was impressive. From his freckles to his smile, he had appeal before he took the field. The batting coach gave Jackie some hitting tips as he watched him take batting practice. I played shortstop to his second base, and it was a big improvement over Jackson.

I would have told Coach Bell the kid was ready for our infield, but Coach Bell was standing on the dugout steps, leaning on the roof support to watch Jackie take one ground ball after another for a half hour. The kid booted too hard to reach hit balls and got out ahead of the rest that were hit his way.

Some balls were hit to me to test the shortstop to second base to first base double play combination. I could tell Jackie was a bit rusty, but in no time at all he was running through plays smoothly. He looked like a best bet for an infield that needed help.

The following week at the beginning of a ten game home stand, Jackie was to play second base for the first time. He was a bit nervous as he took the field with a minor league team. A few weeks before he thought baseball had passed him up.

As a second baseman he was adequate. A case of the jitters kept him from looking smooth, but he had good moves and he did cover all the ground a second baseman was expected to cover. It was the next day during practice, I took him aside to give him tips on how to hold his glove to make his fielding more effective. I watched him in action before making my suggestions.

These were small adjustments I’d learned in college, but they did allow a fielder to position himself to prevent balls from getting by him. If he wasn’t prepared to get down to dig the ball out of the dirt, it might skip by him and into the outfield. It was hard work but Jackie caught on quick. His reward came before the game that evening.

Andy and Evan Lane walked from the clubhouse into the dugout, after we’d ended our practice. Everyone noticed their arrival. The kid stood off to one side as much of the team surrounded Evan, acting like excited kids. Andy was frequently in the dugout by this time, so he wasn’t big news any longer.

Right in the middle of being adored, Evan moved through the Louisville players and went straight to the kid.

“I came to see you, son. They tell me you play baseball,” Evan said in his booming on stage voice. “So do I.”

“Yes, sir,” Jackie said excitedly.

“Come on. Let’s take a walk,” Evan said, stepping up onto the field, waving for Andy to join them as they took a walk down the right field line.

With Andy on one side and Evan on the other, the three walked down the right field line. Everyone stood on the top step of the dugout watching the meeting. We could only guess what was being said. A couple of pictures were snapped as they turned around to walk back toward the dugout. They’d make a nice keepsake for Jackie to put on his bedroom wall at his parent’s house. No one could tell if the meeting might have meaning that would stretch beyond Slugger Stadium.

On the return trip they were deep in conversation. Evan was doing most of the talking, but Jackie spoke from time to time. Andy added a comment from time to time. A little way from the dugout they stopped and stood in a tight little circle to continue the talk. Flashbulbs lit them up periodically as fans came out of the stands to record them.

Evan was surprisingly easy to talk to. When you first saw him, he was bigger than life, but he was able to put people at ease if he wanted to do that. He’d changed since becoming a big leaguer, but he was still down to earth to his friends.

Mrs. Olson had agreed to put Jackie up in a room of his own. I was assigned to see that Jackie wasn’t exposed to too much too soon. Being an elder on the team made his father comfortable with this arrangement. I was also Jackie’s unofficial infield coach.

That night he was excited and wanted to talk about it. Since it was his first time away from home, Jackie wanted to talk about what was going on and Mrs. Olson was the right person to offer her opinion. After his second game, the night he met Evan, Jackie was exhausted by the excitement of it all. Two weeks before he had accepted his baseball days were done, and now he was playing minor league ball.   

Mrs. Olson was the loving mother of the house, who could calm him right down. This made Jackie’s transition far easier on him. With the routine elements taken care of Jackie and I set out to do the work required to make him a good second baseman. He acted comfortable with the arrangement.

An otherwise dull season had been spiced up by Jackie’s arrival. I didn’t know if it would be enough to make Louisville ball interesting, but the fans were excited by the buzz that followed Jackie to Louisville.

The image of a squeaky clean lad joining the club was golden. It was what baseball was all about after all.

The most important thing was getting Jackie confident in his ability to play second base at this level. It was a big leap to go from high school to minor league ball. It was made bigger by the year away from ball. At nineteen his reflexes and vision were as good s they’d ever be, and this made the year off less of a factor.

Training him how to make plays and not get caught flatfooted took practice. Jackie was willing to put in the time. His excitement for the game helped to renew my own appreciation for baseball. The extra work it took teaching Jackie kept my mind off of other things. The routine of baseball took a new and refreshing turn early that season.

The drudgery of that spring was all forgotten.

*****

AwesomeDude Home

Rick Beck Home

Outside The Foul Lines Book III Home

Woodie Guthrie died this week a ways back. “This land is your land. This land is my land….”

It is, isn’t it? It’s our land and we take care of it and each other, because we are decent people. Woodie knew what he was saying all those years ago. Some things don’t change.

Outside the Foul Lines 3

Chapter 22

Playing the Game

Andy had good days and bad days. His disposition was good. By the second full month of rehabilitation his arm was showing improvement that extended beyond the one percent of recovered motion they could measure after the first month. Andy showed little emotion after letting his initial disappointment show, when he didn’t make the progress he was looking for right away. He did his best to ignore talk of percentages and how much better it was this month than last month.

Until he recovered enough motion to swing a baseball bat without pain or limitation, it wasn’t enough. It’s where the difficulty began and only when he was back in the same condition as when he went down, would he care about his progress. This didn’t require any adjustment between Andy and me. It had to be worked out to Andy’s satisfaction.

I made no effort to reason him into my way of thinking. I couldn’t begin to conceive of dealing with Andy had to deal with. Andy was staring at a mountain he had to climb before he could consider whether or not he could come back.

My career was Andy first and baseball afterward, but I was his link to ball now. He took pleasure in everything I did. Jackie Park was our project. We were in it together and Andy wanted Jackie to succeed as much as I did. This kept Andy close to ball.

Coach Bell had turned Jackie over to me. There was no discussion or suggestion. He didn’t give me instructions on how to handle him. Coach Bell told me that I was responsible to keep Jackie safe and to see that he learned how to become, “the best damn second baseman around.” I told him I’d do my best.

I suspect Coach Bell asking Andy to go to take the first look at Jackie, was meant to tie Andy to the project. If Andy couldn’t come back baseball could still be his game. I didn’t miss the significance of Andy’s trip. We didn’t talk about it but Andy didn’t miss it either. He intended  to play again, but if he couldn’t, he had something to think about.

These are questions and considerations that run far beyond my ability to understand. I could have asked Coach Bell if he had something larger in mind than just getting a professional opinion on the boy’s talent, or not, but Coach Bell wasn’t in the habit of answering such questions. I wasn’t in the habit of asking them. I regarded Coach Bell’s judgment as sacrosanct when it came to ball. Whatever he had in mind, I was content to see where it led. I didn’t need a road map.

Jackie made ball fun again. Seeing a kid with his talent made me love ball all the more. Life was good in Louisville. I spent a lot of time with Jackie. We trained together for several hours every day. When we were in town we talked shop over dinner at Mrs. Olson’s table.

She in turn told baseball stories of players who played Louisville ball over the years. She was no longer capable of keeping up with a dozen overactive ballplayers, but one or two kept her connected to baseball. This in turn allowed us to enjoy Mrs. Olson’s knowledge of Louisville.

Having her in the picture was good for Jackie. When we were on the road we roomed together and he always talked about missing Mrs. Olson’s food. Jackie may have gotten homesick for Arkansas, but he never said so. I looked for signs that he might not be as happy as he acted, but I found no sign of it. Jackie was living his dream.

Jackie and Andy shared something else in common. Jackie’s baseball career had ended and he had gone to work at the local mill. His dreams of playing big league ball never got closer than high school. Jackie was back in ball and loving every minute of it. Andy saw Jackie’s journey as similar to his own. He didn’t talk about it much, but he mentioned relating to how Jackie felt about it.

Jackie didn’t get out ahead of himself and he didn’t think he was ready for the big leagues. He got more attention than any player who played at Louisville since Evan Lane. The flashbulbs were always going off when he came to the plate the first time each night. He got the biggest applause from the crowd and he didn’t disappoint them.

I didn’t tell him I’d been waiting six seasons for one short glance to come my way. I’d already forgotten I’d played with Cincinnati in spring training. He’d have a long career with a big league team. As a second baseman Jackie could play for twenty years if he stayed healthy.

I’d seen more Cincinnati scouts and officials since Jackie arrived at Louisville than I’d seen since Evan Lane was called up to the bigs. There were a couple of scouts that came on routine trips to look at the talent, especially if there was an injury to one of the main guys. The rest of the time they were waiting to see some sign of brilliance.

Players like Jackie stood out like a sore thumb. You knew they were passing through on their way up. A lot of players played years before everything came together and they were needed by a major league team. Scouts knew what they were looking for most of the time, but they didn’t know what they were going to find.

Jackie had me excited about what I did. He had all the tools and he picked up things I explained to him. I was able to teach him the mechanics that served me well. Jackie didn’t complain and he thrived on having me tell him he did a good job. He was very much like a kid.

After having Jackson at second base, Jackie was a dream. He was smooth and his arm was powerful and his throws were accurate. His instincts were well developed considering his age and experience. There were tools you could be born with to make it more likely you’d succeed in sports. Jackie had most of these.

By the end of June Jackie was the second best second baseman I’d ever played ball with. Chance would always be first and we hadn’t played together since college. There was no question where Chance would be when I was fielding a ball. All I had to do was turn and throw, and he’d be right where I expected him to be to catch it. Jackie was nearly that good by the time we were approaching mid-season.

There was a point when sports and art merged. It didn’t happen often, but a true fan and other athletes knew it when they saw it. A pitcher going out to pitch a perfect game is art. Infielders that know each other so well they almost never make errors is art. Evan Lane and Andy Green hitting home runs is art. Everything has to come together at precisely the right time, and only a handful of players can crush the ball the way Evan and Andy did.

I once saw a film of the “Say Hey Kid,” Willie Mays, sprint at full speed into center field’s deepest section. I believe it was Yankee Stadium and you can see 425 feet marked on the wall he’s charging toward. With nothing to go on but seeing the ball hit, Willie Mays extends his glove

as far as it will go, and at full speed, he catches that ball. That was art and the peak of athletic conditioning merging. It may well be the best fielding play ever caught on film.

Mickey Mantle won three triple crowns in a row in the 1950s. That’s the most home runs, the most runs batted in, and the highest batting average of any player in the same season. He did it three times in a row and five or six times in his career, which was shortened by injury. There have been two players in the past fifty years who won one triple crown. That is art.

These are facts written in stone and they speak for themselves. Jackie Park was capable of that kind of art in my opinion. If he continued in the game with the same enthusiasm he brought to Louisville, Jackie could do big things.

When you are so good that sport becomes art, Jim Thorpe, Mohammed Ali, Wilt Chamberlain vs. Bill Russell, it transcends sport and becomes artistic expression. It’s what happens when athletic ability transcends the physical plain. They say ballet dancers do this most often. They begin in dance and by sheer effort learn to fly.

While there was no sign that Jackie might enter this realm one day, he was the type of player who could. At nineteen the buzz followed him. Only the fact he lived so close to the ballpark and he could slip across the street unnoticed, kept the reporters away from Mrs. Olson’s door.

No one dreamed he could be that close. All he needed as a beat up ball cap from high school, a pair of sun glasses, and an old worn out sweater Mrs. Olson gave him to keep anyone from recognizing him.   

Jackie covered ground in a way most second baseman couldn’t. He waited for his pitches and hit for a good average if not a great one. He was thirty games into the season before he hit his first home run. It just barely made it into the first row, but it was a homer. His second one came just two games after the first.

By mid-season Jackie led the team in doubles and runs scored. I‘d previously led the team in runs scored for several years, because I walked so much. Jackie was scoring more often because he got on base so often. By July he was most likely to reach base.

Both Andy and Evan spent time coaching Jackie in hitting. Andy was in Louisville a couple of times a week. I wasn’t in their league when it came to batting. I stood aside to watch when they came to instruct him. Evan drove to Louisville after playing an afternoon home game.  After our game, after everyone left for home, he’d work with Jackie.

The only people there were Jackie, Evan, Coach Bell, a pitcher or two, and me, Andy and Evan some days. We’d all end up over at Mrs. Olson’s for coffee and talk. I couldn’t help but learn something by watching this operation a couple of times a month.

Jackie’s hitting wasn’t on the scale of Andy’s or Evan’s, who built careers on their power. Jackie was more wiry. He was able to spray hits through the infield. He stole bases once he got on. He was still a teenager. It remained to be seen what twenty pounds of well conditioned muscle would do for him as he matured.

By the end of June he was seen as a force on the team. Half the players were new to Louisville since last season and Jackie’s entry and rise to a place of prominence didn’t upset anyone. Most new players were more worried about staying on the team than someone else moving ahead of them in line.

It was the fourth of July, when we played a double header at home. We were three games below five hundred. It wasn’t a good record but it was better than I expected. I thought Jackie had something to do with that. I was hitting over .280 for the first time in my career. It gave me an odd feeling to know I could still improve. Batting was always my weakness.

I was still a student of the game and by coaching Jackie, I learned. By watching Andy and Evan with Jackie, I learned more. Coach Bell had been instrumental in making me learn the art of bunting. Hardly a week went by that I didn’t bunt for a hit or to advance a runner into scoring position. It did add points to my batting average.

Infielders who once closed in to crowd the plate, expecting I might bunt, now had to back off to make sure I didn’t hit a stinging grounder past them and into the outfield. The more tools a hitter had the more hits he got. In my case there was slow progress but there was progress. My batting average had risen from the depths of my .240 and .250 years. I was proud of that.

I batted first in the lineup, because I might walk any time I came to bat. I had a good eye and I didn’t go fishing for bad pitches. I’d always gone looking for a walk, because I wasn’t a good hitter. Now that I was hitting better, I might take a swing rather than wait to see if the balls wouldn’t eventually out number the strikes in any given at bat.

On July 4th we sold out the stadium for a double header. It was two hot dogs for the price of one freedom day. I suppose everyone has the freedom to pig out. I had a hot dog before the game, because hot dogs and baseball were on the same team. A little stadium mustard and you had a meal.

Being the first home team batter always got me a big applause. I was also the most recognizable Louisville player, having been there the longest. As I came to the plate there were flashbulbs flashing and a drum roll announced my advance on the plate. I always enjoyed being the first batter. I’d been in that roll for years. It was game time.

Jackie batted right behind me and if I walked or got on, he was a real threat to move me around. At the beginning of a game this was a big psychological advantage if you could jump out in front of the visiting team. Today I was drinking in our first sellout since opening day. We were playing a little better than had been expected, but it was hard filling up Slugger stadium when we weren’t winning.

The pitcher took his time making the first pitch and I took my practice swings and set myself in the batters’ box. It was a fastball over the outside corner of the plate. It was a little higher than the pitcher had intended, but he was just getting warmed up. It was his mistake and there wasn’t going to be a walk this time at bat.

I reached out and put the fat part of the bat on the ball. It sailed down the left field line and left the park just inside the leftfield foul line. The fans loved it and everyone was standing as I came around third base. I tipped my hat in appreciation for the crowds support. I didn’t hit many home runs.

Jackie got a fine reception as his name was announced. He patted my butt as he greeted me on my way back to the dugout. Louisville was leading 1-0. The crowd settled down and Jackie moved into the batters’ box.

The batter who followed a man who hit a home run had to stay loose. There was almost always a pitch way too far inside after a home run pitch. The pitcher brushed Jackie back to demonstrate his disposition. The crowd booed their new hero being treated this rudely.

 The umpire walked out in front of the plate after calling it a ball. He gave his obligatory, don’t do that again stare, before returning to his spot behind the catcher. The fans had stopped booing by then.

The second pitch was a strike right down the center of the plate, but Jackie was still loose from the first pitch and he didn’t go after the fastball. He took more practice swings and the crowd went back to gulping beer and gobbling hot dogs as they waited for something to cheer. They didn’t have long to wait.

The next pitch was just above the knees and another fastball in the strike zone. Jackie leaned back on his heals as he caught all of the ball. It soared up into the afternoon heat and went out of the park at the deepest part of centerfield.

It was 2-0 Louisville.

That was the first time we did that, but not the last. Two more times in July I hit a home run my first at bat and Jackie followed my home run with one of his own. The game didn’t get any better than that. I hit seven home runs in July. Jackie hit nine. We were playing better than five hundred ball.

Normally this would be just another event during nine innings of ball, but it just so happened that on July 4th two Cincinnati management types had come to take a look at Jackie Parks progress. Cincinnati was play out of town and it was a lot cheaper to drive to Louisville.

The same two men were monitoring Jackie’s progress. They had a very good second baseman and no one thought he was going to be benched or traded, but Jackie was of interest. The shortstop wasn’t hitting and while Jackie might not be able to play shortstop, the current second baseman now playing for Cincinnati might be able to make that transition, and that would open a spot for Jackie on the roster. That was how I saw it anyway.

Jackie was a player they wanted to protect no matter what they decided to do with him. After being out of ball for a year, in two months he was as good as anyone on the Louisville team. Just ask Coach Bell. He’d tell you. He told the Cincinnati brass. They wanted to protect this kid and they’d come to take another look before they offered him a contract that would keep him in Cincinnati’s system.

All they had to do was say he might play with Evan Lane one day, and Jackie would sign anything they put in front of him. No one knew when there would be a trade or a retirement that might make moving Jackie to the bigs a good idea, but no one knew what might come next in baseball. One day you were on the top of the world and the next day you could be out of the game.

Life didn’t usually turn that quickly, but one day you were alive and kicking and the next day you were dead and gone. You just never could be positive what came next. When several suits appeared in the clubhouse, after the game, Jackie was the center of attention. It was a public display that hadn’t been allowed before.

 Mostly this type of thing was handled in and around Coach Bell’s office, but this time Jackie disappeared with his suited admirers for a time. He told me later they wanted to discuss his future with the club.

“Do you think I’m ready for the majors, John?” Jackie asked.

“What’s the rush. You just got here, Jackie.”

“That’s what I thought. Coach Bell said to stay calm and play ball. I’d know when it was time to move up. I wanted to know how you felt.”

Nineteen was a bit young for the bigs. Most teams wanted a player to gain some experience. Most kids who played high school ball went to college and played ball there for at least two or three seasons. If they were good enough and got noticed, they might get signed to a contract before they left college.

Some very good players left college before graduation to play ball. Most major sports franchises preferred not to sign a player before he finished college. Education was seen as important, even if a lot of players went to college to play ball and not for the education. It was the game they played.

Jackie couldn’t afford college and he had been passed over when it came to scholarships. Being from a small town and going unnoticed was a high school hazard. If there wasn’t a coach or someone to promote you, you could end up with a career at the local mill.

Now Cincinnati was talking to Jackie about staying in their system. I knew what was said because Jackie told me that night over dinner.

“It’s very good you are being noticed at your age, Jackie,” Mrs. Olson said as she delivered gravy to go on our meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

“Yes, ma’am. They said I’d play with Evan one day if I stuck with them. I’d like that.”

“That boy loves my roast beef. I’ve never seen anyone put it away like Evan does,” she said. “You come close, Jackie. You treat my meatloaf the same way. Eat up. You’ve got to keep your strength up.”

“Yes, ma’am. Best I’ve eaten. You sure are a great cook,” Jackie said.

“Why thank you, Jackie. That’s nice of you to say,” Mrs. Olson said.

“Eat up,” I said. “I’ll give you enough to do tomorrow to work it off.”

“Don’t I know it,” Jackie said, shoveling in the mashed potatoes.

I couldn’t begin to imagine being in the position Jackie was in. I was barely playing ball at State when I was nineteen. Coach Bell had me on the varsity, but I wasn’t sure I belonged there. Jackie had the world by the tail and didn’t know it. He was grateful to be playing ball at all.

Chapter 23

Heat & Humidity

It was August when I saw it the first time. Louisville’s usual heat and humidity felt worse than usual. I could shower, put on the uniform Mrs. Olson washed and ironed for me, and by the time I walked across the street to the ball park, I was wet again. I used talcum, Baby Powder, and Gold Bond, getting the same result each time. It was August after all.

Fans on five foot stands blew the hot air on both sides of the dugout. The door to the clubhouse was propped open and the air conditioning inside the clubhouse sent cool air up the tunnel that led to the locker room. Standing in front of the door gave you a shot of cool air when you were on your way out to bat. We all paused there for as long as we could.

Coach Bell’s chair sat just beyond the door, but his shirt was soaked by the second inning on the hottest days. The humidity simply overwhelmed everything. When we played away games, there were no electric fans in the visitors dugout. It was you against the elements, which was part of the away game allure. It’s what made baseball the game it was.

Jackie didn’t seem to mind the heat. He was from Arkansas. I’m sure there was heat there, but somehow his shirt was never soaked in sweat. Jackie was having a very good summer and maybe that kept him cool. Any initial jitters were gone after his first month of playing ball at Louisville.

By the dog days of August Jackie had twenty three home runs and his batting average was flirting with .300, after a steady climb. Louisville was flirting with five hundred ball again. We dropped five games below the even mark in late July. We’d been on a relatively good streak since August began, playing our best ball of the season.

I had fifteen home runs while batting .283. It was double the number of home runs I’d hit in any season before. It was also the first time my batting average had stayed above .280 this late in a season. I was having a good summer and Louisville was winning ball games. It was too late for us to get into the playoffs, but we’d end the season on a high note at this rate, and that would give us some momentum going into next season.

That was the feeling last season as well. We’d just missed making the playoffs, but that didn’t stop the major leagues from raiding our pitching and calling up our two best hitters. What would have been a very good year in Louisville had become a rebuilding year. We were replacing the talent that had grown up in our system and gone on to bigger and better things.

It was Sunday afternoon and we were off Monday before playing three road games. We’d return for a weekend series with Indianapolis, our biggest rivals. They liked coming to Louisville to show us how the game was played.

Evan Lane developed a soreness in his shoulder the middle of that week. He came to watch Saturday night’s game, wanting to escape the media’s constant questions about when he’d be able to play again. He was easy to recognize when he sat on our bench. He didn’t hide the fact he was here, but he wasn’t pestered when he returned to Louisville for a visit. Mostly people wanted an autograph or simply to say hello to the star.  

Evan was a hometown boy who made good. He was respected not hounded. When he showed up the night before, no one was surprised and after the initial excitement, he was just another player in the clubhouse. Some of us knew Evan from when he played at Louisville.

Coach Bell was the type of man players came back to visit. What he brought to baseball went far beyond his knowledge of the game. If Coach Bell liked you, he was always there for you. He made you feel good when times were bad and he made you feel better when times were good. His smile could make your day and his slow decisive headshake could send a good player into a tailspin and a not so good players into a depression.

Andy came down for the weekend. He’d work all week the following week so he could spend four days in Louisville while Indianapolis was in town. Andy played for the Indians before he was called up to play for Pittsburgh. He calculated when he finished rehab, he’d be sent to Indianapolis to play a few games before Pittsburgh cleared him to play.

Andy’s relationship with the Indianapolis manager wasn’t very good. He would spend time on both benches while the Indians were in town. This would establish his neutrality, although everyone knew Andy played for Coach Bell in college and they had remained close over the years.  

Andy was getting stronger. There was no great breakthrough that indicated he had passed the point of no return in his comeback, but the improvement was obvious and his disposition showed it. His determination grew the more he improved. It had been a good summer for Andy too.

After the game Saturday night, one of the coaches stayed to offer up pitches to Evan as he practiced his swing, looking for signs of impairment. The initial problem developed after Evan made a long throw to second base from deep left field. By the next inning his shoulder had begun to tighten up.

Jackie always stuck close to Evan whenever he took swings. It wasn’t unusual for any number of players to stand and watch the balls leap off the slugger’s bat. Coach Bell watched, leaning on the batting cage that was rolled out to keep balls from rolling all over the place. Coach Bell complained about his ball bill every time Evan showed up.

“There goes another fifty bucks worth of baseballs. One day they’re going to start charging me for all the balls you hit out of here,” Coach Bell said to Evan as he stroked a ball out of the park over the centerfield fence.

Coach Bell wouldn’t miss the show. I wouldn’t miss the show. Andy stood next to me as the bat cracked and the balls jumped out into the outfield with little more than half a swing by Evan. Mainly he was testing his range of motion and the feeling in the sore shoulder. He’d hesitate, stretch between pitches, before he drill another ball deep into the outfield.

Jackie stood in and took some swings. Evan moved up to the plate to talk to him about how he held the bat. He wasn’t so much concerned with the position of his hands but the angle of the bat. Evan had Jackie lower the bat by an inch or two and tilt the bat back at less of an angle. This changed how the bat met the ball.

Jackie hit a few balls with the new positioning and went back to the way he was doing it before. Comfort was everything. Jackie tried the new positioning at times, always going back to the tried and true in ball games. The way he was hitting, I didn’t blame him for being reluctant to change anything.

Andy moved up to the plate to join the conversation between Evan and Jackie. Then the two walked away leaving Andy holding Jackie’s bat. Andy stepped up to the plate and indicated he wanted a pitch. The coach doing the pitching looked surprised before stepping up on the mound to pitch.

I tensed up. Both Evan and Jackie came behind the backstop and turned to watch. Andy hadn’t said anything to me about this.

“Says he’s ready to take a swing,” Evan said to no one and to everyone in earshot.

My eyes focused on Andy’s left arm. That’s where the trouble would be. There was no way for me to ask him if he was sure he was ready to do this. Maybe he should wait a little longer. Will the force be too much on the bone? There was no discussion, only Andy, bat in hand.

Andy took some practice swings. They were light easy affairs. He merely moved the bat out over the plate and back on his shoulder. He’d done it a million times before, but not in over a year, as far as I knew. All I could do was watch and pray.

Two pitches came and bounced around the batting cage and the bat stayed put. The third pitch brought the bat around. It didn’t hit anything.

Andy ended up with his back to me. He was holding the bat down in his right hand with the barrel touching the ground. He didn’t move. His left shoulder had dipped far deeper than it should after a normal swing. His left hand hung straight down at his side.

I couldn’t move. Evan started around the corner of the backstop toward Andy. Coach Bell stopped leaning on the batting cage and stood at attention, his eyes riveted on Andy. He had an expression of uncertainty on his face and it slowly turned to an expression of concern.

I couldn’t breathe. Minutes seemed to pass. Finally Andy stood up straight. He stretched his left arm out in front of him. He reached up over his head with it. He leaned the bat against his right leg, using his right hand to straighten the left shoulder of his polo shirt.

He took the bat in both hands and stretched it out in front of him. He stepped back into the batters box and took two very easy swings, seeming to check his reach and flexibility. I knew he was looking for some feeling that didn’t belong in the upper portion of his left arm.

He nodded for the coach to send another pitch his way.

I realized I was holding my breathe and I gasped air, shaking as I realized he was OK. Watching him take his first swing had completely unnerved me. I’d never had a reaction like that to anything before. Andy’s entire future, our future, depended on that arm getting stronger. It could have shattered again and Andy’s career would have ended at that instant.

Andy took another swing, still not hitting anything, but letting the bat follow through a little more than he did the first time. It wasn’t a full swing. It was probably less than three quarters of a swing, but it was the first time he had swung a bat since he broke his arm in July the year before. The site of him holding a bat made me want to cry. Andy was coming back.

Andy took some practice swings, not putting a lot of force in it, and then he handed Jackie his bat on his way back to my side.

“Keep that bat kid. One day you’ll tell your fans that this is the bat Andy Green used to take his first swings with before he made his comeback,” Evan said.

I don’t think Andy heard. He stood next to me and smiled like he was satisfied with what he had done.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Great. I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time. I was afraid to swing. I had to do it sooner or later,” Andy said.

“Well?”

“It’s OK. Not anything like what it needs to be, but it didn’t snap when I swung the bat. It’s going to be OK.”

“That’s not funny,” I said, only hearing the word snap.

“No, me lying across that plate in front of my friends would have been no laughing matter. Now I know it won’t break when I swing a little. One day I’ll have to take a full swing and accept what happens when I do.”

My heart began beating again. My anxiety level had skyrocketed. Seeing he was able to swing was a good thing. Seeing him take that first swing wasn’t so hot. It was a moment in time that marked his progress as tangible. Last week he couldn’t swing a bat. This week he could.

I was dripping wet and even the cool evening breeze that finally kicked up wasn’t enough to stop the sweat. I couldn’t wait to get to Mrs. Olson’s and shower. Her air conditioning would make sleep possible, after Evan took us all to dinner.

It was a good life and seeing Andy gain strength made me stronger, once I caught my breath. All I wanted was to see him play the game he loved one more time, but he was in Louisville to see me play. Seeing Evan was a bonus, and Jackie was at Mrs. Olson’s every night.

We did sleep late on Sunday but it was the same routine, once Andy and Evan went over to the park. Evan would go back directly after the game Sunday and Andy would drive back to the house and be on his way to Indianapolis before I got up on Monday morning.

We jumped off to a 3-0 lead in Sunday’s game. It helped beat the heat after another shower came and went. I walked, Jackie doubled me to third, and Babshaw hit a homer to get us a quick lead. We had our best pitcher on the mound and that was a big advantage.

It was August and no one was secure on minor league rosters. By mid-month we lost both our long relief ace and our short relief pitcher, who had performed well all season. There were two management types from Cincinnati talking to Coach Bell and sitting with Evan as they watched the game. Cincinnati was having a good season. They’d make the playoffs and they were looking for fresh players to give their starters some rest late in games.

Anything could happen and I realized Jackie was on the block. He made two really super plays in the first three innings and he hit a homer his second time at bat to move us to a 4-0 lead. In the fourth and fifth innings with runners on base, we turned double plays to end the threat both times. Jackie made solid throws to first in both double plays. I was sure it wouldn’t be long before these guys would be coming for him.

There was a three team trade early the following week. Cincinnati traded a good second baseman and there utility infielder for a starting pitcher and a shortstop, plus a player to be named later. This meant a deal was in the works but no one was talking about it. The opening had been made for Jackie to go to Cincinnati to play second base, but the call didn’t come.

Jackie didn’t pay much attention to what was going on at Cincinnati, his most likely next stop on the baseball fast track. The subject never came up during our off hours and Mrs. Olson talked about what a fine season we were both having. She didn’t miss that I was having a pretty damn good year, even if we weren’t going anywhere.

Evan was back in the lineup Tuesday and then he sat out Wednesday and Thursday’s games. Andy called to say he’d be down for dinner at Mrs. Olson’s Friday evening. He was driving straight from Indianapolis to Louisville. We’d spend the weekend together and he didn’t have another rehab appointment until the following Tuesday.

We were talking about how long we’d sail this winter, and Andy was sorry to tell me that we had to cut it short, because he had to be at rehab every week, except from the middle of December to the middle of January, when we’d sail over Christmas again.

John Paul and Gene had everything in order and they’d had The Do taken out of the water to clean the hall and put a protective coating on it. Everything checked out and there was no major maintenance necessary. Everything was ship shape.

There was a big conference before the Saturday afternoon game. The Cincinnati honchos were back again. I started resenting them. Jackie seemed to play his best ball when someone was there to see him play, but the kid never talked about going up to the bigs. I don’t think he thought about it.

As a fitting reception, Jackie and I led off the game with back to back home runs to jump out in front of the Indians. We’d beaten them 2-0 Friday afternoon. Starting off 2-0 gave me a good feeling. Indianapolis owned us. Beating them two in a row would be nice.

Cincinnati had been holding their own, but they’d made another trade for another relief pitcher. One of the pitchers they’d taken away from us went in a trade to Atlanta. They already had pretty good pitching and that left us with only two reliable starters.

By games end on Saturday we had twelve hits and beat Indianapolis again. We hadn’t beaten them two times in a row all season. Jackie got three hits. I walked twice after my first inning homer, bunted for a hit and move a runner around to third. We both scored later in the inning.

The Indians were already assured of making the playoffs. They were in position to win the championship, which meant they were resting starters and not leaving their good pitchers in games for more than five or six innings. They wanted to keep their pitchers sharp but not tired. We didn’t think we were getting that good, although we moved six games above break even ball for the first time all season.

We were held to one hit and lost 1-0 on Sunday. Indianapolis pitched their three best pitchers, three inning each and they silenced our hot bats, demonstrating that they could beat us any day they liked. Our pitcher pitched seven innings, giving up only one run. It was one run too many but we’d found another starter and that was good.

Why Coach Bell took the 1-0 loss harder than he took any number of loses that season, I don’t know. He wasn’t in a good mood when I stopped to say goodnight after the game Sunday. We exchanged pleasantries. I left him alone, sensing he wasn’t in a talking mood. We did beat the Indians two out of three. We’d been hitting really well up until that day. We sure couldn’t win them all. I wasn’t going to let it get me down.

At dinner I mentioned to Jackie that he might want to keep his bag packed. Everything pointed to him going up soon. I was certain that’s what was at the bottom of Coach Bell’s sour disposition. Jackie looked at me like I was crazy.

“Evan said not for another year,” Jackie said, draining his iced tea.

“Evan told you that?” I asked.

“Too young. Don’t get your hopes up. Probably a year or two here before they’d want me in Cincinnati,” he said. “I’m in no rush. I just got here.”

“He told you a year, maybe two?”

“Yep. Could I have more iced tea please?” Jackie asked, and Mrs. Olson poured him more. “Can’t seem to get enough to drink.”

“Something has Coach Bell’s goat. Those Cincinnati scouts have been hanging around like vultures. I was sure they told him they were taking you with them. He wasn’t happy about Floyd and Tony going over there. They’d done the job all season,” I said. “It is disappointing.”

“Don’t know. Don’t have nothing to do with me. Evan talks to those guys every time they come over here looking around. Like you say, they’re pulling good players out of here right when we’re feeling our oats. We could get in the playoffs we keep playing like we have been.”

“No we can’t. We’re third in the league and there’s no way we can pick up eight games on the second place team in little more than a month. They’re not going to let us pick up that many games. If we start to get close, they’ll start playing their first stringers the entire game until we’re out of the picture. We’ve been lucky they haven’t been playing us hard down the stretch. They don’t need to.”

“I want to get in the playoffs,” Jackie said.

“Maybe next season,” I said. “You’ve had a good year.”

“You haven’t done bad yourself,” Jackie said.

“No, not bad at all, but I’ve been at it a lot longer than you have.”

“That’s true. Six months ago I was working at the mill. Never thought I’d be playing ball for a living, and they’re paying me to do it. That’s the cats meow,” Jackie said, smiling before he began to laugh.

Chapter 24

Too Many Shortstops

We broke even the following week. We won 3 and lost 3. Sunday would give us our final chance to get to seven games above the five hundred mark. We were still playing pretty good ball.

The heat had subsided for two days at the end of the week but the humidity refused to drop. It’s not isn’t something you adapt to the more you are exposed to it. Humidity was draining and it wore you down.

A thundershower held up Sunday’s game. We stayed in the clubhouse until almost three in the afternoon. When I first came out to do some stretching exercises, steam was coming off the field. It was so damn hot that the rain was turning to steam. The humidity must have been two hundred percent. It turned out to be the hottest day in a week.

When I came to the plate, once the game got started, I felt like I had been put through a wringer. It took four pitches to strike me out. The bat never left my shoulder. Jackie passed me on his way to the plate with a bounce in his step. Oh to be nineteen.

I stood by the water cooler and drank two cups of water. Coach Bell took his eyes off the field to watch me drink. It was an unusual use of his time. His eyes left me to look at Jackie after his bat cracked with a distinctively explosive sound. The ball was going to go a long way. I turned around to find the ball.

As I was finishing my second cup of water, Jackie hit his twenty-fourth home run of the season. The less than a thousand fans stood and applauded like it might be the difference in a tight game. Jackie rounded the bases like he’d just hit the homer that won game seven of the World Series. The kid was enthusiastic to say the least. Didn’t he know it was hot?

It began to drizzle while Jackie was still running the bases. People began to scramble for cover when the drizzle turned into big noisy drops. The rains came to stay this time. It was approaching four thirty in the afternoon and there was one out in the bottom of the first inning. The game was supposed to start at one.

Evan stepped up out of the dugout to greet Jackie on his way back to the bench. They stood with their heads together as it poured down on them. They talked like they’d known each other forever. Evan patted his shoulder and they ducked back under the cover the dugout offered. Evan’s polo shirt was now soaked. I could tell the rain water from the sweat. A nice shower would feel good, I thought.

Man it was hot. There wasn’t a breathe of air anywhere near Louisville. Coach Bell sent his players into the clubhouse as the umpires ran for cover. The shower turned to a thunderstorm. The stands were drenched and what few fans decided to stay, retreated to the concession stands for a hot dog and beer break. Maybe we could make it a night game.

The grounds’ crew rolled out the tarps to save the field if they could. I watched them working and took another cup of water. I didn’t stand out in the rain. I only looked like I did. I stepped into the tunnel that led to the locker room and the cool air would have been too cool if I hadn’t been too hot. I unbuttoned my shirt so it no longer clung to me.

“You may as well hit the showers, stud. They ain’t playing this game,” Evan said. “The outfield was sloppy before it started raining again.”

He stood a few feet from my locker as Jackie sat on the bench in front of him.

“I guess not,” I said. “What’s Evan Lane going to do?”

“Head home. The shoulder held up pretty well last night. I might pinch hit a few days. I don’t know if I should be making any long throws from the outfield for a week or so. They’re gearing up for a playoff run and they want me rested and healthy.

“I can’t hang around there and not play. It just worries me.”

“Worry? What the hell does the fifty million dollar man have to worry about, Lane?” I asked.

Coach Bell stood in the doorway to his office looking at me like he wanted to talk, but he didn’t move or say anything when he saw Evan talking to me.

“What’s money got to do with it. I’m a ballplayer. Not playing is what I have to worry about. It’s matter of timing and reflex,” he explained.

“You’ve played every game this year. Relax a few days and enjoy it. Once you boys hit the playoffs, there won’t be any rest. You’ll be glad you took this time off.”

When I looked again, Coach Bell was gone from the door. I made a mental note to stop to see what was on his mind on my way out.

“You sit on our bench and don’t play, Evan,” Jackie reminded him.

“I’m worried I’ll get rusty. Timing is everything in my business.”

“I know that business,” Jackie said. “You don’t have anything to worry about. I was out a ball a year and I had my timing back in a few weeks. I don’t mind telling you I was worried I wouldn’t.”

“You’re a natural kid. You’ve got all the tools. I’m not nineteen, and once you hit thirty, things don’t work quite so well as when you’re a teen.”

“When your twenty-seven either,” I said.

“You two sound like a couple of old ladies. You’re king of the home run and you play shortstop like you were born doing it. With age comes experience and I’d like to have a little of what you two have,” Jackie confessed. “I wouldn’t have much to worry about if I was either one of you.”

“Kid, you just don’t know the half of it. Once you’re on top, there’s a long way to fall,” Evan said. “Once you’re on top, you don’t dare look down.”

“Yeah, I’m on the top of it all right,” I said. “I’d be out of ball if it wasn’t for Andy. I couldn’t afford to play a game for a living and not make enough to pay for my own dry cleaning. If it wasn’t for Mrs. Olson, I’d look like hell doing it.”

“How much would they have to pay you to get you to play ball, kid,” Evan asked Jackie.

“Me, shit, I’d pay them so I could play,” Jackie said without hesitation.

“Me too, kid. Just don’t tell them that,” Evan said. “I’ll take there money, but I’d play for nothing. Paying them is a bit of a reach though.”

“You mean that?” I asked.

“Yep,” Evan said. “But I worry. They won’t let me take batting practice over there. I hurt my shoulder making a throw. I put too much mustard on it. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to take batting practice. That’s why I come over here. I sit on your bench because I like you guys. You’re my kind of people,” Evan explained. “When I sit on the bench over there, I’m thinking of the escape route I’ll take to avoid being asked the same question for the ten thousandth time when I leave to go home.”  

“I hear that,” I said. “You looked good last night. A few days off aren’t going to hurt you, Evan. You’re five homers ahead of the next guy and you are twenty runs batted in ahead of everyone. You get a day off.”

“Four. Kramer hit one last night. What about that Andy. I didn’t know I’d be around to see his first swing. The way he stood there after he swung, I wasn’t sure he was OK.”

“Me either,” I said. “Glad he got it over with. I think that was the biggest swing of his life. Taking that swing means he knows he can swing a bat now. That’s a big deal in him knowing he can come back.”

“Damn right it is. He’s on his way back all right. Me, I’m on my way back to Cincinnati. We’re still a month away from the playoffs and they’re resting players already. We get too careful and we won’t even make the playoffs. They make me nervous when they get too careful.”

“Whose on second?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Third base,” I said, smiling.

“Third base?” Evan asked confused.

“That old baseball skit. Abott and Costello. “Whose on First.””

“Oh, yeah, that little fat boy use to do that one. I heard it when I was a boy.”

“Second base?” I asked. “The trade. Little Jackie here. Remember him? Remember Cincinnati?”

“They’re getting two players from Atlanta that haven’t been named. We’ve got a good utility infielder, Arnold. He can play any of the positions, but he started as a second baseman. He hits well. They benched Prather you know. Paid that mofo twelve super large and he can’t get the bat off his shoulder.”

“I know the feeling,” I said.

“Never seen anyone go down hill as fast as he did. Benching him could snap him out of it, but he hasn’t contributed a thing this season. He was the king of the hill when I got there. Best little short stop around.”

“Watch it buddy. I happen to know a pretty good shortstop myself.”

“Around Cincinnati. Can’t say he played any better than you, Dooley. He just got more money doing it.”

“Any money is more than I get,” I said sadly.

““What a waste of money on him. There’s talk we’ll make one more trade to strengthen the infield. At least one Atlanta player is coming to Louisville. I heard that buzz. The player to be named later is the mystery man. Probably haven’t finalized it yet. The wheeling and dealing isn’t over yet. The last time Jackie’s name came up, the word was he had to have a year of organized ball before they wanted to look at him.”

“Told you,” Jackie said. “I don’t want to go over there and sit on their bench. Hell I can go back to Comet Rice at home if I don’t want to play baseball some more. I need to play every day.”

“You got our best pitcher and our best reliever. We’re still holding our own,” I said. “I hope you guys don’t take anymore of our guys. We’re barely holding our own. They raided us last year,” I reminded him last year.

“Name of the game, Dooley. You guys grow ‘em, we pay ‘em the big bucks to come play with us,” Evan explained happily. “Coach Bell’s got a reputation for turning over some of the best talent in the minors.”

“Games called. You boys can go home,” someone yelled from the tunnel.

“Told you,” Evan said. “Since we’ve got time on our hands, I’ll take you and Jackie to the Steak House. I want some of those onion rings before I go home. I’ve been thinking about those onion rings all day. I told Andy to stay around for dinner but he said he needed to get back home.”

“Talked me into it. You’ll have to treat. I spent my allowance and don’t get another fifty bucks until the end of the month,” I said. “Andy has things he wants to do before he spends the entire week in Indianapolis. He’d rather hang out here with us, but that’s not what’s on his mind.”

“You need a loan, Dooley. I can let you have a little. Low interest rate too,” Evan smiled.

“No, I got to live on fifty bucks a month. Andy wants to supplement it but he pays all the bills already. I’ve got to make do.”

“You let me know if you change your mind. I’ll beat the loan sharks rate on account we’re friends.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Let me go see what Coach Bell wants. He’s been giving me the long hairy eyeball all day. I won’t be able to relax until he tells me what’s on his mind. I’ll shower over at Mrs. Olson’s.”

“I’ll meet you over there. I can use a glass of her iced tea. She doesn’t care for the Steak House but I’ll ask her if she wants to go. She might want their salad or something.”

“Yeah, you do that. She may not have dinner on for us yet. We’ve been held up for rain most of the day. She probably won’t start something until she has an idea what time we’ll be in.”

Evan walked toward the exit that would take him to his car. Jackie changed his shirt and I went to Coach Bell’s office. I knocked twice and opened the door when no one answered. The office was empty. I closed the door and regretted not talking to him before he left. I walked back toward the general managers office to see if he was there but everyone was gone.

I’d have to wait until Monday to find out what was going on. It always made matters worse when Coach Bell slept on something that was eating at him. Nothing I could do about it now. If I called him at home about baseball, he’d hang up on me. If he wanted to talk baseball when he was at home, he called me.

By the time I walked back to the locker room the word was there would be no Monday makeup game. We’d play a double header in September to make up for today’s rainout.

Evan was in rare form and we had a great time at dinner. The Steak House was a place he frequented when he played in Louisville. All the people there knew him and liked him. He acted like a regular guy and they treated him like one. Except for people asking him to sign things, it was like going to any family restaurant.

Jackie took it all in. He was studying for a part he was almost certain to play one day in the near future. He acted like he didn’t have a care in the world.

I went into Coach Bell’s office the next day to see if he wanted to talk about whatever was on his mind, and he wasn’t there. Since there was no game Monday, there was no formal practice, but guys came to loosen up. My heart wasn’t in it. I went home to wait for Andy’s phone call.

I talked to Andy and he was at his hotel in Indianapolis. He was finished with his morning session and he would go back after lunch. They’d added an hour to his daily routines when he insisted. They’d added an extra day that each week as well, making it five days a week from now on. He didn’t act as if it was a very big deal.

“Coach Bell called for you just before you came in,” Mrs. Olson said, after I hung up from Andy’s call.

“I’ll call him,” I said. “If he called me I’m just answering his call.”

“No, he’s in Cincinnati. Said to be in his office at ten tomorrow morning. He has something he wants to discuss with you,” she said.

“He’s in Cincinnati?”

“That’s what he told me,” she said. “Could be why he was out of sorts yesterday. He doesn’t like driving over there from what you say.”

“No, he doesn’t, but why didn’t he tell me that. He didn’t tell me anything. He was just in a sour mood,” I said. “I guess he’ll tell me when he wants me to know. I just work there.”

“Probably was told to come for a meeting. He probably had plans that didn’t include Cincinnati,” Mrs. Olson said.

“Said we had at least one player coming our way in the Atlanta trade. That could be what they are talking about. You think Evan knows what he’s talking about. Jackie isn’t going up this season? He’s the real deal.”

“Don’t know. Not like Evan to say something that isn’t true. He knows everything that’s happening over there. They don’t do much without letting him in on it. He’s a substantial presence on that team?”

“Yeah, he knows the language in the trades they made, but Jackie’s playing good ball. They traded their best second baseman. I’d have bet he was on the way over there.”

“I heard that. They make a lot of moves this time of year. You can’t out think those boys. You can bet they’re looking at anyone that might help them advance this season. They’re in the hunt and they want to go all the way,” she said.

“Don’t we all. Where is Jackie?”

“Said he was going up to get a shower. I told him I’d call him when it was time to eat. He’ll be back downstairs looking for food before I have anything ready. Typical boy. Eats all the time and gets thinner.”

I sat at the table with a glass of iced tea and ran all the facts through my brain. I didn’t like it. Whatever was up, Coach Bell didn’t like it. I knew him well enough to figure that much out. Maybe Mrs. Olson was right. He had to go to Cincinnati and he didn’t want to go. That’s probably what he wanted to tell me when he looked at me from his office door.

We watched Field of Dreams after eating an early dinner. It was one of those movies that gave me cold chills. It also gave me a since of how universal baseball was. People’s lives were built around the game. It was the National Pastime for a reason. It was a game of skill and grace, not to mention timing. It’s a game of power and preciseness. You never knew when you time had come or when it ended, but the game went on.

It rained overnight. At first there was lightning and thunder. Then the steady rain followed. We’d be lucky to get in the next day’s game, I thought as I laid in bed.

It was late when I fell asleep and it was late when I got up. I wanted to be in Coach Bell’s office when he arrived, but if there was no game he would take his time coming in to check the field and tell everyone to go home if the game was called.

The lights were on and the doors were open when I got to the locker room. The rain was gone but no one had come in yet. Coach Bell’s office door was open and he was sitting behind his best, writing names on the lineup sheet he’d hand to the umpire before the game before the game.

“Morning, John,” he said as soon as I got to the door. “Close the door.”

He went back to writing. He was dressed in his uniform and had a fresh haircut, probably got it cut before he went to Cincinnati. His cup of coffee was still steaming. He hadn’t been there very long. I wish I’d gotten a cup before going to his office.

“Have a good trip?” I asked.

“No!” he said. “You know better.”

He looked up at my face without moving his head and he scratched something out and wrote another name in its place.

“We losing Jackie?”

“No!” he snapped and didn’t look up until he put his pen down and pushed the lineup sheet to the top of his desk.

“Have I done something. Just tell me.”

“No. You haven’t done anything.”

“If you aren’t going to tell me what’s got your panties in a wad, I’ll leave you alone.”

 “No,” he said.

He was looking at me the same way he looked at me from his door the day before. Whatever it was it had nothing to do with him being pissed about being called to Cincinnati. The trouble was right here in Louisville.”

“You’re really making me nervous,” I said.

“Sorry, John. Write it off to needing to do the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. I don’t want to do it, but it’s not my decision. I manage this team. I don’t run it. It’s run from upstairs.”

“Does it have to do with me?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

“You remember when you came and I told you that I got a say in everything the team did, but I didn’t make the final decision?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The player to be named later that Cincinnati is acquiring from Atlanta has been named now. It’s Andre Bower.”

“The shortstop?” I asked with surprise.

“The shortstop. My orders are to play him, John.”

“Coach, I’m a better shortstop than Bower. I’m hitting better than he ever has. Even if he was called up to the majors, he’s been sitting on Atlanta’s bench in Atlanta for two years.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, John. I told you I get a say. I don’t make the final decision.”

“That’s where you were yesterday?”

“That’s where I was yesterday. I called the meeting to get it straight from the source. They said to come yesterday. That’s why there was no makeup game. There’s more, John.”

“I need a cup of coffee. I’m not believing this. It’s the best year I’ve ever had. I’ve never played as well as I’m playing now.”

“Remember what I told you about shortstops, John?”

“Something about we’re investments that clubs pick for the long haul. I need something to drink. I need some air.”

“The shortstop is the key to any infield. You don’t just give him a glove and pop him into your infield. Most shortstops play years before making it to the big show. Once they make it, most clubs expect their man to be there for a long time. The shortstop runs the infield.”

“I am a shortstop. I know that. I need some coffee, Coach. If you’re telling me what I think you’re telling me, I’m going to need more than coffee,” I said, and I got up and walked out on him without waiting to be dismissed, which I’d never done before.

I went to my locker and got out my coffee cup. I stood holding it and my mind went blank. I couldn’t remember what I was there for. I put my game hat on and took it off, brushing my hair back before putting my coffee cup back on the shelf. I closed the locker door.

I sat down hard on the bench and my mind was blank.

Was it over?

Chapter 25

Short A Shortstop

    Sitting on the bench in front of my locker, I felt alien. It was almost like I didn’t belong here. My mind settled on nothing it could grasp.

Coach Bell was back in his doorway. He gave me his long unhappy look that had been part of my life since I began playing varsity ball my sophomore year in college. He didn’t speak for longer than usual. I ignored him, which is something I’d never done before. This was about me now, not him. I had to deal with this in a way I could understand.

“John, you’re not making this very easy on me. Come back and let’s finish up and call it a day. I want to get this over with. I’ve been living with this for days.”

I didn’t stand up right away. I didn’t get my coffee cup. I didn’t get any coffee. I settled back in the chair in front of Coach Bell’s desk a few minutes later. His eyes didn’t leave me after I came back into his office.

“We’ve been together for ten years, John,” he said softly, as if I might not remember.

“Nine. You left for my senior year. This is my sixth season in Louisville. I had four seasons on varsity at Sate,” I said, being full of facts to keep the inevitable from entering the conversation for another few seconds.

“Yes, I recall you didn’t make that very easy on me either,” he said after a pause to consider my words. “They’ll send Bower here. He’s probably already here but hasn’t reported. He’s the official starting shortstop, according to the front office. This is how they proposed it to me,” he said, letting me know it was the orders he got. “We’ll need to have a day to honor your time here, John. I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe at the end of the season you can come back so the fans can say goodbye. You’ve been here a long time, John. You’re Louisville’s most recognizable player.”

Coach Bell was wandering. I wondered if he might be losing his grip. This was like no conversation I’d ever had with him. He seemed to have as little grasp on the point he was making as I did.

“When I sent for you to my ballplayers, I figured you’d be around for a while, because you’re so good at what you do. I began to think we’d grow old together, John.”

“Coach, you were old when I got here,” I said bluntly.

“Don’t remind me. I feel old today. You’ve got a good baseball mind, John. It’s why I’ve always talked things out with you. Even if I didn’t intend to follow your advice, I wanted it to weigh against my own thoughts. You often could come up with an aspect of a situation I hadn’t considered.”

“Why don’t you spell it out so we can get this show on the road,” I said, not being particularly happy to be there. 

“You know they’ve benched, Prather?” Coach Bell said, clearing his throat like we were getting somewhere now.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s in all the papers.”

“They’ll release him tomorrow.”

“They’re going with one shortstop. What if he’s injured?” I asked, thinking this was stupid. “Why send Bower here. Why not have him go straight to Cincinnati. Why screw with my job?”

Coach Bell leaned back in his chair as I spoke. A look came across his face like I didn’t get it. It was the same look that I thought might be on my face. I didn’t get it. This was all an exercise in lousy planning. Even I could see a hole in their plan big enough to drive a Mack truck through.

“John, they don’t want to waste a spot on the roster. Cincinnati is going to the playoffs and they want to make use of every player. Prather didn’t figure into the club’s long range plans. They gave him a one year contract because it was time to get the shortstop to replace him.

“You can’t report until the official release is announced. I’m telling you now so you can get your house in order. I’m not supposed to tell you until after they release Prather. He’s got a big following after ten years. Malone will begin playing a little second base. After a week you’ll become the starting shortstop. It’s all very well planned to make your transition to Cincinnati easier on everyone. Heading for the playoffs will have the excitement level up. By the time they realize you’re replacing Prather most fans will have moved on. It’s not like they have a big attention span.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, finally hearing the fact he should have started the conversation with if he didn’t want my mind racing all over creation.

“They want you Thursday. They’ll list you as a late season pickup. They’ll call you a utility infielder.”

“Pickup? I’m going to Cincinnati?”

“John, what do you think I’m telling you? Prather is out. What do you think all the attention has been about all season. We’ve had Cincinnati officials here every week for months. You played with their infield in spring training. You thought they were just wasting everyone’s time. Come on, John, you’re smarter than that. You’ve been under glass all season.”

“I thought they were here looking at Jackie,” I said. “No one said anything to me. The fuss was over Jackie.”

“Yeah, that’s a big reason for them to want to keep an eye on us, but Prather stopped hitting in May. His fielding hasn’t been top notch for two seasons now. They’ve been looking at you to make sure they didn’t need to go out of the system for Prather’s replacement. You picked a damn good time to have your best season, John. They’ve wanted you all season but they couldn’t release Prather after paying him all that money. They’ve got bosses too. This way it looks like they got most of a season out of him.”

“I’m going to Cincinnati?” I said, trying out the words. “I thought you were releasing me.”

“I am, John. I’m releasing you to go to the majors. You’re in the big show now. Not quite yet. Thursday it becomes official. They won’t play you for a few games. The plan is to start bringing you in late in games in early September. Malone, who is playing shortstop, will move to second base. He began as a second baseman so it’s also a move they’ve been planning. He’ll go back to utility duty once they move Jackie over next season. Malone knows what his role is.”

“Wow! Can I go home to tell Andy?”

“Sure. I can’t play you. We release you. Louisville did while I was over there yesterday. You’re technically wearing the wrong uniform, John. They’ll have uniforms for you when you get over there. You can stay with Evan until you have time to make your own living arrangements. He’s looking forward to playing ball with you again. He has an extra bedroom his wife has all ready for you.”

“Let me ask you a question. Did Evan know this is what was going on? I mean all the scouting and Cincinnati officials spending so much time in Louisville. Did Evan know they were looking at me and not Jackie?”

“Not much Evan doesn’t know. They ran it by him after Prather stopped being effective. He told them you were the man they wanted at shortstop. Didn’t hurt your stock any with Evan promoting you.”

“All the time he’s been over here the last few weeks and he never let on. Not even a hint. I can’t wait until I get to talk to him,” I said.

“Clear out your locker, John. Better tell Mrs. Olson before you go home. She’ll be sorry to see you leave. Good thing we got Jackie for her to mother. I think she likes having one or two ballplayers still rooming with her. She’ll miss you. You’re like a son to her.

“A lot of that going around. You and Andy have been like sons to me. I’ll miss our conversations, John. You have one of the best baseball minds I’ve ever coached. I wish you success. I have no doubt you’ll play ball over there just as well as you’ve played for me all these years.

“I have a number here for you. It’s what they’ll pay you to play for them the rest of the regular season. You don’t have to accept this and I have the name of an agent Evan recommended you talk to about the contract you negotiate with them. This is probably a little low, because they won’t show you everything the first offer. According to how far they go in the playoffs and how you perform to what they’ll pay you for the extra games after the regular season,” Coach Bell said, sliding a piece of paper toward me.

“This is for real?” I asked. “You didn’t add a zero?”

“John, don’t ask them that once you’re over there. It’s not the kind of thing big league clubs joke about. Whenever money is discussed, it’s for real.”

“Five hundred thousand dollars to play six weeks of ball?”

“Five weeks. You won’t play right away. They paid Prather twelve million to dick around for five months. It’s an opening offer. Your agent will instruct you on how he wants to play it. I suspect if you stick around for the playoffs, that number will double if Cincinnati wins against their first playoff opponent. Win the league championship and it’ll double again; maybe triple.”

“Stop, you’re killing me. They’re going to pay me this to play baseball?”

“You’re in the big time now, John. Money is no object when a club wants something. This is the tip of what you might make between now and the final game of the playoffs. Every time they advance, your pay goes up.”

“Wow! I wasn’t thinking in terms of money, only of playing big time baseball.”

“You’ll have advisors and investment opportunities for your money. I’d keep it separate from Andy’s so if anything goes wrong with one of your investments, both of you aren’t hurt. That’s my opinion. I am neither an agent or a money funds manager. I’m just a coach that’s got to say goodbye to a man he’s watched grow up into quite a ballplayer. We better break this up so you can take care of business.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my eyes misted over all of a sudden.

It was a hard goodbye. I’d be back, but it would never be the same.

I was still somewhere between confused and confounded. I’d gone from thinking I might be out of baseball to being as deep in baseball as I could go. I wasn’t just going to Cincinnati to warm their bench the last month of the season. I was going to Cincinnati to play shortstop. I never thought this day would come. I never thought I would make it to the bigs.

I didn’t say goodbye to Mrs. Olson. I left my clothes there. Andy would want to come down some days to visit with Coach Bell. I’d come back over when our schedules matched up. Jackie was flabbergasted. After all my talk about him going up, I ended up being the one making the move. It was an option that hadn’t been mentioned. He was happy for me and told me he’d be looking forward to meeting me over there. It was a good thought.

I called Andy from Mrs. Olson’s and told him he’d need to come home tonight. We needed to talk and he might tell them he needed Wednesday off for family business. He wanted to know what was going on. I wouldn’t tell him on the phone. I said I had news that couldn’t wait.

Driving home was about the weirdest I’d ever felt. I’d worked all my life to be the best shortstop I could be, but I never thought I was good enough to make it to the big leagues. After college I had been out of ball. Coach Bell called for me to come to Louisville. Louisville is where I learned my trade on a professional level. Now I was going to the majors.

*****

Andy didn’t get home until an hour after I got there. I’d opened the windows to let out the afternoon heat. I turned down the bed while I was upstairs. I knew what I wanted to do after I broke the news to Andy. It was a pleasant day and the house didn’t smell musty or like it had been closed up for ages.

When Andy got out of his car, he walked up to mine, looking in to see if there was anything that might indicate what I had to tell him. He walked up onto the front porch and I came bouncing out the front door.

“Hi,” I said. “How’s rehab?”

“Fine. What’s the big mystery? You OK? You’re not sick?”

“I’m OK. I’m fine too. I wanted to come home before I went to Cincinnati,” I said calmly.

“What’s in Cincinnati. Don’t you have a game you should be playing right about now? I didn’t look at the schedule, but it is Tuesday.”

“No, I’m going to Cincinnati,” I said.

“You said that. Why aren’t you in Louisville?”

“I’m going up,” I said, and I could see it dawn on him.

“Cincinnati called you up? They benched Prather,” he remembered.

“Cincinnati called me up,” I said.

I was in his arms, or he was in my arms. We hugged and kissed and hugged and kissed some more.

“I had to tell someone, and I said to myself, ‘who do I want to tell,’ and here I am.’”

He pulled me against his chest and he kissed me again.

“I’ve been wondering when they’d call you up. That’s great.”

I wasn’t sure how Andy would take my advancement. He was out of it and now I was the one who would be playing big league ball. His reaction told me all I needed to know. He was as happy as I was. He may have been happier than I was. I was a little scared, so happy wasn’t complete.

I’d had it easy for a long time. I’d played at a level of ball that was no longer a challenge for me, and now I was moving up to a level of ball that demanded excellence. You didn’t get second chances to be a major league ball player if you bombed your first time around. There were only so many positions and a lot of players standing in line to fill it.

“When do you report?” Andy asked.

“Thursday. They’ll let my presence sink in before announcing I’m moving into Prather’s spot. I’ll spell Malone in the late innings for a few games and then I’ll start at shortstop in early September,” I said.

“I’ll be damn. You’re going to the bigs. It’s about time.”

“I didn’t think I was going. I thought Coach Bell was cutting me,” I said. “He wasted a lot of time talking about details before he got to telling me Cincinnati had picked me up.”

“Cutting you. You’re the most solid player on the team.”

“They got Andre Green in the Atlanta deal. He’s the player to be named later. He’s taking over as shortstop in Louisville. It’s the first thing Coach Bell told me. I didn’t connect the dots. I was in shock.”

“He’s riding the bench in Atlanta. He’s a fair shortstop. He’s not nearly the player you are. He might be okay if he plays regular.”

“I don’t know. He’ll have to figure that out on his own.”

“Where for dinner, my love. We’re going to celebrate. You’ve got until Thursday. It’s only a little further to Cincinnati from here than it is to Louisville,” Andy said. “I told them not to expect me back until Monday.”

“I know Evan drives it, but he’s going from Cincinnati to Louisville.”

“We’re straight north of Louisville. You can drive straight over there from here. Probably two and a half to three hours. Not Interstate but good highway. I can drive there instead of Louisville. Do, I’m glad one of us is in the majors. Makes me feel better about my rehab. If I don’t make it….”

“You’ll make it, Andy. I know you’ll make it. We’ll still go to see Coach Bell. I left things at Mrs. Olson’s so we can stay there when we go to Louisville. She was happy about that.”

“Can’t leave Mrs. Olson without a baseball player or two to take care of. I think we keep her young. You think she’d like to go sailing?”

“No,” I said. “I think she’s a landlubber.”

“That’s what I think too,” Andy said.

We showered and dressed to go out for dinner in Indianapolis. It was almost dark by the time we got to the restaurant. We’d decided on Thai food. It was superb and the people were as pleasant as anywhere I’d eaten. Andy had been told about the restaurant by someone in rehab with him. It was the perfect night for a new experience in food.

It was chilly by the time we got home and with all the windows open. We got them closed before we got into the bed I’d turned down that afternoon. I was careful to be sure that Andy got enough exercise to make up for anything he got out of by leaving rehab early. The truth was Andy gave me all I could handle and he was willing to keep going after I’d run out of getup-and-go.

Curling up in his arms was the perfect finish to a perfect day. It had all started with my future in doubt and it ended with me being on top of the world, and with Andy kissing my neck as I drifted off to a peaceful sleep. My life was perfect.

***** 

It took me three hours from the driveway at the house until I was sitting in front of the Cincinnati ball yard. I had a pass that came with the paperwork Coach Bell gave me and they opened the gate to allow me to park in the players parking lot.

I left my car among the Mercedes and sports cars and went toward the stadium. A guard stopped me before I got to the first ramp.

“I’m John Dooley. I’m reporting to play for Cincinnati,” I said.

“You’ve come to the right place. Louisville shortstop. You’re here to replace Mr. Prather. They cut him loose yesterday,” the guard said.

“Yes, sir. That’s what I understand,” I said.

“Just call me Gus, Mr. Dooley. I was told to keep my eyes open for you. I saw you drive into the player’s lot. Welcome to Cincinnati.”

“Thank you, Gus. Just call me Do.”

“Yes, sir. What you want to do is follow this staircase to the top level. You’ll be behind the offices. Go left and take the first right and you can ask anyone where you need to be. They know you’re coming.”

“I want to go down to the field before I report. Is there any way I could do that?”

“Mr. Dooley, you can do anything you want. You work for us now. This is your house. Follow me. I show you.”

We walked up two long ramps and went around a third of the outside of the stadium. We stopped at the top of a long walkway that led toward the field.

“Follow this ramp. It’ll take you down to field level. You’ll come up behind the plate. I believe that’ll give you the view you’re looking for. When you’re done, walk back up here, turn right, go back where we came in and go up to the top level. The offices aren’t difficult to find. If you have any trouble, just stop the first person you meet.”

“Thanks, Gus,” I said, and I began moving into the center of the ballpark. I was still a long way from the field when the brilliant green grass came into view. The infield dirt was a rich reddish brown. The perfect white chalk lines marked off the field in no uncertain terms.

It was all perfect. This was a real baseball yard. It took my breathe away when I stood in the front row looking out at the outfield. I couldn’t wait to dig my first grounder out of that infield and make the throw to second to start my first Cincinnati double-play.

When I sat down I smelled the fresh cut grass. It was precisely the proper length for ball. I got a whiff of hot dog starting to steam deep in the stadium somewhere. There was a faint odor of peanuts that made me think baseball.

My heart was pounding as I looked out to the left of second base. That was my position. I’d have to learn the hitters to know how to play them effectively. I’d need to learn the moves of the second baseman, as I’d just learned Jackie’s moves to make us more effective.

It was difficult for me to imagine playing in such a spectacular park. Slugger Field was one of the best minor league parks, but this was nothing like that. Andy would come every night starting Friday, until he saw me take the field the first time. Rehab came second to my big league debut. I wasn’t sure how he was going to take the news about me going up but he was thrilled he’d get to share this moment with me. I was thrilled he wanted to be there the first time I played shortstop for Cincinnati.

I’d never thought I’d make it to the majors. My career was starting over. Baseball had become brand new again. 

Chapter 26

First Ball Game

Sitting in Cincinnati, I thought about my past and considered my future. It was too much for one person in a new setting, not knowing what to expect. I had been playing ball since I was fourteen. That was half my lifetime.

As I sat with my thoughts, someone was coming my way. I expected to be rousted out of there by an usher or a security guard. I was sitting in reserved seating, but I wasn’t done yet.

“You must be John Dooley,” Someone said, sitting in the seat next to me. “I’m Leon White. I brought you a hot dog. I put mustard on it. Can’t beat a stadium dog with stadium mustard.”

Leon White was in a light gray suit, red tie, white shirt. It was an expensive suit. I took the hot dog and unwrapped it, taking a bite, savoring the flavor. It was still hot. It was a treat to eat a ballpark hot dog. They were good in Louisville. They were better in Cincinnati. I didn’t think it had anything to do with location.

“I’m Evan’s agent. He asked me to represent you until you decided on an agent of your own. You don’t want to face management alone, John. Do you mind if I call you John, John?”

“No, John is fine. How did you know where I was.”

“Gus. I asked him if you were here yet. He said you wanted to see the field. I figured you’d be early. I figured I’d come early so we could have a few minutes before the meeting. I’m here to talk on your behalf.

“When they see you with me, they’ll know certain things. They’ll put the real offer on the table. I’ll nod or shake my head to tell you what I think. You’ll decide for yourself but that’ll tell you where I am. They may try to low ball you. They know what you make at Louisville. They know the bright lights and glitter might have you signing anything they put in front of you.”

“It’s all moving too fast for me. I’d play for nothing. I’d pay them to play in a yard like this.”

“Yes, that’s why there are agents. You are worth a lot of money, John. Letting the rich bastards have your services at a cut rate price is just encouraging them to be assholes about it. You play for nothing and they think the next guy might play for nothing. They have no conscience when it comes to money. They’ll screw you right to the floor if you let them.”

“The closest I got to management at Louisville was Coach Bell.”

“Evan says he’s one of the good guys. I’m more about the players. Management is management. We can’t play ball without them, but they love taking advantage of someone. They love a bargain. When it comes to money, nothing they won’t do.”

“You’re a cynical son-of-a-bitch,” I said, not softening my first thought.

He went silent. I finished my hot dog. He waited.

“This is the only time I’ll get a first time sitting here. I’m not ready to deal with what the world is like behind the scenes. I want to sit here and take in the perfection right here, right now.”

“Yes, sir. I got it. I’ll go up and wait for you outside the offices if that’s okay with you?”

“That’s fine. Thanks for the hot dog.”

I waited for him to go.

Leon was a reminder that baseball wasn’t all double-plays and sacrifice bunts. Enjoying the moment was over but I wanted to take in what I could for a few minutes. He was part of the big picture and dealing with the money wouldn’t be as simple as it was in Louisville.

I never wanted to stop loving ball. I didn’t want the money to get between me and my love for the game. I didn’t mind finally getting paid what I was worth, but my life wouldn’t be about the money.

That’s probably easy to say when my lover made millions playing ball. Andy provided a service that filled ball parks, padding his employer’s pocket. The amount of money he got was humbling, but when you measured the value received against the dollars spent, Andy was a bargain.

 Louisville didn’t pay me enough to live off of. If it wasn’t for Andy I wouldn’t have been able to stay at Louisville for six seasons. Being able to stay for six seasons put me in the position of being available when the Cincinnati shortstop job opened up. Now I could mark my time in Louisville as training for a better job.

Now came the payoff. I was about to go to a meeting where I’d receive more money for playing the next six weeks than I’d made in my entire life. It was ten times what I’d made in my life. It’s not a meeting I could attend without getting ready. I had to come to see where I was going to play and think about all the places I’d played before. I played in backwaters and now I was going to play the Palace.

This was the big time. It was a dream I’d always had but never saw being within my reach. I was grateful for being able to play minor league ball under someone like Coach Bell for six seasons. When the call came from Cincinnati, I couldn’t process it at first.

Last week I was twenty-seven and content with playing one or two more seasons. This week I was twenty-seven and starting a new career. You just never know.   

I’d feel good about whatever they paid me. It would be a raise, but I had no illusions. They’d give me the six weeks. They’d pay me the big bucks for it. I better produce right out of the gate. I had my six seasons. Now it was time to put up or shut up.

Baseball was my game. I could play baseball. I would produce. I’d run the infield and do a damn good job at it. I didn’t doubt it, even when I wasn’t expecting to be here. I knew my business.

I was ready. I stood up and moved back to the long entry ramp and reversed my steps on my way to the offices. I dropped my hot dog wrapper in the first trashcan I came to. When I turned the corner, Mr. Leon White, my agent, waited for me near a series of doors. He led me through the right one.

The meeting was more than I expected. The general manager, manager, and one of the owners were delighted to welcome me to Cincinnati. I was offered a drink. I took coffee but needed something stronger.

They made me feel welcome.

Leon looked on, apprehension on his face. I was collaborating with the enemy. His enemy not mine. I sensed the sincerity and these men loved baseball as I did. They needed me. They wanted me, and I wanted to be there. We would make a deal.

There were three envelopes beside the owner’s arm when we sat down at the table together. He slid the first envelope aside and picked up the second envelope, putting the third envelop with the first. This would be the middle offer. They had been prepared to show me the $600,000 Coach Bell told me about  first, but they didn’t waste time with it. They went right to door number two..

I didn’t know what was in the envelopes when they handed the middle one to me, but it was obvious once I opened it. I looked at the contract and the amount of money, $750,000, and handed only the contract to Leon without looking back at the owner.

Leon looked at the number, knowing the contract by heart, and he nodded as he handed the contract back to me.

“Pen,” I said, and three came toward me at the same time.

I took Leon’s and signed. A man who had entered during the meeting and sat in a corner stood up to take three pictures while I signed my name.

“Welcome to Cincinnati,” the owner said, coming around to shake my hand.

There were handshakes and more pictures; smiles all around.

The manager said he’d meet me at the clubhouse door when I came downstairs. Leon was waiting for me just outside the door, after the meeting broke up.

“No charge for that, John. I was doing a favor for Evan. I’ll let you make your own arrangements for an agent. I’d advise you not deal with them alone. You’re going to be doing this again in October and probably another time if they go to the World Series. You’ll need representation.”

“You’ll do. You got a card. I’ll call to tell you where to mail your bill and you can mail me any information you think I need. Tell Evan I said thanks.”

“You’ll see him in the clubhouse. His car was in the lot when I drove in.”

“The Bentley?” I asked.

“No, that’s for show. He drives a 70 Camero to the ballpark. That’s his favorite.”

“Leon, I figure you’re as good as any as far as agents go. You interrupted a very special moment. I love ball. I love playing ball. You stick to agenting and I’ll stick to ball playing. I don’t need to know how you feel about my employers.”

“Yes, sir,” Leon said. “They’re going to the playoffs. You’re going to make a lot of money, John.”

“Yes, I am,” I said. “A lot.”

Leon smiled before walking away. He was going to make a lot of money too.

The manager met me at the door to the clubhouse as he said he would. When I say clubhouse, forget Louisville. Louisville had a few rooms behind the dugout that was called the clubhouse. Cincinnati had a fabulous clubhouse with everything you could need or want. There was wall-to-wall carpeting throughout. Even the locker room was carpeted. It was a first class facility.

The manager introduced me to the team as they got ready for the game. My arrival created no excitement whatsoever. I was unknown and untested. These guys were the class of baseball and I was nobody. I’d need to prove myself before I became one of them.

“I’m Malone. I’ll play second to your shortstop,” an approaching player said.

“Hi, I’m looking forward to it,” I said, happy to be talked to.

“Hey, buddy,” Evan Lane yelled all the way across the locker room. “Come on down here. I had them put your uniforms in my area. You can put your things here until we figure out where you’ll have your locker. I’ve got plenty of room. Gets kind of lonely down here.”

I was laughing by the time I got to Evan, who was shirtless, and sounding very much like he owned the whole damn place, or at least was in charge of it. I remembered him from my first days at Louisville. He’d been the one to set me at ease then too.

Every eye was on us as he opened his arm and gave me one of the warmest hugs I’d ever received from anyone but Andy. The Evan Lane stamp of approval had been put on me.

“Hey you guys, this is John Dooley. He taught me everything I know,” Evan said as mouths opened and surprise showed on more than one face.

“I didn’t teach you everything I know, Evan,” I said in the only comeback that fit such a reception.

Everything was there I’d need for bench sitting. I’d be in a Cincinnati uniform, but the only announcement about my arrival was in an article that mentioned three pickups Cincinnati made to strengthen the club in preparation for the playoffs. I still hadn’t been named as Prather’s replacement.

The game was a blur. My first big league baseball game was over almost as soon as it began. I sat on the end of the bench and Evan came over to sit beside me after he batted. The one vivid memory was a seventh inning three run home run by Evan that went high into the bleacher seats. It was the difference in the game. Cincinnati won its fifth game in a row. Malone played shortstop.

The reporters hadn’t picked up on me staying at Evan’s or that Evan was making my transition easier. Whatever Evan Lane said or did was just fine with the rest of the team. As long as he won games, they’d follow him anywhere. I felt the same way.

I followed Evan home in my car after he took his bows and answered questions after the game. I waited for him in the player’s parking lot and we drove into Kentucky and past Lexington to a large plot of land back away from the road. You couldn’t see the road from the house but there were no barriers to prevent someone from driving up to the house uninvited.

Andy called once I had time to be at Evan’s after the game. We talked about his arrival in Cincinnati for Friday evening’s game. The game plan was for me to go into the second of two games in a double header on Sunday afternoon. Malone would move to second base at around the sixth inning and I’d go in at shortstop. The new infield would be in place for the first time. Andy would stay until he saw me play in my first major league game.

“Call me before you’re ready to leave,” I said. “Have you set up a hotel room?”

“Give me the phone, Dooley,” Evan said.

I handed it over when he took it.

“Hey, Green, you skinny mutt. I got a nice room here for you two. It overlooks the lake. You make arrangements for a hotel and I’ll break your other arm. You know you’re welcome here. We don’t have much company. I don’t approve of many people. So get your ass down here,” Evan ordered.

Andy and I had no desire to put anyone out. We were used to doing things our way. Evan only knew about doing things his way, but it was nice and he was easy to be around. He only sounded like he wanted the world to run according to his wishes. Strangely enough, it ran according to his wishes much of the time in Cincinnati.

His wife was out with girlfriends and Evan said that wasn’t unusual during the season. She had a life of her own and she wasn’t involved with baseball wives. I knew just how she felt.

Friday night we lost. We left the ballpark and went out for dinner before heading for Evan’s. Andy looked good and Evan was in rare form. I stayed nervous. It would be easier if I just played ball.

Having Andy there was a distraction and I felt better about being nervous. We won Saturday night. Evan’s bat was quiet. The double-header on Sunday started at one. The stands were full of happy fans rooting on a team that was playoff bound. It was exciting to see.

After the fifth inning ended in game two, we led 6-2, the manager said, “Dooley, go in at Shortstop. Malone take second base.”

I took the field with the Cincinnati team and passed the mound on the way to my position. Malone ran out beside me instead of going to second base, where he moved once I went in at shortstop.

“You’ll be okay. I’ve seen you play,” Malone said, patting my ass.

There was a pitching change announced. They announced Malone moving to second base. They announced a change in right field, as Cincinnati rested its starters for the stretch run. Last but not least they announced a change at shortstop and the words echoed inside my head.

“Now playing shortstop, John Dooley.”

As with any inning change, the fans were busy buying beer and hot dogs and stretching their legs. With a substantial lead the fans thought the game was in the bag and the beer was more important than fielding changes. If anyone heard the name of the guy going in at shortstop, they didn’t react to it. This was the plan.

Being on that field, feeling the infield dirt under my feet for the first time was a good feeling. It exhilarated me to be playing. I was super alert to every sight and sound in the ballpark. I heard the Cincinnati bullpen door slam as a pitcher came out to warm up. The first base coach chattered endless nonsense words. The third baseman pounded his glove with his fist twice. The first warm up pitch stung the leather of the catcher’s mitt. The umpire swept the plate before calling, “Play ball.”

The pitcher stepped off the mound and faced me as he rubbed up the baseball. He stepped back up on the mound to make his pitch. I stood in one spot, moving a foot to one side, and then a foot to the other side as I waited. This was it. It was a waiting game now.

Once I made my first play, I’d be fine. Thinking about that first play would keep me on edge until it was over. We went back to the bench in the sixth inning without the infield making a play. Only one ball was hit in the top half of the sixth inning. It was a fly ball to right. There were two strike outs to go with it. I was still waiting.

I batted fifth in the order and I wouldn’t come up until the seventh or eighth inning. I didn’t dread batting, which was strange. I was a far better fielder than I was a hitter, but coming to bat didn’t bother me. I came to bat three or four times a game. I was in the center of the infield nine innings a game.

The seventh inning began with a strike out. I was afraid it would be another inning when I just stood there. The next batter went to 3 balls and 2 strikes before a really good pitch was just off the outside corner of the plate, and we had a runner on first base.

The pitcher stood facing me and rubbed up the baseball. He couldn’t see me. His mind was inside a baseball and he didn’t like giving up that walk. It took a minute for him to step back up on the mound and stare at the catcher. He shook his head twice, shaking off the first two signs, and he nodded on the third sign. He was throwing a curveball. I already knew his best pitch, and after the walk he wanted to throw his best pitch.

The batter reached out for it as it curved in on him. It was sharply hit on the ground. It took an extra big bounce, hitting the cent of my glove as I rotated on my left foot to fire the ball to Malone. He let the toe of his foot touch the bag and pivoted out of the way of the runner, firing to first base. It was the perfect setup for a double-play. I reacted as soon as the ball was hit The fans were pleased by the double-play, no matter who made it. The inning was over. We went back to the bench.

I didn’t even know I was making the play. My infielder’s instinct kicked in and it was all automatic. I was watching Malone making the throw to first before I realized I’d started my first double-play at Cincinnati. That’s what I’d been waiting for. Let’s play ball.

Dooley was my name and baseball was my game. Yes!

“Good play,” Malone said, patting my ass on the way back to the dugout, staying at my side.

Evan yelled, “Good play, Dooley,” from the other side of the dugout as he came in from the outfield. I wanted to look for Andy but I forgot where he was sitting.

Our pitching was remarkable. The long relief pitcher would take us to the ninth without giving up a hit. He was replaced by the short reliever, but before the pitching change, I’d come up in the bottom of the eighth to bat for the first time.

Malone batted third in the lineup and he was the first to bat in the eighth. He singled. Evan was the cleanup hitter. He came to the plate ahead of me. He doubled Malone to third. A good throw from left fielder kept Malone at third.

As I walked to the plate the crowd was going crazy over the Cincinnati darling, who stood in the middle of second base tipping his hat to the loud crowd reaction to his second hit of the game. By the time things calmed down I was standing at the plate ready for my first official big league pitch.

I didn’t have long to wait for a pitch I liked. I saw it coming. It was a change up. The pitcher was getting tired and the pitch hung up a little too long. I drilled it past second base and I drove in both Malone and Evan. When I stopped running I was on second base, after the throw from centerfield went to home plate.

The applause started again, as Evan crossed the plate. The crowd loved him. I pretended they were applauding me. It was 8-2 and we were cruising in the late innings. The fans would cheer a foul ball from Evan.

I went to third on a ground out and stayed there after a strike out and a fly ball to short centerfield. Malone brought my glove out to me as I started in after the third out.

“Well, Dooley, you’ve already got more hits than Prather got last month. You’re going to be okay,” Malone reassured me again.

“Thanks,” I said, as he split off to go to second base.

I was okay. I would be fine now. I took one ground ball in the ninth and made the throw to first base for the out. I didn’t bat again. The game ended after the opponents got their three outs in the ninth.

*****

At dinner, Evan summed up my big league career.

“Well, Dooley, you’re batting a thousand. You knocked in two runs your first time at bat. Your first big league play was an awesome double-play. It’s all down hill from here,” Evan said.

Andy and I laughed with him. The relief was massive for me.

“I told them a year ago you were the shortstop they wanted to look at. You make me look like a freaking genius, Dooley. I’m going to ask for a raise,” Evan bragged.

“You already make more money than God,” Andy said.

“Thanks, Evan. I’m glad to be playing with you again. You make the game I love even more fun,” I said.

“Wait just a minute here,” Andy objected. “Don’t you two be getting too happy with each other. I still have a stake in this game.”

Evan and I laughed and I was thrilled to be there.

“You think that’s funny, Pittsburgh came to rehab to see about my progress Friday. I’ll start next season at Indianapolis. If the arm holds up, I’ll be back in Pittsburgh by May. They thought I was several months ahead of schedule. That’s about what I figured. They were really happy.”

“Great news, Green,” Evan said, and he flagged down the first waiter to pass to get a bottle of champagne to celebrate.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Didn’t want to upstage the man I love. This was your weekend, Do. This is the spice that goes with it. I didn’t know where I stood until the Pittsburgh officials came calling at rehab. They laid out the plan according to what the reports told them. Mainly, I’m back in ball and I signed a five year contract contingent on how rehab goes.”

“How much they giving you, ole buddy?” Evan asked.

“An obscene amount of money, but not as obscene as yours. You’re still the king of the sluggers, but I’m coming for you, Lane. I’m coming.”

“That’s great, Andy. Both of you are where you deserve to be,” Evan said.

“Both of us in the major leagues at the same time. That’s special,” I said, and Andy squeezed my hand under the table.

“It’ll be even harder during the season to get time together, but Pittsburgh and Cincinnati play a ton of games each season,” Andy said. “We’ll get you a house here and get a hotel when we’re in Pittsburgh.”

My life had always run down a fairly smooth road. I’d fallen in love with Andy before I knew what love was. We roomed together in college for three years. I played ball in college and when I graduated, I put up my glove. I thought I’d played my last game.

Coach Bell called me back to coach at Louisville. I took over at shortstop the first time the spot opened up. I’d played in Louisville for six seasons.

In one week my world was turned upside down. I started the week playing minor league ball. By week's end, I was playing major league ball.

I never saw it coming. 

I was at the top of my game.

I was in The Bigs.

Life was pretty damn good, and so was the game I began to play in high school..

The End of Outside the Foul Lines