Complete Game: The League, Book 1

by Declan Rhodes

  I switched the setting from a left-handed pitcher to right, and then I heard a voice. It was one of the teenagers saying, “Hey, you’re really good.”

  Clicking off the pitching machine, I turned toward the back of the cage. Both of them were standing with fingers gripping the chain link fence. I said, “Hey, thanks. Do the two of you play in high school?”

  The shorter one spoke up and said, “I’m just a sophomore. I haven’t made the team yet, but I would like to. Joey here is starting shortstop.”

  I pushed the business end of the bat into the ground and leaned on the handle. I said, “Well, congrats to you both. To you, Joey, for being a key part of the team and to you..” I held up one hand and pointed to the shorter of the pair. “What’s your name?”

  “Shane.”

  I said, “And congrats to you, Shane, for not giving up.”

  Shane spoke up again and asked, “Do you think you could give us any pointers? We’ve got a few minutes left.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you both just join me. I can add on another hour if we need it, and I’ll see if I can be any help with your swings and batting stances.”

  Joey looked slightly skeptical. He asked, “Did you play in high school?”

  I said, “I was in the minor leagues until I got injured.”

  Shane exclaimed, “Whoa! You’re kidding, right?”

  I laughed and said, “No, I’m not kidding at all. Get in here, guys, and let’s see what we can do.”

  I opened the gate to the cage, and they joined me. The next ninety minutes flew by. I helped with swings and the angle of legs as well as the crouch in preparation to swing. By the time the last of my time elapsed, Joey and Shane were hitting nearly every ball solidly at seventy miles per hour.

  I started to give them handshakes as we wrapped things up, and instead, we just shared big hugs. Joey asked, “Do you play baseball anywhere? Or do you just come and practice like this on your own?”

  I told them I was playing the next night and gave all of the details. Shane said, “Thank you so much, Mr. Powell, you just might have a local fan club.”

  18

  Ian

  Softball practice was hell. To begin with, Blake didn’t ride with me for the first time. He was off doing something else in the city and informed me that he was driving to practice on his own. Reggie rode with me as usual and asked, “So where is your man?”

  I wasn’t ready to tell anyone else what was going on. After a miserable day worrying about the future, I decide to hang on to the idea that it might all just blow over. I said, “He had some other errands to run, so it didn’t make sense for him to drive clear back home and then ride with me. He will meet us there.”

  Relations with Blake at practice were frosty to say the least. I saw Reggie’s brow wrinkle as he tossed a ball back and forth with me while Blake was having an animated conversation with Billy. They high-fived, Blake swatted him on the ass, and then they headed for the outfield to toss their own ball back and forth.

  I split the team into two groups for a short practice game. Blake made the game into a showcase for his own talents. He threw guys out at first by charging slow rollers and then knocked a ball over the fence on a single bounce. He finished up the second inning of our practice game by diving for a ball with his body fully stretched out and coming up with the catch. The entire team applauded his acrobatics.

  I tried to walk up to him and offer congratulations as our squads switched places, but he deliberately walked around me and instead accepted a congratulatory slap on the back from Marshall.

  Reggie cornered me in the dugout. He did his best to be out of earshot of the rest of the team and then whispered in my ear, “What the fuck is going on?”

  I played stupid for just a moment and asked, “What do you mean?”

  He raised a hand, and I thought he was actually going to slap me. Instead he clenched his teeth and hissed, “I’m not an idiot.”

  I shrugged and tried out another approach whispering, “We had an argument, okay? All couples have arguments. We’ll get it sorted out.”

  He raised an eyebrow and then said, “This isn’t the place to talk about it, but after practice, you’re going to tell me more. I don’t let assholes fuck with my friends.”

  * * *

  I struggled through the rest of practice. My game was off. I threw pitches in the dirt three feet in front of home plate. I walked directly up to Blake at third base and asked if he was okay.

  He mumbled, “It’s fine,” and then he tossed a ball to Antonio at second base. I didn’t believe him, but at least I got to hear his voice.

  When practice wrapped up, Reggie said, “I don’t care what you think you’re doing, Ian, but you’re going downtown to the Toolbox with me. Blake isn’t working tonight, is he?”

  I mumbled, “No, he’s not. This is a night off.” Then I said, “But what if he shows up at my house?”

  “Do you have your phone with you?” asked Reggie.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”

  He said, “Well then, if he wants to hear from or see you, he can give you a call or send you a text. It’s not like I’m taking you off the edge of the earth.”

  I said, “Okay, okay, don’t get pissed at me. I’m not very happy, and it’s a little bit hard feeling this way.” I grabbed Reggie’s elbow. When he turned around, I looked into his eyes and said, “This really sucks, you know?”

  “I understand. That’s why you need to take your mind off it. Maybe a couple of gin and tonics along with the cute boys downtown will help. I’m just doing what friends do.”

  The Toolbox was fairly crowded, and Claw was working the bar. I found a small table in the back while Reggie headed to the bar to order drinks. I was busy fumbling with my phone to make sure I didn’t miss anything from Blake, when a stranger walked up to the table.

  He was taller than Blake, but he was blonde with pale skin and deep, blue eyes. I would have guessed that he was a transplant from Minnesota. He spoke immediately and asked, “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most handsome smile in the room?”

  I worked hard to not roll my eyes at the pickup line, and I played along instead. I did my best to force a slight blush and said, “No, but that’s very sweet of you.”

  “Mind if I sit?” asked the stranger.

  I gestured at the stool on the opposite side of the table and said, “Knock yourself out. I have to tell you, though, that I’m not here alone.”

  One eyebrow raised, and he asked, “Boyfriend?”

  I shook my head, “No, just a good friend.”

  Then he leaned on the table, and said, “Seriously, I could have a really happy night just thinking of all the things I could say that would make you smile. Your smile lights up the entire world.”

  He wasn’t succeeding in pushing Blake out of my head, but at least there seemed to be some sincerity around the edges of the over-the-top compliments. I said, “So tell me something about you. First name?”

  He said, “You’re gonna laugh, because my name is actually Sven,” and then he pointed to his hair.

  I laughed softly and then stopped myself. I said, “This might sound very rude, but are you looking for a hook-up? Because if you are, you’ve found the wrong table. Otherwise, sure, Sven, you’re welcome to drink and talk.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “You sound like me.” He said, “I walked up to you and I could see the sad in your eyes behind such a killer smile from clear across the room. I was just hoping I might be able to reduce the sad a little bit.”

  Reggie arrived with the drinks and asked, “Who’s this?” I could see a sparkle of interest in his eyes. Sven was handsome, and Reggie was much more open to pickup lines than me.

  He said, “I’m Sven.”

  Reggie smirked and said, “Good try.” Then Sven’s gazed remained firm, and Reggie asked. “Really? That’s your name? You look like you walked out of a Norwegian Men Of the Month calendar.” Then he mumbled, “And I
’m a dork, too,” before he took a sip of his old fashioned.

  Sven said, “Seriously, guys, I just broke up with a boyfriend, and I was just looking for good guys to hang out with. I don’t want to take anyone home, but I sure could use the company.”

  He joined us for the rest of the evening. As we suspected, Sven was originally from Minnesota, and his family was of Norwegian descent. He was a recent transplant to Milwaukee with a career in banking. He brought a boyfriend of three years with him, and the relationship hit the skids almost at the point they landed in the new city.

  “It’s irreparable?” I asked.

  Sven nodded and said, “I think so. Mind if I ask if you two are single?”

  Reggie pointed at me and said, “This one here is moping around about his boyfriend, but I’m available.” Reggie rolled out such an animated string of winks and nods that both Sven and I laughed out loud.

  Then Sven said to me, “So that explains the sadness in your eyes.”

  I told him the whole depressing story in condensed form. I could see Reggie’s eyes narrow as he heard the complete story for the first time, too. He growled, “Blake is being a fucking asshole, Ian.”

  Sven said, “I’m not saying he’s totally right, but maybe there’s some value of looking at it from your boyfriend’s point of view?”

  I could see Reggie’s attraction to Sven wane, but I was happy to hear the different point of view. It didn’t change my mind that much, but it helped me return to a more human view of Blake.

  Reggie growled into his glass, “I still think he’s a total asshole.”

  Sven patted a big hand on Reggie’s back and said, “Maybe so, maybe so, but it really sucks totally breaking up. Sometimes swallowing pride can be the first step to bigger and better things to come.”

  19

  Blake

  As soon as I stepped on to the field in a baseball uniform ready to warm up with the team, it felt like home. I could hear balls landing “thwack” into gloves. Pitchers were warming up with catchers. I looked around the stands and fans were milling around. Some were eating hot dogs while others were drinking beer. All of the best minor league memories came flooding back.

  I thought about my first game in the minors. I hit a home run in my second time at bat. When I returned to the dugout after rounding the bases, my manager said, “It looks like you might really have a future, Blake. Keep your eyes on the prize and you just might make the big time in a couple of years.”

  He foreshadowed how my minor league career fell apart. I didn’t keep my eyes focused enough on the future. Instead, I got distracted kissing Andy, and my leg shattered.

  Pete walked up to me waving a hand in front of my face. He asked, “Are you still with us, Blake? You seem a little bit distracted.”

  I grinned. “Oh, I was just lost for a second in remembering my minor league days. Those really were some good times.”

  He said, “Well, hopefully you’ve got a lot more to come with us. I’m putting you third in the batting lineup. Do you think that will work?”

  That was my position in the Soft Serves lineup. I batted third just in front of Billy. I saw Billy’s face for a moment in my mind. He whispered to me at the last practice saying, “We’re the best one-two punch in the league, Powell. We can win it all.”

  I chased the thoughts of softball out of my mind and said to Pete, “Yeah, that works. I don’t think you will be disappointed.”

  We were playing as the visiting team which meant we batted first in the game. The first two batters were down on strikes, but I looped a ball into center field and it fell in front of the charging outfielder. It wasn’t a spectacular hit, but it was solid. The opposing pitcher glared at me as I took a lead off first base, and I gave him my poker face stare back.

  Unfortunately, my first time on base in my new baseball league didn’t last long. The next batter hit a ground ball to the shortstop, and I got thrown out at second in a fielder’s choice play.

  I jogged toward the dugout as my teammates were taking the field. Pete tossed my glove to me, and I lined up with the rest of the infield. There was something more slick and efficient about the baseball squad compared with our ragtag group of softball players.

  I got my chance to prove myself to the baseball team in the ninth inning. The game was tied up 5-5 and my teammates were already buzzing about the possibility of extra innings. Pete tried to drum up confidence in scoring at least one run and then holding off the opposition in their final time at bat. I added my voice to that side of the argument.

  The first batter who strode to the plate struck out. It didn’t give us a good start on scoring that run, and a joint moan rose from the team as the third strike was called.

  Then I was on deck as the third batter in the inning. Pete whispered in my ear while I was leaving the dugout. He said, “Just get on base Powell. You don’t need anything fancy. We just need base runners.”

  I nodded in agreement and shouldered my bat. Standing on deck, I took practice swings while our next batter squared off at home plate.

  It only seemed like seconds before the count was already two balls and two strikes. I didn’t want to bat with the possibility that I could be the third out for my new team in such a clutch position. Batting with at least one runner on and only one out was a much better psychologically.

  Unfortunately, I didn’t get a choice in those matters. I cringed when I watched the pop-up leave the bat of the man before me. It drifted high and then came back down directly into the glove of the second baseman.

  I was up with two outs in the ninth inning, no one on base, and my team tied. Pete’s words echoed in my ear. “Just get on base.”

  I jumped on the first pitch with the intent of plugging a hole with a line drive. Unfortunately, I was slow getting around on the ball, and I drove a foul just to the right of first base.

  Words and phrases like, “Straighten it out Powell,” filtered out of my team’s dugout.

  The next pitch was an obvious ball even before it left the pitcher’s hand. I watched as it tailed off the outside of the plate and listened to the umpire calling it a ball.

  My gut told me that the pitcher might fire a fastball down the middle for his third pitch. He would pack it with heat in an effort to prevent me from getting around on the pitch even if I managed to hit it.

  The instinct was correct, and I think the pitcher made a mistake. It was just too perfect of a pitched ball. I set aside any strategy of hitting just a single and threw my weight into the meat of the bat.

  I knew when I heard the bat hit the ball that it was going to put us into the lead. I dropped the bat and jogged toward first base. The ball sailed over the right center fence and my team charged out of the dugout on to the field.

  Pete was the first to greet me after I crossed home plate. He gave me a massive bear hug while other players pounded me on the head. I was a hero in my first game with the team.

  We still had half an inning to play out, but it felt like a formality. One runner reached base for our opponents in the bottom of the ninth with a walk, but he was stranded when the final batter struck out.

  Pete and John insisted that I join them for a drink in a nearby bar simply called Balls. They explained that it changed its name when the stadium built. While we all walked to our cars, I spotted a familiar pair headed my way. I waved off Pete and John saying I would be at the bar shortly and met with two of my new fans.

  Joey and Shane were nearly overcome with excitement. Shane said, “You were amazing Mr. Powell! Could you sign some autographs for us?”

  I chuckled softly. “I’m really just a regular guy, but yeah, I’ll be happy to sign things for you.”

  Shane held out a flyer advertising the league. I quickly scrawled my name and wishes for the best of luck in the future. Then Joey pulled a bright, white, new baseball from his jacket pocket. He said, “I’ve been saving this one for an autograph. I want it to be yours.”

  I took the ball from him and caref
ully signed it. Then I said, “We should exchange phone numbers. I would like to hit balls in the batting cages together again if the two of you are up for it.”

  Joey said, “Wow, yeah. That would be amazing, but give the phone number to Shane. He’s a little more…reliable. I would probably figure out a way to lose it even if it was already in my phone.”

  I reached out and gave Joey a hug saying, “I’ll do that. You guys are great. I sincerely mean that. You’ll probably both be out here in a uniform someday.”

  Shane whispered, “If Joey doesn’t make it the majors.”

  I grinned. “Help him give it his best. You never know what might happen.”

  Pete and John were already in the midst of a rowdy celebration when I joined them in the bar. They bought a round of drinks for everybody, and the response was loud and upbeat.

  When I walked through the door, Pete announced in a loud voice, “This man hit the winning home run!”

  John followed the statement by striking a batting stance and then swinging and shading his eyes to watch the ball sail toward the fence. The rest of the crowd raised beer bottles and rocks glasses while shouting out a cheer.

  Pete grabbed my shoulder and said, “Welcome home Powell, these guys are the best! Whatever you want, the drink is on me. Pick your poison.”

  I grabbed a local beer and leaned back against the bar watching the riled up crowd. John stepped up next to me and said, “That was an awesome start today. I’ve got a line of text messages on my phone asking about you. There is really a big buzz. I can’t wait to see how the rest of the season plays out.”

  20

  Ian

  Blake missed the next game. I expected he might make up an excuse, but he didn’t. He sent me a text message and said that he couldn’t make it. There was no explanation. I sent back a message asking why, and I got a terse response saying, “I just can’t make it.”