Stranded at Third (GAME TIME SERIES)

by Blue Stour

  “This lefty’s got a good move over here,” the base coach reminded Kade. “Don’t get too risky; you’re the winning run.”

  Kade pulled his left foot even with his right, careful to never cross as he led off. He did that three times before stopping with his feet spread and his arms extended straight downward between his legs. His eyes were glued to the pitchers feet and hands.

  “BACKKKK!!!” The coach screamed as the pitcher threw over to the base, forcing Kade to slide into the bag head-first, safely.

  As the first baseman threw the ball back to the pitcher, Kade patiently waited to take his lead, again. Following 9-10 seconds, the pitcher finally threw the ball to his catcher. When Kade realized that the ball was headed toward the batter, the rookie took off for second base. With the score tied and two outs, he knew he could be the winning run as his cleats dug through the infield dirt.

  Running with his eyes looking straight ahead, he didn’t dare look anywhere else for fear of it slowing him down. Then, halfway to second, he heard the most beautiful sound; it was a noise prettier than a songbird makes on a window sill. It was the crack of a wooden bat against the ball; solid contact.

  Kade’s head turned to see where the ball was so he didn’t get hit by a line drive. He quickly realized it was up the gap between the left fielder and center fielder, all the way to the fence. Turning on his jets as much as he could, Kade thought he could possibly score all the way from first base.

  As he rounded second, Kade’s eyesight picked up his third-base coach who was already jumping up and down, circling his arm, and motioning for Kade to score. Putting his head down and sprinting as fast as he could, Kade stomped on third base and headed home with the winning run.

  Then, he jettisoned past the screaming coach who looked as if he were going to fly away because he was still ferociously signaling for Kade to score by making huge, windmill circles with his right arm. Kade had ninety feet to run, and he had to do it in a hurry as the outfielder had picked up the ball.

  It was going to be close.

  Kade was a little more than half-way to home plate as the ball hit the relay-man in the outfield grass, beyond second base. At that point, the shortstop launched a perfect rocket to the awaiting catcher who was bracing himself to tag or to accept a collision as he caught the ball.

  As the ball sailed through the air, six feet above the pitcher’s mound, Kade was falling prone to the ground, beginning his feet-first slide. Then the ball pounded the catcher’s mitt as the backstop caught the ball at eye level. Instantly he brought his left-handed glove to Kade.

  The runner’s right foot extended to the plate as his left butt cheek and outer thigh slid across the ground. The catcher’s mitt hit Kade just below the waist as he slide across the plate.

  Instantaneous silence fell across the Mini Met as everyone waited with baited breath for the umpire’s call. On his backside, Kade looked directly at the umpire holding his mask. The catcher, meanwhile, was in the process of spinning around in anticipation of the call.

  “SAFFFFFFEEE!!!” The ump screamed as Kade jumped to his feet and the catcher hung his head.

  The budding superstar leapt in the air with his arms raised. He was mobbed by celebrating teammates. That one play marked the arrival of the game’s next Five-Tool Player (running, arm strength, throwing, hitting for average, and hitting for power). Kade’s game-winning slide into home plate had marked the end of a productive first season.

  A week later, Kade went to spend the winter in back in Michigan under the tutelage of Coach Lozons’ son, DJ. The coach of a nationally-competitive amateur club, Inferno Baseball, continued to work with Kade throughout his off-season in gymnasiums. He concentrated on the budding superstar’s base-running techniques and already-improving defensive abilities. The younger Lozon assured Kade that he was close-to ready as the ’93 season rolled around.

  In January, just seven months after he was the hot-shot third baseman at U.S.A., he got The Call. Within thirty minutes, Kade was at DJ’s doorstep.

  “What’s up?” DJ mysteriously greeted Kade. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah, DJ,” he replied with a beaming smile. “I just wanted to let you know first because you’ve been helping me a lot this winter. I just got a call; who’s been invited to the Chicago Cubs’ spring training next month?”

  “No fuckin’ way!” DJ ecstatically high-fived his pupil. “That’s amazing!”

  “Can I get your dad’s number and call him?” Kade immediately begged.

  “Sure, Kade,” DJ said. “You do realize, though, that since it’s your first invite, you’ll probably be shipped back down to the minor leagues until later in the season. Just be realistic, Kade.”

  “I know, DJ, but I’ll be in the same locker room as a few legends.”

  “Easy, killer,” his personal instructor interrupted. “You still have work to do; don’t go getting all complacent.”

  The Big Leagues opened its camps in February, either Florida or Arizona; Chicago held its training camp in Arizona, back in Kade’s familiar college territory.

  Early in camp, many minor leaguers played with the big boys. Basically, it was their only real claim to professional fame. Gradually, teams would send several players to their various minor-league locations for development. Eventually, the parent clubs would cut down to their 24-man rosters.

  Virtually all experts agreed with DJ. They correctly predicted that Kade would be one of the camp invitees to merely enjoy a cup-of-coffee with the Cubs that March. However, newspapers and sports-talk shows were also predicting that it was the beginning of a bright future for the one who Baseball World called the “baseball freak.” It was further mentioned that by the end of the ’93 campaign, the season would be his coming-out party.

  The Golden Boy was arriving.

  Chapter 7

  Spring training began in late-February for Toney. Early in the exhibition season, however, Kade was sent to the minor leagues for one reason.

  Having already mastered the move to left field, the Cubs wanted him to be able to play center field, if needed. Even though he was capable of being a big leaguer, they wanted him to practice as a center fielder to see if he could handle being able to play more than one outfield position.

  Kade was far from heart-broken at being sent back to the minors; he expected it. The recent work that he had put in privately with Coach Lozon, his son, and some Inferno team members had definitely turned him into a complete, five-tool ball player. Additionally, he had developed more than an abundance of confidence in his game as he headed to Ashland, Kentucky, to begin the season at the AAA level.

  Playing for Ashland Oilers’ Coach Eddie Owens, Kade experienced a roller-coaster ride of a season. He started the summer on a hot streak. Then, he struggled mightily for 3-4 weeks. Finally, the 24-year old was back to setting the mid-Hillbilly League on fire with late-season surge thanks to some surprise coaching.

  Since a batting cage session with the unexpected “coach,” he had stroked fourteen hits in the past six games, included five home runs. Undoubtedly, he would be named the league’s Player of the Week for the third time that summer.

  “Sit down, Kade,” Coach Owens surprisingly instructed #34 by sternly beginning on that early-August afternoon. “I know you just got out of the shower, and we appreciate the extra work you’re coming in and putting in between games. But, there’s only one way to break this to you, son . . . “

  Immediately, Kade’s muscular, dripping-wet body went into panic mode. Standing in only a towel and flip flops following his off-day workout, his passionate-green eyes prepared for the worst. Since he had just hopped out of a shower, water beaded above his eyes below his jet-black hair. He had gone from joyous to trembling with fear.

  “Should I sit down, Coach?” He asked as Coach Owens stood.

  “No, I don’t want
you to get comfortable, Kade,” the seemingly-angry coach started before smiling with a joke. “Besides, I don’t want to have to look up your towel if you sit across from me. Son, after you play here tomorrow afternoon, you’ll be starting in the outfield on Friday night for the Cubs, your pro debut.”

  Beyond excited, Kade couldn’t wait to let everyone know. After he ran to his apartment across the street, Kade and a dozen-or-so of his teammates were bidding him a fond farewell later that night.

  “Keep bringing us shots and beer, Mel,” Kade told the waitress as they walked into the bar about seven hours later. “I have to catch a flight the day after tomorrow—yeah, I’m starting for the Cubs on Friday night; thank you. Now for one hour, bill everything to me; I’ll pay it when I leave at midnight. I’ll miss y’all, too.”

  That hour turned to two. Basically, it was like a Hollywood roast for the local celebrity. The players and a few home-towners reminisced, drank, and celebrated Kade’s big moment; he was treated like a legend all night long.

  The next morning, Kade woke up with his new love, Dara; since the rejuvenating batting session, the two had been living together. After “unknowingly” correcting his swing and getting him back on track a week earlier, he felt he owed everything to her. In fact, he was so pleased and surprised, he moved-into her apartment just two days later.

  As of that morning, though, they had lived together for a less than a week and were already discussing the possibility of getting married after the last game of the season; that’s how indebted the slugger was to her. She had helped him regain his life, so he was willing to give her anything.

  Fast?

  Absolutely.

  For the first time since Michelle, he felt content with a woman. Kade had actually been missing something from his life beyond baseball; something that had been missing since Michelle. Not that he knew what that was, but he saw Dara as being his possible missing link.

  As always, however, his thoughts strayed to a pair of big brown eyes and a smile that did things to his chest that still confused him. Since Michelle, no one had really known him or how he ticked. Like fitting a circle into a square hole, he was determined that Dara was his square.

  Between Michelle and Dara, no female had been more than, “just a fuck.” Dara was different, though. She was the perfect fit for him, he thought. After what he did to her, he knew Michelle just wasn’t an option anymore.

  Kade knew that Michelle deserved a life better than materialism and cheating; the only life he could give her. Hell, ending things the way he had with her gave him no right to consider contacting her, ever again.

  Dara, however, was an option, and Kade just didn’t see why it wouldn’t work. At that time, he felt he could spend his whole life in that environment with Dara.

  Waking up the morning after his bon voyage party, he realized he was supposed to be at the Oil Field at that time. Kade hurriedly brushed his teeth, threw on shorts and a hat, and sprinted out the door. Since their apartment was across the street, basically, he could be there within five minutes. Unfortunately for him, he still wound up being a few minutes late.

  Fortunately, though, because he was heading for Chicago that night, so Coach Owens excused his tardiness for pre-game warm ups. As usual, the coach inserted him into the lineup as the fourth batter and defensively in center field.

  “Three-Four,” Coach Owens joked with Kade as the young man embarrassedly walked through the gate. “You’re late. Think you get The Call to the show, and you can do whatever you want, huh? You’re lucky it’s your last day, and you’re never late. There are a lot of damn reporters going to be here for your farewell.”

  “I’m so sorry, Coach,” Kade began explaining. “I just didn’t hear the alarm. Rough night of celeb . . .”

  “Yeah, yeah!” Owens interrupted. “Save it for the field. Go get dressed and get some swings in batting practice.”

  The day started as any other day. For the first time since he began playing in third grade, he actually felt as if he were the best player on the field, which he always was.

  The more Kade looked around, the more memories and dreams he saw. From hustling into the locker room to taking some swings in the cage to fielding balls in the outfield, he could actually feel how hard he had worked to reach his dream. Even waiting in the on-deck circle in the bottom of the first inning, Kade envisioned how much different life would be for him at Wrigley Field the next night.

  In the minor leagues, there had been times when he knew the majority of fans at a game on a first-name basis. Also, there were only a few local reporters and rarely a national media member at minor-league ballparks.

  In the big leagues, however, there were always hordes of reporters spreading the game’s news all over the world. There were also television cameras and gobs of top-notch media personalities seeking interviews following games.

  Unfortunately, Kade’s memorable day quickly turned into a personal rain out. In his first at-bat, he stroked a routine single to right field.

  Unsure if the ball would split the outfielders, he was sprinting around first base, toying with the idea of stretching it into a double. Stepping on the base with his right foot, his left lunged forward toward second. However, as the foot hit the dirt, he immediately executed an abrupt, face-first dive into the Oil-Field dirt.

  Going down as if he were shot, Kade heard a pop that sounded like a gigantic tree branch splitting from a lightning strike in a thunderstorm. As he lay there rolling around in the dirt, all of his hard work flashed before his eyes. Furthermore, the one who had always been his safety net raced across his mind.

  Coach Owens and the trainer sprinted out of the dugout and were at his side in a few seconds. With Kade squirming on the ground, screaming in agony, it turned out to be as bad as he envisioned.

  Kade felt as if his entire world had collapsed. Everything that he had worked for and toward was gone. His quick climb through the minors had turned him into a rare, five-tool ball player, but all of his hard work was in vain.

  At that point, Baseball World was even ranking him as high as the minors’ best prospect. The publication had labeled him the “new can’t-miss kid.”

  When he woke up after his surgery the next day, he was only left with a world of what-ifs and regrets. With his knee on the shelf, his dreams disappeared like a Criss Angel magic trick.

  Dara visited the hospital every day. She was certain she could nurse him back to the diamond. After all, she had already risen his batting stroke from the dead with a private coaching session in the batting cage.

  When she wasn’t working her six hours per-day as a manager at Tresses Salon, she was at the hospital. In fact, she stayed at the hospital all day, most days. Dara almost always brought him books, magazines, candy, or some type of treat.

  Fifteen years older than the 24-year old patient, Dara was more like a mother to him. It wasn’t a role she searched for but one she played well. She had, after all, already been a cougar on other occasions, so the age thing was quite ordinary for her.

  This time, though, things were obviously different with this younger man. The emotion-thing was unchartered territory for Dara. She had spent many years perfecting the art of affairs without expecting more. Yet, with Kade she found herself envisioning more.

  “Good, Dara,” Kade responded from his bed when his girlfriend walked into the hospital one morning. “Bring me something to read today?”

  Of course she did. Since his parents still lived about four hours away in Virginia, Dara was his primary support network.

  Sure, his parents made the trip every Sunday for a few hours, and his teammates popped in, occasionally. Then, there was Michelle who never even called one time. Obviously, she had moved onto better things in life.

  However, Dara was the one constant during the most frustrating and painful time of his life. She quickly be
came his best friend.

  During his three-week stay in the hospital, she continued to be his major support network. Living together for only a few days before his injury, she surprisingly vowed to stay right by his side for as long as his rehab took. After all, they were talking the M-word.

  Following his release, she continued to be a strong support shoulder. Scared to face his grueling physical therapy and rehab alone, Dara was always there. She assisted him and pushed him with his light, home exercises upon his release.

  Single her entire life, Dara Schultz rarely visited the ball fields. Surprisingly, Kade was the first baseball player she had been with. There were times over the past eleven seasons that she had lived in the area when she was asked out by ball players while she was at work. However, she chose to not be attached to a player there for the seven-month season. Like Kade, she, too, was avoiding commitment.

  Why bother? Here one minute and gone the next. Sounded like more problems than she needed.

  Sitting on the couch one day, he couldn’t help but reflect on how he met Dara. Kade couldn’t forget the day that Coach Owens lit a fire under his ass. Kade recalled the Ashland coach expressing his disappointment in the young slugger a little over a week before informing him of his call-up to the Cubs.

  “You’ve never been one to struggle,” the coach had softly begun. “So, maybe we’ll just call it growing pains. But, I’ll just give it to you straight, Kade. You’ve been scheduled to be a September call up to the Cubs since the season began. However, you have two hits in your last forty-some at-bats. You have to get out of this slump or they’ll wait to look at you until next March, in spring training; it’s up to you.”

  Kade was devastated.

  His dreams were going up in flames.

  Coach Owens was right. He hadn’t ever struggled that badly; not just in the minors, but not in college or high school, neither.

  He had been doing everything the same. Then, desperate, he wavered from his pre-game and in-game rituals. Like walking under a ladder or breaking a mirror, he broke his baseball superstitions; it was unheard of between the lines.