The DH

by John Feinstein

  “Lots going on in your life right now,” Cardillo said. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

  It was the right thing to say, Alex thought. Throwing inside was part of baseball. But he remembered reading a book once in which Tony La Russa, the Hall of Fame manager, had talked about just this: “Below the shoulders is fine. Make a point. Get a guy off the plate. But when you throw at someone’s head, you’re messing with their career—and maybe with their life.”

  That thought chilled Alex. Especially as a pitcher.

  One of the reasons he preferred baseball to football was that you didn’t take the kind of pounding in baseball that you did in football.

  The fact was, it hurt to play football, no matter who you were. Alex was lucky, as a quarterback, that he didn’t get hit very often. The linemen took a beating on every play, and running backs and receivers often got slammed so hard that Alex was stunned when they got up and walked away.

  Baseball wasn’t like that. There was the occasional collision at home plate, and every once in a while a runner might come in hard sliding into second or third base.

  Alex had never been hit by a pitch in Little League. At that level, if a pitcher threw inside in any way, he was apt to be ejected.

  Now he understood why there could be fear in baseball too. He’d seen guys get hit, and he knew it had to hurt—there was a reason a baseball was also referred to as a “hard-ball.” And when someone who could throw as hard as Matt threw at someone, it was dangerous. Especially, as La Russa said, above the shoulders. Then you were endangering someone.

  Alex knew that only one player in major league history had actually been killed when hit by a pitch, but lots of others had been hurt very seriously.

  In truth, though, he hadn’t given it much thought except when his dad told him about Tony Conigliaro, a Red Sox star in the 1960s, who was never the same player after getting hit in the head with a pitch and who died young.

  Now he’d seen it up close—even from the outfield it had felt very close. It scared him.

  A lot.

  Alex was sitting at the desk in his bedroom shortly after eight o’clock, trying to focus on reading The Three Musketeers in French—impossible under the best of circumstances—when his phone buzzed. It was Coach Birdy, at last.

  The message didn’t fill Alex with relief: Billy is conscious, though groggy. Docs are going to run more tests tomorrow.

  More tests. That didn’t sound too good. Alex had read enough about professional athletes who had suffered head injuries to know that if all was well, the wording was more along the lines of “He’s being kept overnight for observation.” That was different from “more tests.”

  He was staring at his phone when it rang. Not surprisingly, it was Christine.

  “You got Coach Birdy’s text?” she said.

  “Hang on,” Alex said. “You got Coach Birdy’s text?”

  “He put Steve and me on the list because we’re trying to beat the deadline for tomorrow’s paper. We actually pushed it back to get more information.”

  “What do you think?” Alex asked.

  “I think it doesn’t sound very good,” she said, confirming his initial fears.

  “I wonder how Matt’s doing,” he said, suddenly realizing that the text would probably land harder on Matt than on anyone else.

  “I don’t know,” she said. Then she added, “I called you first.”

  His phone was telling him he had another call coming in. He looked at the screen. It was Matt.

  “Matt’s calling me,” he said. “I’ll call you back.”

  He switched over to Matt.

  “This is really bad,” Matt said without saying hello.

  “More tests,” Alex said. “Could just be a precaution.”

  “No,” Matt said. “You don’t understand. It’s not just that. I got a call from Billy Twardzik’s father.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. He said the doctors think Billy might have bleeding on the brain and they may have to do surgery. He said if that’s true or if he’s hurt seriously, he’s going to sue me and the school. He was going crazy.”

  “Bleeding on the brain. My God, Matt.”

  “I know. I don’t know what to do. My mom is freaking out. The only income we have right now is what she makes teaching kindergarten. We can’t afford a lawyer. And her friend who helped with my appeal isn’t equipped to take on something like this at all.”

  “Slow down,” Alex said. “You’re not nearly at that point yet.”

  “Yeah…yet,” Matt said. “I gotta go. Call coming in I need to take.”

  He clicked off. Alex was in a state of semishock. Then it occurred to him that he knew a lawyer, someone he was going to see that weekend: his dad.

  Alex and Molly were supposed to take the train to Boston Thursday afternoon for the long Easter weekend. He wondered if Matt could wait until then for some answers.

  Matt was nowhere in sight at lunch the next day. Max slid into his usual seat and announced that Matt hadn’t been in their third-period chemistry class. Christine arrived with more bad news: The conference had told Coach Birdy that Matt was suspended indefinitely—at least until they knew more about how serious Billy Twardzik’s condition was.

  “I guess it’s a good thing we aren’t playing Friday,” Jonas said. “Maybe by then Twardzik will be okay.”

  “Even if he is, Matt’s not playing for a while,” Christine said. “He pretty much admitted in front of everyone that he threw at him. He can’t backtrack now and say the pitch slipped or something.”

  “Someone should call him and see what’s going on,” Alex said. He told them what Matt had told him the night before.

  “He must be completely freaking out,” Jonas said. “You should go call him right now. Find out why he’s not in school.”

  Alex grabbed a few more bites of his pasta, then headed for the door. Once he was outside the cafeteria, he walked out a side door leading to a small garden where kids often went looking for a quiet place to study when the weather was nice.

  It was raining lightly, so no one was around. He took out his phone and dialed Matt’s number. There was no answer. He was starting to leave a message when he saw that Matt was calling him back.

  “Where are you?” Alex asked.

  “I went to the hospital,” Matt said. “I needed to know more about what was going on.”

  “How’d it go?”

  There was a grunt on the other end of the line. “Not well. I managed to get to the family waiting room. He has a sister and I told her who I was and she was actually very nice. She was telling me they were still hoping the bleeding on his brain might stop without surgery when his father came over and started yelling at me. I was trying to tell him how sorry I was and that it was an accident—”

  “Matt, you shouldn’t say anything like that—”

  “I know, I know. I was sort of panicked because he was so angry. He told me if I didn’t get out, he’d call security. I basically ran out of there.”

  “You know, Matt, my dad’s a lawyer and I’m going to see him this weekend….”

  “It’s okay. I know you don’t like these agents hanging around me, but a couple of them are lawyers and they said they’d help me out, if need be.”

  “Matt! If you don’t pay them, you’re probably jeopardizing your eligibility by taking free legal advice.”

  “My eligibility doesn’t matter, Alex. I’m done.”

  “What do you mean, you’re done?”

  “They’re gonna suspend me for the rest of the season—I know it. I have to turn pro this summer. I need the money.”

  “What if Billy’s okay and you’re only suspended for a couple of games?”

  “Then maybe I can improve my draft position. Mr. Anderson says right now I’m late first round, early second round.”

  “Matt, this is crazy….”

  “Gotta go,” Matt said. “This is Mr. Anderson right now.”

  He was gon
e. In more ways than one.

  The fifth-period bell was ringing when Alex walked back inside, so he didn’t have time to tell everyone about his conversation. He settled for texting them briefly: He went to the hospital. Not good. He’s lost right now.

  Matt wasn’t at practice, either. Coach Birdy told the team that he had called to ask permission for the day off. There would be no practice the next day, since a lot of team members were leaving town with their families for the holiday weekend.

  “We don’t know what Matt’s status will be for next week,” Coach Birdy said. “Right now, Alex, you should plan on starting against Lincoln on Tuesday. The rest of you pitchers, be ready to go too. If Matt can’t play in either game next week, then, Ethan, you’ll start against Jefferson on Friday. So you’ll be the one guy who won’t pitch for sure on Tuesday. Everyone else is in the bullpen.”

  He updated them on Twardzik, but without much detail: “He’s still in the hospital, and they’re monitoring him. Matt tried to go see him this morning, but only family can visit right now. Coach Meese from Haverford Station said he’ll let me know when there’s any news.”

  They went through a desultory practice, taking BP and doing infield drills. Alex threw thirty pitches on the side to keep his arm loose.

  When he finished, Coach Birdy called him over. “What are your plans for the weekend, Myers?” he asked. “Is there anyone you can throw to on Saturday? I don’t want you going four straight days without throwing.”

  Alex thought about it for a second. “I’ll be with my dad in Boston. I’ll ask him.”

  That was good enough for Coach Birdy. They stayed on the field for about ninety minutes, and he told the players to relax over the weekend and not think about baseball or—as best they could—what had happened the day before.

  “We still have a lot of season left, fellas,” he said. “We’ve shown we have the potential to be a good team…with or without Matt. If he’s out for a little while, we’ll figure something out.”

  As they walked to the locker room, Jonas, always the voice of reality, shook his head.

  “With or without Matt?” he said. “We were four-and-three with him. How good will we be without him?”

  That was exactly what Alex had been thinking.

  Alex had been so caught up in everything going on in his life—whether it was the travails of the baseball team, his relationship with Christine, or his nightly wrestling match with The Three Musketeers—that he had almost forgotten the trip he and Molly were supposed to make for Easter weekend.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was intentionally avoiding the subject—even just with himself—because whenever he thought about it, he flashed back to the Christmas disaster.

  When Alex’s mom had brought up the possibility of going to Boston for Easter, neither Alex nor Molly had been thrilled with the idea.

  “Look, kids,” she had said, “I know it’s been rough. But the three of you need to work this out. He’s still your father, he still loves you, and I know you love him.”

  Alex conceded that was all true. Molly, who was two years younger than Alex and pretty high-strung, wasn’t so sure. “If he loves us so much, why does he spend all his time with the fiancée and no time with us?” she asked.

  Reasonable question, Alex thought.

  His mom, as usual, had the answer. “Because, let’s face it, right now he knows that when he sees you, it’s going to be uncomfortable. So, yes, he’s avoided coming down here, and I’ve told him that’s the wrong thing to do. See what happens this weekend. The ball is in his court. See how he handles it. I’m betting this time will be better than last time.”

  “Pretty low bar, Mom,” Alex said.

  “Very low,” Molly agreed.

  Alex and Molly were now veterans of the Acela Express trip from Philadelphia to Boston.

  They convinced their mother it was fine to drop them off at Thirtieth Street Station rather than walk them inside and wait for the train. The fact that the station was absolutely packed with holiday travelers, which made parking pretty much impossible, no doubt influenced her decision.

  Alex bought a New York Times in the station. He did almost all of his reading online, but he’d grown up sharing the Boston Globe with his father at the breakfast table most mornings. His dad also read the Times each morning. Now Alex read the Philadelphia Inquirer in the morning, but not the Times. His mom had said continuing their subscription—except on Sundays—was too expensive. So he shelled out $3.50 to buy a Times to read on the train.

  Not surprisingly, the train was packed. Alex read for a while, then fell asleep. The trip took five hours, and the train pulled into South Station shortly before ten o’clock. As they followed the crowds toward the exit that led to the street, Molly asked Alex if he thought “she” would be waiting with their dad.

  “No way,” Alex said. “The last thing Dad wants is to get the visit off to a bad start.”

  “Bet you a dollar,” Molly said.

  “Done,” Alex said.

  There were lots of people waiting to meet tired travelers. Alex was scanning the crowd for their dad when he heard Molly shriek, “Oh my God, I win!”

  Alex looked where she was pointing. Standing several yards away, behind most of those who were eagerly pushing forward to greet the arriving passengers, was their dad, dressed in a gray suit. And right next to him, wearing a blue dress, some kind of silly-looking hat, and ridiculously high heels, was Megan Wheeler.

  “Davey, there they are!” he heard Megan say—her voice somehow carrying over the noise in the station. Alex had literally had nightmares with Megan Wheeler saying, “Davey, Davey.” His mom had never once called their father Davey. At least not in front of her children.

  Alex’s dad turned and spotted them, and a smile—an awkward one, Alex thought—creased his face.

  The four of them moved toward one another, even though Alex actually had an urge to grab Molly by the hand and find out if there was an overnight train back to Philadelphia. How could their dad possibly think this was a good idea?

  “Oh, children, it is so nice to see you again,” Megan Wheeler was gushing. “We must get you up here more than once every four months!”

  “Davey” had yet to say a word. As Alex and Molly approached, Megan Wheeler came forward, arms out, and hugged Alex, who felt his entire body go stiff, head to toe, as she wrapped her arms around him. She turned to Molly, who—being Molly—screamed, “Don’t touch me!”

  Alex almost burst out laughing.

  Their father found his voice at that moment. “Molly, stop! Megan’s just glad to see you guys.”

  Molly was crying. This was the high-strung part of her taking over.

  “Dad, we came to Boston to see you, not to see her!” she said.

  Megan Wheeler was obviously shocked by Molly’s reaction to her presence.

  “Molly, I just want all of us to be friends,” she said.

  “Why should we be friends?” Alex said, feeling a sudden urge to defend his sister. “You got engaged to our dad when he was still married to our mom. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were dating him even before we left Boston.”

  “Alex!” their dad yelled, now in full voice.

  “Am I wrong, Dad?” Alex said. He noticed that people were turning their heads to look at them.

  “Alex, we’re certainly not going to have this discussion standing here in South Station,” their dad said. Then, after a pause, he added, “But you’ve got it wrong.”

  The hesitant denial pretty much confirmed Alex’s suspicions, but he said nothing. He figured he’d already said too much, though, honestly, he didn’t feel all that bad.

  “Davey, just get me a cab and I’ll go home,” Megan Wheeler said.

  “Megan, it’ll be okay,” Dave Myers said. “We’ll get a bite like we planned, and we’ll talk all of this out.”

  “David, I’d like to go home, please,” Megan said. “Now.”

  Apparently “
Davey” became “David” when Megan was mad.

  David Myers turned a little bit red.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  They turned in the direction of the exit. Alex and Molly stood rooted to the spot, not moving.

  Their father turned around.

  “You guys coming?” he said.

  Alex looked at Molly.

  “What do you think, Moll?” he asked.

  “As long as she’s really getting in a cab,” Molly said.

  Alex nodded. They started walking. Their father had waited, but Megan was several steps in front. As they pulled even with their father, Alex said to him, “You owe Molly a dollar on my behalf.”

  “Why?” their dad asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Alex said.

  They walked in silence from there to the cabstand outside.

  Alex wasn’t certain why they needed to wait in the cab line with Megan, but they did anyway. When her cab pulled up, she gave their dad a quick peck on the cheek, and Alex heard him say, “I’ll call you later.”

  It occurred to Alex as her cab drove away that the idea of getting something to eat—especially now that Megan was gone—was a good one. He was starving.

  “Dad, how about if we go eat?” he said as they started walking away from the cabstand.

  For a second, their father didn’t answer. He was clearly distracted. “What?” he finally said. “Eat?”

  “You said the plan was to go eat,” Alex said. “We’re both hungry. I know we’re pretty close to Faneuil Hall—can we go to Regina’s and get a pizza?”

  They had reached the car, which was parked at a meter.

  “Considering the way the two of you treated Megan just now, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Dave Myers said, giving his two children a look as he popped the trunk.

  Molly started to say something, but Alex put a hand on her shoulder.

  “I think if we agree on anything, Dad, it’s that we need to talk about this,” he said. “And Molly and I are hungry.”