Fanfare (Country Roads #2) - Chapter 2

Wednesday afternoon I was at the baseball field in my PE clothes along with about thirty other kids. I’d let Chef know I was going to be late and Hanna had agreed to wait for me. Actually, both she and Kat had waited and were currently sitting up in the stands with a handful of other friends of people trying out, watching us.

I felt a little bad about having to constantly beg rides, but there didn’t seem to be much I could do about that any time soon. My birthday was coming up in two months, but even with the money I was making at the Blue Ridge, we weren’t going to afford a second car any time soon, let alone insurance on it.

We started with warm-ups and stretching before they had us run sprints and do several full laps of the field, I guess to see if we had any endurance. The sprints I did okay on. I was far from the fastest, but I felt like I held my own. The endurance part I was more than ready for, since Chef had already run me enough that I was able to treat it as almost a meditative experience. I found if I just ran but kept my mind calm, putting one foot in front of the other, I wouldn’t notice myself getting tired and could do more than if I just focused on the running all by itself.

I thought about Aaron and what to expect from him, since I knew he wasn’t over getting put down in the parking lot in an armbar at the end of last semester. I hadn’t seen him since, but I knew my luck wouldn’t hold there. I also thought about Hanna and how she seemed to avoid talking about college and Kat and what I was going to do about that whole situation. I probably took the whole thing too far, because I was in my head as we stopped and formed back up, lost in thought. It wasn’t until I heard my name called and shook myself back into focusing on the here and now.

“You’re with Coach Bryant,” Coach Dean said.

He’d called several other names, and those kids had already started to jog over to third base, where Coach Bryant was set up.

“Sorry, Coach,” I said, and hurried after them, feeling a knot in my stomach.

Had I known Coach Bryant was also a coach for the baseball team, I wouldn’t have agreed to try out. He was staring daggers at me as I ran up. To my joy, I also noticed Harry Torres was in my group.

“If you’re not going to pay attention then get off my field, Nelson,” Bryant said when I caught up.

I ignored him. I’d already learned from being in his history class that apologizing would just get me yelled at more, and the best thing to do was stay quiet until he went on to the next thing.

“This station is for fielding drills to see how you boys are at catching the ball. I won’t be hitting them all at you, and I won’t tell you if it’s a pop up or a grounder. I expect you to eye the ball coming off the bat and figure out where you need to be. Drop too many balls and we’ll drop you from tryouts. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach,” we all said in unison.

“Torres, you’re first.”

I was sure this was somehow a way to show Harry favoritism, since he was one of Coach Bryant’s golden boys on the football team, but I was happy Harry went first. Although I’d played plenty of ball over the years, they’d all been pickup games. I’d never been to a tryout before and had no idea what we were actually supposed to do. I got the gist, of course. He’d hit the ball at us and we were to catch it and throw it back, but it was still nice to be able to watch someone else do it.

To his credit, he didn’t seem to be taking it easy on Harry. He always placed the ball where Harry wasn’t, making him run every minute to get to the ball. He also kept a good variety of hits, with rolling grounders, bouncing grounders, pop-ups that dropped right down, line drives, and several that required Harry to run backward to get to them.

I watched each one and tried to think where I’d need to be to get to the ball, trying to use the time mentally going through the motions. It turned out, I’d have lots of time to prepare, as Coach Bryant called out other kids in my group, one after another, until I was the last one.

“Your turn, Nelson.”

It might have been my imagination, but it felt like he was almost grinning as I ran out into left field. Everyone else he’d let them get out there and get set before he hit the first ball. I already knew he was going to try and screw me over, so I wasn’t surprised when the first ball, a line drive far to my left, came my way before I was two-thirds of the way out.

I cut hard and ran towards the ball, leaping and extending my arm out as far as it could go, and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d placed it where, theoretically, it was within range to field, but just barely. He definitely hadn’t put the balls this far out for anyone else.

I threw it at the student he’d assigned to catch the returns, when he hit another ball, before the kid even caught the first one I threw back. It was like this for almost five minutes, longer than he’d kept anyone else at it. Every ball was hit far enough out that I had to leap or dive to get it. Everyone else had gotten a couple of bouncing grounders right at them, to see if they could get it on the hop, but mine were all so far out I’d had to track and snag those on the run.

The last one I was pretty sure he was trying to get me hurt. He hit it far back, and it looked to be headed for the waist-high fence that marked the edge of the field. I was almost certain he’d count it against me if I didn’t get it, even though it was outside the field. Thankfully, I was in the best shape I’d been in my life and the fence really wasn’t all that high and I was already near the fence after chasing the last ball he’d hit. I pushed off, running full out for the fence. I’d tracked its trajectory and felt I had a good sense of where it was going to go over, so I had my back to it for the moment to be able to cover as much ground as possible.

The fence was coming up fast, and even though Chef had been focusing on leg exercises for the last month, I didn’t think I could jump high enough to the ball or clear the fence, at least without snagging myself on the metal chain-link protrusions. Had I thought about what I was going to do, I probably would have second-guessed myself, but at the moment it seemed like a good idea to jump as I got close to the fence, pulling my legs up almost like a frog leap, which was one of the exercise Chef had me do most days.

Basically, you jump as high as you can and pull your legs up so your hands are near your feet. In this case, I didn’t lean forward to get my hands that low. Instead, I’d jumped forward and managed to get my hand and glove on the fence railing and pushed up hard. I didn’t get much height off that push, but with my legs pulled in, I got enough for my feet to clear the top of the railing, crouched down. I kicked off with my legs, turning around as I leapt back towards the field, looking for the ball. Thankfully, I’d judged its trajectory pretty close, otherwise, I would have looked the fool jumping past the ball as it went out of the park. It wasn’t dead-on, but it was enough that I could stretch my arm out and snag the ball before landing hard.

Once again, Chef’s training came in handy, since he believed in knowing how to fall. It wasn’t the somersault you might see in the movies. Rather, it was flopping over as my feet hit the ground and tumbling sideways, but it kept me from hurting my knees or spraining an ankle. I got my free hand and feet back under me and pushed back up into standing, rocketing the ball towards the helper, who almost didn’t get his hand up in time, since he was standing open-mouthed, looking at me.

The kids I didn’t know all cheered as I jogged back in while Coach Bryant stood there looking pissed, along with Harry and a few others I recognized as being part of the football team.

“All right, calm down,” Coach Bryant said as I reached the rest of them. “We’re here to play by the numbers baseball. That kind of showboating doesn’t fly here. If you can’t take this seriously Nelson, you’re welcome to leave.”

I hadn’t said or done anything but catch a ball he’d purposefully made impossible to catch, and hadn’t joined in the celebrating the other kids had done, but I knew that didn’t matter to Coach Bryant. He’d find some reason to take this out on me if he could, so I just ignored him.

“Go see Coach Dean for your batting rotation,” he said, still giving me the stink eye as I walked with the rest of my group towards home plate.

There were a few good-natured back slaps as I walked, although Harry and his friends kept their distance. I was just happy to be clear of Coach Bryant and on to the next thing.

“Good hustle out there guys,” Coach Dean said as we joined him, the group before us having already rotated to fielding. “Especially that last catch. You might not want to try that very often Nelson, since it’s a good way to get hurt, but it was a thing of beauty. Okay now, we’re here to see how you guys hit. We’re going to throw you a variety of pitches to see how you do with them. We play incremental baseball here, and that’s what we’re looking for. We’re not looking to see who can crush them out of the park or if you can hit to open field position, that’ll come once you’re on the team and we start practicing. What I want to know is who can make contact and hit the kinds of pitches you’re going to see this season. Getting on base is our number one concern. If we can get you on base, and then the guy after you, and keep it up, we’ll start putting up runs. That’s what we’re looking for here. Nelson, you’re up first.”

That was quite the change from Bryant. I would have preferred a bit of time to rest after hustling all over the outfield snagging balls, but I guess it was good to get it over with right away. Unlike with fielding practice, which I hadn’t done before, hitting the ball was hitting the ball, and I couldn’t imagine it’d be different than when playing a pickup game.

I found a good bat and a batter’s helmet and made my way to the plate. The first pitch was a fairly slow fastball which I got a solid piece of, sending it sailing out in a shallow arc into right field.

“Just starting you off with something simple. Now that you’ve got it, let’s get started.”

He wasn’t kidding. The next pitches were all over the place. A curveball, which I wasn’t used to, since most kids at pickup games didn’t have that kind of skill, followed by sinkers, fastballs that sailed over the plate faster than anything I’d seen in pickup games.

I’d like to say I blew them out of the water with my natural ability, but that’s a lie. I did think I held my own against everyone else, who were generally struggling too, which I think was the point. A lot of the guys were hard on themselves when they struck out, smacking their bats on the ground or stomping away from the plate, but I recognized what Coach Dean was doing since Chef often did the same thing. He wasn’t looking for everyone to pass some minimum qualification, if a kid hit two of this kind of pitch and one of that kind. He was looking to challenge everyone, putting stuff across the plate even the best hitter would have problems with and see how we adapted. Chef explained that the best way to see what someone was capable of was to get them to stretch for something just out of their reach. It showed them not just how close the student could get, but how willing they were to reach it and how they dealt with missing, giving the teacher three pieces of information instead of just one.

I hit two of the five fastballs, fouled off all the curves, but managed to get the speed on the change-ups and sinkers, getting at least a piece of each of them. Eventually, the coach called a halt to the torture and had everyone huddle up.

“Not bad guys. I know some of you might get discouraged and that’s okay. You weren’t meant to hit all of those. I was purposefully making it hard on you. Baseball isn’t a game of just natural talent. It’s a skill and even the best guys in the Majors have to work on it and learn to get better. Plus, remember that getting a hit, one out of every three at bats, is a really good batting average. It’s how we deal with those misses that makes us good ballplayers. Okay, it looks like Coach Bryant is wrapping up, too. Everyone, go hit the showers and we’ll have the team rosters up in a few days.”

Walking towards the locker rooms I felt really good. Chef’s training definitely had benefits. Had I tried this a year ago, I’d be a limp noodle after all the running, throwing, and hitting we’d done today. Instead, I just felt energized. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed playing ball until today, and even with Coach Bryant being an ass, I felt good.

I also wasn’t stressed if I made the team or not. Now that I’d gotten some play-in, I realized I would enjoy playing ball regularly again, but I didn’t have anything tied to making the team or not. Until Monday I hadn’t even planned on trying out, so not making it wouldn’t really change anything.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Harry said, walking up to me.

I’d caught sight of him catching up to me and had been watching him, but there were too many people, including coaches, nearby for him to actually try anything, so I hadn’t been that concerned.

“We were trying out for the baseball team, Harry. I can see how that’d be confusing, what with all the head trauma you must get during football season.”

“You don’t belong on the team, why aren’t you off with your faggotty choir friends? You’re never going to make the team, you throw like a girl.”

“You’re a joke, Harry. How many of those grounders rolled right past you and you hit, what, less than a fourth of your pitches? Based on today, one of us can perform for the team, and it isn’t you.”

“You piece of …” he started to say, taking a threatening step towards me before one of his friends put an arm around him and pulled Harry back.

“Not now man,” the friend said, looking over at Coach Dean who was headed inside behind us.

“You’ll get yours,” Harry said, storming off into the showers.

I decided to hang around outside the locker room until Harry left. He wasn’t as absolutely reckless as Aaron, but I didn’t put it past him trying to catch me in the locker room where there’d be less of a chance for someone to stop him from taking a swing at me. I wasn’t particularly scared of Harry. Compared to Aaron, he was a pushover, all bark and no bite, but I’d had enough run-ins with the administration during the first semester. I’d managed to make it out intact so far, but I didn’t want to keep pushing my luck.

“Charlie,” Coach Dean said, catching up to me. “Everything all right?”

“Sure, Coach. Harry and I just don’t get along well. I’m going to hang out here until he’s done, just to keep anything from happening.”

“Good. That’s the kind of thinking I like to see from you guys. I’m actually happy you’re out here, since I needed to talk to you anyways.”

“Okay.”

“I want to start by saying you did great out there. Of course, there’s a lot you have to work on, but you’ve got a lot of raw talent that we could really build on.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“Huh?”

“You said there’s a lot I could work on. I think that’s right, but it’s easier to work on them if I know where my weak points are, so I know where to focus.”

“You know, I think this is the first time I’ve told a student they had work to do on the field and they asked for specifics. Normally I get arguments or just an ‘okay.’”

“I probably would have done the same thing at the beginning of the year, but what the last several months have taught me is that there is a ton I don’t know, and fighting that fact just puts me further behind. While I’ve got just as much ego as the next guy, I’m not too stubborn to listen to someone who knows better than me on what I need to work on.”

“Good. Good. That’s what I like to hear. Well, the little stuff like hitting the trickier pitches and how to get more out of your swing you’ll get with more practice. The two main things you need to work on are gamesmanship and field position. I know it’s easy to think of baseball in the simplest terms, like your batting average, but baseball is really a game of strategy. The sooner you understand that, the better ballplayer you’ll be.”

“What do you mean?”

“No play is by the numbers. You don’t grab a ball at shortstop and just throw to first every time. It’s easy to teach young players a specific progression of, look at this, and then this, and then this, one after another, but that’s now how pros treat it. Any play has to be made by understanding the strengths and weaknesses of the other team and the current field positions, and understanding the right strategy to make that split-second decision. Say you have a guy headed to first who has a poor record when it comes to advancing to the next base and a guy on second who’s known to make tight plays, getting the run. Do you throw out the guy at first, the easier out, or try to get the guy at second, who might or might not go for third, if you’re holding the ball at shortstop?”

“What would you do?” I asked.

“It depends. Two outs down, go for the guy at first every time, get that out and close out the inning. Less than that, I’d take a second and see what the guy on second was going to do. If he hasn’t stepped off, go for first and see if your first baseman can make the double play if he takes off for third after you throw. If he has stepped off and is going for it, I’d rather have a weak runner on first than an aggressive one on third, especially if you have a good hitter coming up to bat.”

“How do you know who’s a good base runner and who’s not?”

“Every team, even at the high school level, looks at their opponent’s records and the numbers their players put up. What you have to do is know how to read those numbers, so you have the information you need at game time.”

“Okay, so gameplay. What about field position?”

“That’s easier to fix. It comes down to understanding where everyone else is and where you’re needed to get that next out or stop a runner from advancing. Once you get assigned to a position, you’ll start learning that. I watched some during the fielding exercises, and you were often out of position. Not a lot, but enough that it could make a difference. I’d chalk that up to you saying you’ve mostly played pickup games. You’ve never had coaching to learn those kinds of things. I think you’re trainable enough that you’ll get it worked out.”

“So, I made the team?” I asked, reading between his working.

“Well, that’s what I actually wanted to talk to you about,” he said, pausing and looking away from me.

I felt my heart drop. Until this moment, I hadn’t really wanted to play ball and had mostly agreed to come to tryouts because Coach Dean had helped me out after the incident last semester. After playing out there today, though, I realized that he’d been right. I might have gotten flak from Coach Bryant and Harry and his friends, but I’d also gotten shouts of support from some of the players who knew me through Marcus and even some kids I didn’t know.

I got lots of support and attention when I was on stage, but this was different. There was something about being part of a team like this that I hadn’t gotten since playing pickup games when I was younger. There was something about playing a game where everyone, even strangers, rallied together. I hadn’t known I’d been missing it until it seemed like it was being snatched away from me.

“Ohh,” I said, not hiding the disappointment in my voice.

“I still want you to play, but I think there might be a problem putting you on the varsity team. You definitely have the athletic ability for it, but we decided to rotate coaches this year. Normally I coach varsity, but we’re losing a lot of our seniors, and really need to build up our younger guys this year if we’re going to be able to contest next year. That means Coach Bryant will be taking over with varsity.”

“Ohh,” I said, realizing the problem.

“I’d heard that you might have an issue with him, but watching you out there today, I realized you might not have as much of a chance as possible to succeed as you would if you stayed with me.”

“I get it. I can try out next year if you want.”

“I don’t think you’re getting me, I still want you to play, but I want you with me on junior varsity. Actually, I think this will be good for you. Like I said, you have the athletic ability, but you’re light on experience and actual game time. I think this would be a good chance to get you that experience without the pressure of being on varsity. Can you live with that?”

“Sure,” I said, feeling relieved. “Honestly, all I want is to play. I’m not trying to get a trophy or anything.”

“Good, although if you can reach the potential I think you have, I think we might have a shot next year, as long as you put in the effort. Can you do that?”

“Sure, Coach. I’ll do my best.”

“Good. Keep it to yourself until the rosters come out. We haven’t made our picks, but I’m confident Coach Bryant will be fine with you sticking on junior varsity.”

“Okay,” I said.

Harry had left the locker room in his street clothes, giving me the evil eye as he passed, since he couldn’t do much more with the coach standing right there. I waved bye to Coach Dean and went to get my stuff. I still needed to go to the Blue Ridge and train with Chef. There was no point in getting cleaned up now just to go get covered in sweat and dirt again.

It did occur to me that I was pushing it. I had daily training with Chef, one practice a week with the guys at the Blue Ridge, not counting practices on performance days, to get the setlist worked out, tutoring with Kat and homework to do. I really didn’t have the room to start a new thing, but I really wanted to play ball.

I’d just have to make it work.