Trenton has arms like an ape. Anything outside he’s gonna pound, so Eddie will try to drill him inside. Out in the field we’re all shading to left, hoping for a pop-up. The play is at first. The A’s have speed on the bases, a single will score both the tying and winning runs, so if Trenton hits anything playable, we’ll go for the out at first and get this thing over with.
Trenton is in the box. Eddie goes into his windup, a huge, slow delivery to the plate that takes forever. Then the ball explodes from his hand at ninety-eight miles per hour. And it moves. Eddie’s pitch is perfect; it bursts out of his hand looking like it will hit the outside of the plate, then darts inside. To hit heat like that, you have to guess where the ball will be when it reaches you and start your swing just as the pitcher releases it. Trenton starts his swing in time and his guess is dead-on. He’s leaning back in the box with the bat choked in tight against his body and he lays wood right on it. The guy is a monster. Even handcuffed by a pitch like that, he launches the ball skyward.
It’s coming at me. When itflys off the bat, it shoots up at the kind of angle that screams pop-up and on any given day, it’s a ball that should fall just short of the warning track in right-center. But today the wind is up. It’s blowing out from behind the plate and as I start drifting back to the wall I can see the ball get caught up there, dancing and blowing out on the currents. The left fielder, Dan Shelton, is moving in. But I call him off: I have the ball. This is my ball. I know the runners are streaking to beat out a single. I know that cocky bastard Trenton is moving slowly down the first base line, waiting to break into a home run trot. But this is no home run ball, I can see that. This is no homer. It’s gonna be close because the wind is really moving it around up there, but this is no homer. The play is gonna be right at the wall. If I’m not perfect I’ll flub the catch, it’ll drop in, and we’ll lose the game.
The ball carries farther than I thought it would. It’s going over. It’s a homer. The crowd is screaming, willing the ball over the wall. I have sudden visions of Carlton Fisk waving his arm, willing his home run fair.
I put on a burst to the wall and jump, stabbing my glove into the air, and feel the comfortable thump of the ball coming to rest in the woven pocket of my glove. I drop to the ground, cradling the ball, my ball, my World Series-winning fucking ball. And the Oakland Coliseum goes berserk. I am mobbed by my team. The rest is a blur leading to the champagne-drenched locker room.
There are microphones and celebrities and a call from the president and Eddie wins the Series MVP and drags me up to the podium and says he wants to share it with me. Someone brings my folks back to my locker and they’re both crying and we hug and laugh and gradually things start to settle down a bit. I’m twenty-two. I’ve spent four years as a Minor Leaguephenom and now I’m a star in my Major League rookie season. I have everything I ever wanted and my whole life is waiting for me and it just sparkles. My parents head for home, the strangers clear the locker room and I start to get undressed.
I am unbuttoning my jersey. As I turn to my locker, Rich is standing there right in front of it. He’s still seventeen. He has beautiful long brown curly hair that drops to his shoulders and this goofy smile that chicks just eat up. He’s wearing sneakers, black jeans and his favorite Scorpions T-shirt. I am so happy to see him.
– Hey, Rich, man. How’d you get in here?
– Just snuck in, man.
– Wow! Wow, you look great. How are you, man?
– Good, I’m good. But you! Hey, talk about wow.
– Can you believe it?
– Sure, man, everybody can. There was never any question. I mean, come on.
– Thanks. Thanks,man, that means a lot.
– But hey, that catch! Nobody, nobody could have called that.Fucking outstanding, man.
– That was. Man, I can’t, I can’t describe. That just felt.
– Cool, right? It just felt cool.
– Yeah, that’s it, man. It felt so fucking cool.
– Awesome, just awesome. So what now, what do you do now?
– Well, there’s a thing, you know, just a huge bash all night. Come, man, you should come.
– No, man, I’d feel weird.
– No, really.
– No, I’d love to, but it’s not for me, you know?
– Sure. Well, look, man, it’s so fucking great to see you, man. I can’t believe you’re here, you look so fucking great.
– Yeah, well, cleanlivin ’, right?
– Right, man.
– Well, I better blow. But, man, it’s great to see you and, man, I’m just so blown away, so happy for you, the way things worked out.
– I can’t believe it. It’s my life, you know, but I can’t believe it.
– Right. Well, take care, man, and I’ll see you around.
– You too, man. Just come around, OK? I mean, I’m really happy to see you, so come by anytime, OK?
– Sure, I’ll see you soon.
And he hugs me and I watch him join the other folks leaving the room. And I think to myself, Fuck, Rich, I haven’t seen him in forever. When was the last time I saw fucking Rich? And it all starts to fall into place and I remember the last time I saw Rich and I remember his face as we flipped through the air and he looked into my eyes and I know this is all a dream and this is not my life and I gasp for air, trying to make a sound, any sound. And I wake up shouting.
It’s somewhere around 2:00A.M., the nightmare has my heart pounding and my head disoriented and it takes me a few moments to sort out where I am and realize the implications of the sounds in the hallway: Someone is knocking on Russ’s door.
I have an aluminum baseball bat in the closet; I’ve had it for most of my life. I hear the knock again. I pull on a pair of jeans and go to my door with the bat in my hands. At the door I try not to breathe as Islip open the peephole and look out. Three feet away, two men are standing in front of Russ’s door. One is big in a hard-as-a- rock kind of way; the other is quite a bit smaller, but also in a hard-as-a-rock kind of way. They’re both black and appear to have shaved heads, although I’m not sure about that because of the matching black cowboy hats they wear. This seems to be a theme for them. In addition to the hats, they both sport black leather vests over black T- shirts and black jeans, which I’m willing to bet lead down to black cowboy boots, but I can’t tell from this angle. The smaller one nods and the larger one lifts a hand wrapped in silver rings shaped like skulls and knocks again on the door. They wait. I wait. Nothing happens. The cowboys look at eachother, they both wear black wraparound sunglasses. The smaller one reaches into his vest and takes out a notepad and a pen. The big one turns and faces down the hall and the small oneplaces the pad against the big one’s back and starts to write. His fingers are covered in silver rings shaped like naked women.
I’m sweating. It’s very cool in my apartment, but I’m sweating because these freaks three feet away from me are scarier than anything else that’s happened today. The little one finishes writing, tears the page out, tucks the pen and pad away and turns back to the door. He slips the note into the crack between the door and the jamb, but the gap is too big and the note drops to the floor. Both he and the big one bend to pick up the note at the same time. They don’t bump heads, butit’s close. They both straighten and look at each other, waiting; then they bend again at the same time. This time they bump. They straighten again and stare at each other. The big one finally picks up the paper. The little one grabs the paper from the big one, pulls up a corner of the police seal on Russ’s door and sticks the paper underneath. Then they leave.
I wait a half hour before I go out and read the note. It says, “Russ, just stopped by to say hello.Deeply concerned. Please call.Ed and Paris.”
And the number of a cell phone.I don’t touch the note, I read it as it hangs there on the door and as soon as I finish I dash back into my apartment. I have a feeling that these guys aren’t really deeply concerned about Russ at all.
I’m drunk. I’m at Paul’s and I’m drunk and I’m not sure how I got here. It had something to do with cowboys and being scared. I know I’ve done something stupid, severalsomethings stupid, but one big thing in particular. I’m just not sure what it is.