“Alright, everyone, circle up!” Coach Taylor and his assistants stand around the mound while the sixty or so of us out here for tryouts all take a knee. I should probably listen harder than I am, but I can’t stop mentally rehearsing everything I plan to say.
“We saw some good stuff out there today. Keep in mind, tomorrow is scrimmage day. You’ll be broken up into six squads, and we’ll be using all three fields. You’ll get a text with your team tonight, and that’s your only notification. You’re all young adults now, so no excuses if you bring the wrong color shirt, don’t have your cleats, forget your glove.”
There’s a murmur of laughter among us because we’ve all done at least one of those.
“Your moms and dads are not the ones trying out. You are. Which brings me to point number two. Please remind your parents, no matter who they are, that our tryouts are closed.” Coach Taylor folds his arms around his clipboard and holds it to his chest, scanning the crowd but pausing pointedly on my cousin. Even his sunglasses can’t mask that he’s calling out my Uncle Joel.
“If anyone would like personal feedback about their performances today, please see me or any of the assistant coaches. Our ultimate goal is for you to achieve growth. We want to help you get better because we all can. Except me. I’m the best coach of all time.” His joke gets bigger laughs this time. I’m mostly amused by the way his daughter rolls her eyes.
“Anything else?” He leans forward and looks down the line at his coaches, and I prepare myself. I get my hand in position to raise it high and clear my throat quietly so my words come out loud and clear.
“Gentlemen, any questions?”
I maybe should wait a beat before jetting my hand up in case anyone else has something to say, but it’s too late now. My arm is already in the air.
“Jennings, shoot,” Coach Taylor says.
I get to my feet and remind myself not to look at anyone in particular, especially not Hollis. I’m sure both she and my cousin are on high alert, though. Only one of them should be.
“I don’t actually have a question, but more something I want to say, as a senior trying out this year, and as a new member of this school.” My voice breaks a little and my heart pounds behind my ribs. I can throw fastballs in front of a crowd but I’m absolutely screwed when it comes to speaking in front of people. It’s freaking cold out here, yet sweat is dripping down my spine.
“Go on.” Coach shifts his posture, settling in with eager ears. Here goes nothing.
“Right, okay. Well, I’m a bit of a baseball nerd, I guess. My dad is always sending me these blog links to read about baseball psychology and team dynamics and all of that, and recently he sent me this story about character. It got me thinking about how important that is, maybe even more than skill, when it comes to a team’s chemistry.” I look down at some of the guys kneeling near me. Most of the faces are looking at me, and I’m relieved I haven’t lost people yet.
“The article was about this team in Texas that had a serious problem with hazing.” I haven’t looked at Zack once, yet I know just from saying that word out loud—hazing—that his eyes are on me. I can feel the heat from them, and I welcome it.
“It got so bad that the rumors about players being pulled into bathrooms and pink bellied or held down and sprayed with water turned students off from playing any sport at that school, period. Colleges heard the stories and revoked scholarships. Finally, some of the star pitchers were expelled from the school because, and I’m quoting the reporter who spoke to law enforcement, ‘Whether you call it hazing or not, at its core, the act is assault.’ Basically, what the story says is it doesn’t matter why it’s done or when it’s done or who you do it to. If you physically or mentally harm someone intentionally, you are an assailant. At that moment, you cease to be a ballplayer and you become a criminal.”
I glance around the crowd and catch one or two yawns, but for the most part, eyes are wide and mouths shut.
“I heard something the other day that I didn’t like. It made me feel ashamed to be here. And maybe it’s only a rumor, but that’s how things started at this other school too—with rumors. I decided I’d stand up today and pledge to act honorably, respectfully, and with character. I’d like to invite the rest of you to do the same. And not like in some ceremony or whatever, but maybe after Coach dismisses us. Let’s shake on it. I’ll promise you individually, and you do the same.”
When I practiced this speech in the shower this morning, I kinda imagined the slow clap coming in right about now. My expectations probably make the silence feel more awkward than it is, but I’m still glad I said it all, every word.
“Thanks, Cannon. That displays leadership, and it’s what I hope to see from all of you, especially the seniors,” Coach says, nodding at me. Before he can continue his talk, though, my cousin’s fragile ego takes over the space.
“Fucking bullshit,” Zack utters. Whether it’s poor timing that he said those words in a quiet lull or he just couldn’t contain his aggression, all eyes are now on him. He’s got the stage, but he is not the one I expected to stand up in this spotlight. I thought Hollis would call him out, but not until we are dismissed. Maybe he’ll call himself out. He can make things right or he can drown—here and
