Chapter 1
Cooper
Over the years I’ve had many dreams. I’m not talking about the ones you experience when you’re sleeping, but the kind of dreams that can become reality. When I was young, my mother passed away, leaving my father alone to raise me. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except I probably didn’t experience everything I could have. To cope with the loss of my mother, my dad and I turned to baseball. We’d play catch in the yard every night before sitting down to dinner, which usually consisted of sandwiches or cereal.
Hours of tossing the ball around the backyard turned into fielding grounders, catching pop flies, and spending time in the batting cages. What started as a way for us to cope with our depression turned into something I really enjoyed doing, and when the scouts started paying attention, I began dreaming of the big leagues, the pomp and circumstance of playing in the majors. I dreamed of winning a national championship at a prized SEC school and running out of the dugout as my name was announced during the All-Star Game. When the Boston Renegades drafted me, my dreams started to become reality; the only thing standing in my way is Steve Bainbridge. The veteran center fielder was hinting at retirement last year, leaving the door open for me, which is part of the reason the Renegades went after me in the draft. At the end of last season, Bainbridge changed his mind, putting my spot on the team in limbo. Still, the organization called me up, and here I am, about to make my major league debut.
Now as I step out onto the wet field, my cleats sink into the dewy grass. I’m not supposed to be out here today, but I couldn’t resist the temptation. I’m so close, yet so far away, from starting my major league career.
Spring training is a rite of passage for any baseball player, but for a rookie like me, this is everything. When I arrived in Fort Myers, the itch to get out onto the field was something I had never experienced before.
I tilt my head back and let the early morning Florida sun warm my skin. In the distance, the sound of lawn mowers coming to life, the swooshing sound of the nets being raised behind home plate, and the smell of glove oil all surround me. There are a few things missing that would make this better, such as the smell of hot dogs and popcorn and the sounds of the fans gathering in their seats.
“Rookie, look at you being the first one out here.” Travis Kidd, our left fielder and someone I will have to work closely with, calls out to me as he steps onto the warning track. As the center fielder, I’m tasked with not only backing up numerous positions, but I must also have the ability to run fast and judge the depth of a ball. My high school coach once said that you could tell where a ball was going by the sound it made when it left the bat. He was probably right, and I’d love to do that now, except we use
wood bats and not aluminum. Switching from aluminum to a wooden bat took some getting used to. I had a faster swing in college and could smack the shit out of the ball. Now, the ball and bat have to hit just right, and you have really put some power behind your swing in order to get the same effect.
“He’s eager,” Bryce Mackenzie says. Mackenzie is in charge of second base, another position that I’ll have to work closely with.
Next to walk out of the dugout is Steve Bainbridge, who doesn’t even try to make eye contact with me as he steps onto the warning track. Being a fan of baseball makes me a fan of his, but right now he has the job that I want, and I’m here to take it from him.
Last year when I was called up, we had a team-wide meeting. Everyone was very nice, genuine in welcoming me to the club, well, everyone except for Steve Bainbridge. I get it. I do. In his eyes, I’m the enemy. I’m here to take his starting position and make him a “has-been.” Some call me unlucky because he’s a fan favorite, but I call it the luck of the draft. The general manager, Ryan Stone, chose me. He wanted me here to make a difference, to help lead the Renegades to the pennant.
Other team members start to filter out of the dugout. It’s six a.m. and time for us to start conditioning. I imagine our conditioning will be similar to that in the minors since they try to follow the same regimen.
“Morning,” Scotty Johnson, the Renegades trainer, says as he stands in front looking at each and every one of us with an evil glint. I’ve seen an expression like that before, on my college coach, and know it means there will be hell to pay today. The holiday beer guts are about to be a thing of the past. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like running today.”
No one says anything, because we know what’s coming.
“All right, here is what we’re going to start off with. Two laps around the field and into one hundred Superman planks followed by two more laps. When you’re done with that, you’re going to give me five-minute wall squats with a medicine ball between your knees and then one hundred burpees. This is on repeat until I say stop. Last year, you looked like shit. You were out of shape, and most of you couldn’t outrun a throw to first. This year, I’m going to make damn sure you’ll be able to.” He blows his whistle, and we’re off.
I’m confident that I’m one of the fastest players on the team, but I have to pace myself. The last thing I want to do is become gassed or piss anyone off. Branch Singleton is by far the quickest, and right now he’s all the way at the back of the pack. Everyone is paired off, except for me. I get it. I’m the outsider. Even Michael Cashman, who was acquired in the off-season, is running with another teammate.
“They’re a tough group, but keep your head up.” I take a sideways glance to see who’s running next to me. Ethan Davenport, the third baseman.
“You would know, right?”
“Yep. Rookie year is tough, even tougher for you because of their loyalty to Bainbridge.”
“Yeah, I’m sensing that. I guess I thought they’d see it wasn’t my choice?”
Ethan shakes his head and keeps stride with me. We’re both huffing and puffing by the time we finish our second lap.
“Everyone has a choice,” he says. I half expect him to leave me so he can go work out with his friends, but he doesn’t. He takes a spot on the grass next to me and starts his planks. “The thing is, Bainbridge is still hanging on. He’s going through some shit at home, and this is the place where he can escape.”
His marriage problems have been widely reported. My agent says I can use that to get into Bainbridge’s head and get him to mess up. Each screwup is an opportunity for me to take the starting spot. While the viewers and fans think baseball is about family, it’s not always that way. The more television time you have, the more sponsors you end up with. Sponsors are the way to supplement your income and prepare yourself for early retirement if you’re unlucky enough to have a career-ending injury.
Except that isn’t how I function. I want to play baseball and I want to play for the Renegades, but if they don’t need me, I’ll have no choice but to ask for a trade. The game has always been my priority.
“Have you moved to Boston yet?”
I grunt through my planks, finishing before Ethan does. I decide to wait for him so we can run together again.
“I haven’t yet. I started looking, but nothing has caught my eye. I’m not sure where I should look, either.”
“I went through the same thing when I first came to Boston. I rented for a bit before buying a condo. When we get back, you can stop by and check it out if you want. My wife won’t care if you crash for a few days.”
“Wife?” Ethan and I aren’t far apart in age, and I can guarantee you that a wife or girlfriend isn’t in my near future.
Ethan smiles. “Yeah, we got married after last season. She’s cool. You’ll like her.”
I shrug and continue my run. We catch up with a few of the other guys: Preston Meyers, who plays right field, and Kayden Cross, who covers first. Ethan keeps me in the conversation, and before I know it, I’m laughing right along with them. Minus the workout, I have to say today is shaping up.
* * *
“Here are your playbooks,” Cal Diamond says as he hands them out. There was some scuttlebutt last season that he was ill, but he looks healthy to me. I’m looking forward to playing for him.
“Also, we have some public relations matters that we need to take care of. The Major Leagues are pushing an initiative to give back to the communities, and Stone wants to start in Fort Myers.”
There’s a collective groan throughout the room. I’ve been doing this for a while, so I’m okay with whatever we have to do. In the minors, we set aside a few minutes here and there to sign autographs before and after the game. Some of the kids there can’t afford the big-league prices so we try to make it special for them.
“Later this week, we’ll be giving a tour to some kids at the zoo. I know most of you haven’t been to the zoo here, so the best thing to do is to let the kids guide you. There will be ample time for autographs and pictures. It’s just one of those things you have to deal with. You’ll have lunch with the kids and end the day with a photo op with the staff. The zoo is closed to the public when we go, so you won’t need to worry about people tagging along that shouldn’t be there.