Chapter 4

Gavin took his seat on the bench. The Sonics were playing the Mets, and were down by two runs in the third inning.

Jimmy Reilly was pitching; Chase Westbrook was the ace starting pitcher, followed by Jimmy and then Brett Kirby. They sat in the dugout, watching the game. At least Chase did. Brett appeared to have fallen asleep.

Jimmy took his place on the mound with a grin, pounding the ball on his glove like a Little Leaguer taunting the other team.

Right away Gavin noticed the lack of the attention and focus he was used to with the Dodgers. The Sonics, he realized, was a team of very young players and a few older guys other organizations cut loose. With the exception of Jake, Chase, Cody, and a couple of other core members, this team was heavily weighted with rookies just brought up from the farm.

And it showed. There was a lot of goofing around, playful shoving, and general tomfoolery that wouldn’t be tolerated at his old team. One of the guys, Timmy Garvey, he thought, showed up late and was benched, while several others appeared hung over. Even the talk around him was different. In the Dodgers dugout, his teammates would watch the game intently, having viewed videos the night before to study the pitches and the rotation and develop a plan.

Here he heard the guys complaining about the lunch, which admittedly was lousy, and bellyaching about the workouts and management. Apparently the previous year the management had tried to instill some discipline, and had hired a PR rep to make sure their work didn’t go unnoticed. Rumor had it she was Jake’s girlfriend and was now employed elsewhere. Pete tried to retain the changes she had made, and met with rebellion. Like little kids, the players griped about the very things that would ensure their success.

How the hell did the Sonics make it to the World Series?

The pitching wasn’t bad. Jimmy wasn’t in Chase’s league yet, but he threw a decent fastball, and followed that up with a nice curveball. Ben Washington drove it into the outfield in what should have been an easy play. The right fielder, Pat Murphy, called it, but then Brian charged out of center field. Unfortunately, in a scene destined to be recorded in the bloopers, they collided. The two Sonics outfielders fell to the ground, and the ball dribbled between them out to the wall.

Ben got to second by the time Pat and Brian recovered, got the ball, and threw to Jake. Pete shook his head in disbelief.

“What the hell is going on with these boys today?” The manager leaned on the rail, frantically chomping on his gum. He appeared to be talking to himself. “Out last night, drinking and partying. I don’t think there’s a brain cell among you.”

“Not a one,” the pitching coach, Dick Dubell, agreed. He spat a wad of tobacco onto the ground and seemed to admire the mess it made.

Pete eyed the bench behind him. “You boys had better get your act together. Jeffrey is getting real tired of these antics, and I’m getting sick of playing nursemaid.”

But the little speech didn’t seem to have a whole lot of effect. The players quieted for a few minutes, but as soon as Pete turned around, started kvetching again.

It was then that Gavin noticed one of the relief pitchers at the end of the bench was wearing a cast. He nudged Toby Martin, a pinch hitter, and indicated the plaster foot.

“What happened to him?”

Toby shrugged. “Andy Jennings?” Leaning back in his seat so that he wouldn’t be overheard, he continued. “He was a little upset at a call that went against him in spring training. He went into the locker room and kicked a chair. His big toe and a couple of other bones got the worst of it.”

Gavin’s mouth dropped. No experienced player would ever do anything to risk his health like that, let alone as a result of a hissy fit. Bad calls were part of the game; you got used to it over time. And since the advent of replays, they were less and less common. But as he stared at the relief pitcher, he realized the kid was maybe twenty-two years old. While Gavin certainly wasn’t ancient at twenty-six, those few years mattered.

He got up to get something to drink. There was a water cooler in the dugout, but he was thinking in terms of an iced tea or a mineral water. “Want anything?” he offered.

Toby shook his head. “Nah, I’m hoping to play today. Jimmy was puking his guts up this morning after being out all night. I think Pete may pull him after another inning or two, and give me a chance to hit.”

Gavin got up and went inside. At Dodger Stadium, there was always a bucket filled with ice and refreshments, Fiji water, Arizona iced tea, Coke…you name it. But here there was a soda machine, and to his astonishment, drinks cost two bucks.

Fortunately, he’d stashed a little cash in his pocket.

Unfortunately, it was a ten and a one. The machine took only coins and singles.

One of the administrators passing by offered him a dollar. “You must be the new guy,” he said sympathetically. “The rest of us know to carry change or you’re hosed. No freebies here.”

“Thanks.” Gavin put the bill into the slot along with his own and then selected iced tea. The machine ate his money and made a few impressive noises, but nothing happened. He waited a few minutes, tried repeatedly pressing the button, even shaking the machine, but no bottle fell into the tray below.

Suddenly, he understood why Andy had kicked a chair. He was getting pretty close to that himself. With no drink in his hand and his money gone, he went outside to the water cooler.

Apparently, H2O was the only game in town.

—

“Hey Jess, how’s it going?”

She looked up to see the manager of the clinic, Phil Dennings, approach with a stack of folders in his hand.

“Okay,” she said, finishing the task of folding the towels. “Pete brought in the new player, Gavin King.”

“I know him,” Phil said, obviously impressed. “He was the big up-and-comer for the Dodgers. Fairly young kid, right?”

“Twenty-six.” Jessica indicated the file.

“He has a hell of an arm. Check this out.” He clicked on his phone, and found the YouTube video and showed it to Jessica. Her eyes widened as she saw Gavin nail the ball with a nice easy swing, and send it over the wall into the upper deck. “That was when they played Seattle.” Phil clicked the video off. “He is incredibly talented. It’s amazing he came here.”

“He tore a meniscus.” She held up the MRI film to the light. “Would you mind taking a look? I’m putting a program together for him and would appreciate your thoughts.”

“No problem.” He held up the MRI and examined it carefully, and then glanced at the surgeon’s report. “It’s a nasty tear. But it looks like the doctor was able to shave a lot of the bad tissue away. And most of the damage is in the outer part of the knee. I can see why they decided to take a chance with the surgery.”

Jessica nodded. “I’m thinking to take it easy for a few weeks until he is fully healed. We’re doing quad reps, exercises like that. I want him to start swimming, too. It can help rebuild the muscles without stressing the joints.”

“I like it.” Phil nodded. “I think you should start a walking regimen as well. Let the leg get used to the normal range of motion. I would wait a good four months before any pivoting or cutting moves. He’s going to want to start batting practice. It’s really important that he keep the weight off that knee, and that he avoid any sudden twists or turns.”

“Right. I’m going to make sure he understands all that before he picks up a bat. I can’t see him backtracking just because of something stupid. And it doesn’t take much; a slight imbalance, a little too much lean in a batting stance, and he could reinjure himself fairly quickly.”