The Prospect - Eliot Parker (top 10 novels .txt) 📗

have almost twenty minutes.”
“With your speed, we might make it by lunch time,” Shane said laughingly as he placed his right arm over Chaz’s left shoulder. Chaz in turn pinched Shane lightly on the cheek.
“That’s what’s the matter with pitchers. You never move, so you really cannot judge speed. Except when you’re getting bombed in the early innings by throwing meatballs to a bunch of underachieving hitters,” Chaz said in a teasing tone.
Shane kept looking forward, removing his arm from Chaz’s shoulder. The two players were walking in rhythm as their feet were grazing the ground.
Shane quickly glanced at Chaz. His eyes were wide and he was breathing heavily as the pace of the walk intensified. “Please, don’t remind me about bad pitches and underachieving hitters. I cost us one of those games against Charleston,” Shane said. “I haven’t felt so bad since I was in high school.”
“Ah, Mann must have gotten on you a little bit,” Chaz said.
“Yea, for that and other shit,” retorted Shane.
Chaz pulled a pack of cigarettes from his uniform pocket. Chaz placed the cigarette between his thick lips and lit the tip with a lighter. Tobacco smoke fizzled out of the cigarette and his nose as he inhaled and exhaled, and he placed it between the index finger and middle finger of his left hand.
“Don’t worry about Mann, he is who he is. Listen, I can remember last year,” Chaz paused as he took another draw from the cigarette. “He used to ride my ass like a dog in heat, but he is always like that to rookies. Especially guys like you… the supposed ‘savior’ of the team.”
Shane wiggled the cigarette away from Chaz’s hand and began to smoke from it. “Yea, Mann said something to me about that. I do not want to be labeled the savior of this team. I am just here to play ball, you know, to try and make it to the big leagues.”
Chaz chuckled. “Well, I have been here for two years, and I wonder if I am any closer today than I was two years ago.”
But Shane’s success playing baseball is the exact reason he was brought to Sheaville by Walter Mann and the Loggers organization. While playing baseball in Pittsburgh, Triplet earned a reputation as one of the state’s hardest throwing high school pitchers. Shane regularly approached 93 miles per hour on the radar gun, occasionally hitting 95 during games. He began his junior season at Carrick High School in the starting rotation before finishing the season as on of their primary short relievers. Shane struggled with his control at times and was always trying to improve the mechanics of his delivery. Eventually, he was given the role of closer. He responded by going 0-2, with nine saves and a 3.20 earned run average in 12 appearances. Shane was placed back in the starting rotation by the end of his junior year and pitched effectively for the rest of the season, going 8-4, with a 3.15 ERA in 15 starts.
By the time his senior season approached, he was receiving college scholarship offers and several scouts from Major League Baseball teams began taking interest in the 6-3 pitcher. Although he had just 25 games of experience in the starting rotation, scouts from the majors and colleges loved his fastball and his change-up pitches. He finished his career at Carrick High School with an 17-8 record and a 2.61 ERA and he struck out more batters than any other pitcher in Carrick High School history. Those figures were enough to to bring Shane Triplet into the Cincinnati Reds organization, and ultimately, to Sheaville, West Virginia.
Chaz and Shane quit talking and finished smoking the cigarette. Both players continued walking west down Central Avenue until they reached the Central Avenue-Maple Street interchange. One school bus and two cars were all jockeying for position at the interchange, trying to determine which vehicle was going to pass through the stop sign first.
Chaz turned to Shane as they walked around the stopped cars. “Man, I would love to have a beer right now. Yep, that would be the best thing to have at this very moment.”
“Isn’t a little to early to be hitting the booze, Martinez?” Shane asked. “After all, you can’t wow us with your dazzling defensive skills if you can’t stand up straight.”
“Yea, well when you bend over and then stand up straight, we lose ballgames because that normally means someone has slammed your balls out of the park” scoffed Chaz with a wide smile that displayed a mouth full of fluorescent white teeth. There was an odd moment of silence, almost suggesting that Shane agreed with his friend.
“Forget it. Listen, when we get back off that road trip at the end of the month, you and I ought to get together and do something. Maybe we could go to Charleston or something. See the sights, drink the beer, and fondle the women.”
Shane raised his right eyebrow and glanced disdainfully at Chaz. “Let’s see, spend money I do not have, get drunk, have sex, miss curfew, get arrested….”
“Wait a sec, nobody said anything about getting arrested,” Chaz said waving his index finger wildly. “None of us can afford that. Besides, you need some pune-tang to lighten you up.”
Shane thought for a moment. “Remember what happened the last time you guys went to Charleston during spring training this year? You, Head, Deitzler, and Biggie all were so damn drunk, that you missed curfew and I had to borrow Mama’s car and come and pick you up. We were 2 hours late to practice the next day..sheesh, I thought Mann was going kill us all!”
“Mann creams himself over everything,” retorted Chaz.
“Irregardless, no trips to Charleston with you guys until we have a day off,” Shane added as he quickly looked at Chaz.
“Weeellll,” Chaz began returing Shane’s stare. “In case you haven’t noticed, we do not get a day off until the middle of May and then no more longer breaks until the ABA All-Star game, that is, unless any of us make it as an all-star.”
“I am not counting on being there,” replied Shane.
“Speak for yourself.”
Shane and Chaz saw Clark Field on the horizon. They continued talking about baseball and sex, which always seemed to come up with Chaz. Finally, both players walked around to the chipped red-brick entrance to Clark Field, which proudly splattered the phrase, “Home of the Sheaville Loggerss” on the front of the stadium. Both players walked inside raced one another up the concourse ramp and onto the field, down and across the dugout platform and into the locker room.
Most of the players agreed early morning practices were horrible. If your team plays the night before, usually everyone is groggy and cranky the next morning. If the team plays in the afternoon after practice, practices are normally sloppy. As the Loggers trotted out onto the field warm-ups, thick, gray cumulus clouds slowly swallowed the sun. The mountain behind center field morphed into a pale green dark blotch. However, Walter Mann’s philosophy was always practice should always be conducted-rain or shine-as long as there are no signs of lightening or torrential downpours.
The Sheaville Loggers stood in a single file line like soldiers preparing to receive their marching orders. The day always began with the same exercise routine: 60 jumping jacks, 45 squat thrusts, 50 pushups, and a variety of other exercises tailored for each player’s position. Usually only 45 minutes was devoted to warm-ups, and then players scattered across the field.
After warm ups, Chaz was busy scooping ground balls at the short-stop position from the bat of his second baseman teammate, Ryan Head. Head was another player who had spent more than one season in Sheaville, although exactly how many seasons was anyone’s guess. He did not talk about it much. Actually, he did not talk much at all. Perhaps it was his stuttering problem. Ryan was a bit undersized for a second baseman. At five feet nine, he was attractively slender, handsome, with clear green eyes and sandy red hair.
He told Chaz during their rookie season in Sheaville that his classmates and teammates in high school tortured him because he stuttered and was the victim of the equivalent torture when he played college baseball at UCLA. The best way to handle it, Ryan concluded, was to not speak unless spoken to. Chaz realized that Ryan was always able to convey this thoughts and emotions through his expressions and body language effectively, and that was all right with him. After all, you do not need to speak much to turn a double-play in the infield.
Ryan hit several ground balls in different directions at Chaz. Some of the balls rolled slowly across the infield grass and others raced by rapidly. Chaz’s responsibility was to pick up the ball and relay the throw to Harry Deitzler, the team’s first baseman.
“Y-y-y you are on top of it t-t-today,” stuttered Ryan. “You can r-r-really anticipate the direction the ball is going.”
“Thanks,” replied Chaz, smiling. “I do what I can.”
“Well, we all would like you to cut down on your errors.”
Those words were peppered with the familiar thick, husky, southern dialect of Walter Mann. He stood directly behind Chaz watching his shortstop gather and throw the baseball to first base. Little did he know Mann had been watching him for a few minutes. When he turned around, Mann was standing with his chest raised and arms folded. Chaz always hated it when Walter watched. For some reason, he felt like his manager was just waiting for him to make a mistake.
“That’s enough grounders for now Head,” ordered Mann. “Hit him some pop-ups so he can practice catching them pop flies. And Deitzler, I want you to run from second-to-third base each time the ball is comin’ down. We play Greensboro and Macon in the next few weeks and their men can run like the dickens. If we get into a bases loaded mess, Martinez needs to be ready to catch it when there’s lots of action going on ‘round him.”
Ryan nodded and took his position at second base. All three players held their breath and waited for Mann to walk away. Finally, he did.
The silence was driving Chaz crazy so he spoke first.
“Man, he always…..”
“Yea, we know,” piped Harry as he came racing across the infield. “Creams himself over everything.”
“H-h-h-e is just trying to g-get us ready,” said Ryan.
Harry looked at both of his teammates. Each of them started staring at the ground. Harry was tall and cagey with curly brown hair that hung in clumps below his ballcap. His face was drawn and peppered with small scars, presumably from adolescent acne. His lips were thin and his brown eyes small and dark.
“Well, we are 0-3 and in last place, so I guess there is nowhere to go but up. We will be okay fellas. Macon and Greensboro had two of the worst records in the league last year. I am sure will be back and well over .500 in no time,” Harry said confidently.
Chaz disagreed. “Last season was last season. Seems like the only team that hasn’t improved since last year is us.”
Ryan could not understand why Chaz was so negative about this team this season. Last year, the Sheaville Loggers won the Appalachian Baseball Association division and led the league in runs scored per game. However, the pitching staff had the highest era in the association. But Ryan glanced across the diamond to the bullpen and somehow he believed that Shane Triplet was capable of changing all of that.

IV

Joann Triplet wiped the countertop over and over with a damp dishrag, as she did at least 100 times a day. After