The Art of Fielding_ A Novel - Chad Harbach [173]
Jenkins smiled. “Win or lose, it’s been a heck of a year. Especially for you. Conference champs in football. A regional title in baseball. Academic all-conference. School record for home runs.”
Schwartz looked at his watch. He wasn’t in the mood for a Mike Schwartz retrospective.
“Westish sports are having an unprecedented amount of success across the board, Mike, and that’s mostly your doing. Coach Cox’s been here for thirteen years, Coach Foster for ten. Somehow I don’t think they suddenly turned into geniuses four years ago. And I can’t say I’m getting a heck of a lot smarter either. You’ve changed the culture of this entire program.”
“What’s your point, Duane?” Schwartz liked Jenkins, he’d always liked Jenkins, because even though Jenkins didn’t know what he was doing, he tended not to bullshit. But this sounded suspiciously like bullshit.
Jenkins smiled sheepishly. “Sorry. I was trying to lead into this slowly, but I should know better by now, with you.
“I don’t know if you’ve locked in any plans for next year, but I’ve been authorized to offer you a job.”
Schwartz’s back spasmed, just above his ass. He squeezed the arms of the too-small chair and lifted himself a few inches off the cloth, grimacing.
“Assistant football coach, assistant baseball coach, and assistant athletic director in charge of recruiting and raising funds. Basically you’d be doing what you’ve been doing for the past four years. Except instead of paying for the privilege, you’d be getting paid.” Jenkins opened a folder on his desk, took out a sheet of paper covered in tiny type, and handed it to Schwartz. Circled in ink, halfway down the page, was a number.
Schwartz had spent enough time trying to finagle money for the football and baseball programs that he knew the AD’s budget down to the dollar. “You can’t afford this.”
Jenkins smiled, shrugged. “It’s authorized.”
It wasn’t graduate-of-Yale-Law money, it wasn’t first-round-draft-pick money, but it was okay. Surprisingly okay. A person could pay his rent, his Visa bill. He could even, before too long, put down a payment on a car that could hold a quart of oil, get the Buddha off his back about his carbon footprint.
“The funding’s locked in for three years minimum,” Jenkins was saying. “But if you wanted to leave sooner, to go back to school or to do whatever, you’d be free to do so. I’d say however many years we could keep you around, whether one or three or thirty, would be a blessing for us.”
Schwartz wondered where he’d gotten the money. Jenkins wasn’t the kind of mover-shaker who could drum up funds where there weren’t any. That was why he was the athletic director of a school that had always taken pride in the mediocrity of its athletics: he wasn’t a mover-shaker.
“So?” Jenkins asked.
Schwartz shook his head. “No thanks.”
Jenkins looked confused, maybe even crestfallen. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, no thanks. I don’t want to coach.”
Jenkins scratched his thinning auburn hair above one ear. “But you already are a coach,” he said. “You’re the best coach this school’s ever had, and we’ve never paid you a penny. Might as well let us make it up to you, at least for a year.”
“Can’t do it, Duane.”
Jenkins leaned back in his chair, tried to regroup. Glanced around the office as if trying to take in the big picture. “Can I ask what you plan to do instead?”
“Don’t know.”
Jenkins nodded. “But you’re sick of the grind. Road trips. Two-a-days. Supervising workouts. Half your life inside this building. The whole deal.”
“I’m not sick of it,” said Schwartz. “I just—” Just what? Just didn’t want to wake up in twenty years and see behind him a string of lives he’d changed, stretching out endlessly, rah rah go team, while he himself stayed exactly the same. Stagnant. Ungreat. Still wearing sweatpants to work. He who cannot, coaches.
“There’s benefits there,” Jenkins said. “Health insurance, dental. As for vacation, we shut down for most of July. Plus you can eat for free in the dining hall. Not sure how appealing that is.”
“It’s a nice offer.”
“I could probably tack on another