The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [108]
“I know what you’re saying, but I want you to understand, I wasn’t able to get to this point until I was okay with the idea of baseball coming to an end. I could miss every bastard spot, walk the bases loaded, challenge hitters, and lose. I could take risks and fail, and then I’d be out of my job.”
“Or you could succeed.”
“But I was only thinking about the failure part, what I had to lose. Now that I’m not concerned with it, I don’t think about it.”
Abby mulled over my words for a moment, then sat up from his chair. “You know baseball isn’t a hiding place, don’t ya?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, this is a profession, not an existence. You can’t hide in it, no matter how well yer doing. I’ve coached a lot of guys, and some of them have all the success in the world but no means to enjoy it. When they’re done, they ain’t got nothing even when they have everything.”
I stared at him, waiting for more information, but it did not come. He shuffled his notes, then smiled at me quite pleasantly and said, “Well, whatever yer thinking about now, keep thinking it. Keep doing what you are a doing. Yer havin’ a great season so far, and there ain’t no reason you can’t keep having it.”
“Thanks, Abby.”
“Alright then. Send Frenchy in wouldya please?”
Chapter Thirty-eight
We had been to Frisco, Texas, before, when the team was laboring to get through games without completely breaking down. Now, after our rebirth, we were back for another round. Frisco was one of the best teams in the league, and if we were to have a shot at playoff baseball, we’d have to beat up on the Rough Riders.
Easily one of the nicest ballparks in minor league baseball, Frisco’s park is the gem of the Texas League. The outfield fences are giant LCD display boards that show hundred-foot advertisements, stats, and graphics. Big-league parks don’t even have such things. In fact, the entire park benefits because it is a minor league stadium. It does things its own unique way. The architecture of the facility reminds me of a high-class horse track, with custom loges featuring balconies, outdoor ceiling fans, and exposed walkways. It’s like proper ladies with large hats and fancy, one-time-use dresses should be alongside gents with tall leather boots and coats with tails, not dudes in frayed ball caps sucking down Budweisers.
All the stadium seats are angled toward the center of the field, meaning there is no bad seat in the house. A waterfall and swimming pool occupies the space behind the right field fence, and the bullpen has spent more than one night ogling the ladies occupying it with a set of binoculars. A display board the size of a small house towers above left field. However, as distinct as the field is, the one trait I found most unique was its bullpen.
The bullpen in Frisco is located in the stands—literally in the seats. A set of stairs actually climbs up into the stadium’s bleachers down the right and left field line allowing access to the pen. Surrounding the pen are seats on all sides. I have never experienced anything like it. Being thrust into the stands and surrounded by fans sets the table for unique fan-player interaction. Our last trip to the park, a group of high-school-aged kids came down to heckle us. They wrote signs that said You fucking suck, You’re going nowhere, and You aren’t never going to make it! The grammar gaffe on their part opened up the door for us to hammer them. The end result was security confiscating their signs and tossing the kids from the stadium. We asked if we could keep the signs, security obliged, and the relief corps hung them in the locker room as motivation.
Indeed, the park was a fantastic place to come of age in. If the team could rally against the Rough Riders, then we could feel good about our chances for the rest of the season. It would be a good test for us. This was a big series, big for a lot of reasons, though just how big would not be as simple a story to summarize as a line score…
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