The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [110]
“Of course,” the crew said. I blew one of them up and watched his body fly into a wall like a Jack Russell terrier.
“So we did it again the next night, worse, aiming for the face mesh part of his costume. We almost knocked him off his bike. He decided he would get even by making water balloons and soaking us during the game, when we were getting warmed up to go in.”
“No shit? Did he?”
“Yeah, he soaked one of our guys—the wrong guy. The dude he hit with the balloons was a maniac with a full back tattoo and a thing for German death metal, and he almost went over the rails to kill the mascot.” The crew laughed as I went over the rails and fell into a deep chasm to my doom while trying to avoid a grenade. “The next night, when the mascot rolls by, our dude gets up and charges at the mascot. He didn’t tackle him, but he caused him to wreck. The mascot gets up and mimes that he wants a piece of our boy. Nothing happens there, but that night, more water balloons come raining down on our pen.”
“Damn it!” a crew member cried. I had stuck a plasma grenade to his character’s back and he blew up, giving me the lead.
“What did you guys do to get even?”
I finished the game before finishing the story. I lost, but it was close.
“Oh, yeah. Well, the next day, we got there earlier and got into the mascot’s dressing room, like the one your mascot has down the hall here. Our dude who wanted to kill him took a dump, scooped a turd into a bag, went into his dressing room, and ground it into the mascot’s helmet.”
“That’s awesome!”
“Yeah, it was hilarious. The mascot didn’t even come out that night. Ruined his whole show, but you know, he had to have put it on before he figured it out.” The grounds crew looked around at each other and smiled deviously. “You didn’t hear that from me,” I said.
“Hear what?”
“We playing again? No rockets this time?”
“Yeah, what level—”
Suddenly, Dalton’s head popped into the room. “Jesus dude, been looking all over for you, Abby wants you in the next inning. You gotta get loose, like now.”
“What!” I said, springing to my feet. “Holy shit! I thought I was down tonight!” I dropped the controller and ran out the door, rounding the corner so hard my cleats slipped on the smooth concrete causing me to wipe out and eat floor.
When I hit, Dalton stood there laughing at me. “I’m just kidding dude, you’re fine. Abby didn’t call. Gotcha.”
“You son of a bitch!” I said, rolling over.
“Oh my God, that was one of the best things I’ve ever seen!”
Chapter Thirty-nine
On day two of the series, during pitchers’ stretch, we dodged batting practice balls struck by the Rough Riders as we loosened in right field. Back and forth we went, jogging with high knees, shuffling, and doing tall leg kicks while calls of “heads up!” echoed across the field, informing us that another ball was coming in hot.
Juice, the team’s strength coach, seemed preoccupied with something other than our stretch. He stared longingly across the outfield grass at a hot young blond girl who was shagging balls with the Frisco team.
Strength coach is a peculiar job. Though it has the word coach in its title, it’s not truly a coaching job in the minors as much as it’s a babysitting job. The strength coach makes sure players stay in good shape, but in the minors, where the food is fatty, the travel hard, and the desire to spend extra time in a gym weak, it’s all about compromises.
Since a strength coach doesn’t do much coaching, he isn’t respected by the team as a hitting coach or a pitching coach would be and isn’t paid like one either. The strength coach finds himself more player than coach. Most strength coaches are young, younger than some of the players they’re asked to oversee. They want to have a good time, get rowdy with the young bucks in