The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [113]
“Erroneous! Erroneous on all counts!” Chase declared, smiling.
“Yeah, this is only the minors, Chase. I know it’s not San Diego, but you don’t have to keep reminding us how easy it is for you. The least you can do is stop the third-person routine.”
“Go ahead, fine Chase Headley. See if he cares,” Chase said. More laughter.
“Alright, Chase pleads guilty to not being here all year. Ten bucks for going to the ‘show’ and not taking us with him.”
The next fine was for someone wearing the wrong hat out to batting practice—simple two-dollar matter. Then there was a fine for a guy getting drunk and ruining his wingman’s night out by throwing up on the potential beef. The crowd roared with laughter as the story was told. The party being prosecuted argued he did the offended a favor by shielding him from the grenade he was about to take home. However, said the court, since the offended was in a slump, the accused was indeed guilty for standing in the way of his wingman’s career development and, thus, the success of the team. It was a very wise ruling.
Manrique was fined a second time for his gas, but the fine was thrown out under the statute of double jeopardy. I was fined for playing video games with the grounds crew during a game, which I fought as best I could, losing the case only when I admitted that I lost the Deathmatch to the grounds crew—a poor representation of our team’s video game prowess.
“This next fine is for Juice for threatening to rip off someone’s arms and beat him with them. Witness: bullpen.” Blade retold the story that got Juice heated up again and, consequently, jeered by the entire team. He was fined two dollars, one for each arm he threatened to rip off.
“This fine is for Lunchbox, from Hayhurst, for asking what is on the other side of the sun. Suggested fine, one dollar,” Drew read.
The crowd of peers looked to me; then Rob spoke. “We are going to need to hear the story on this one.” Lunchbox shook his head in disgust.
I told the tale about how I was sitting on the bench in the dugout in San Antonio. Lunchbox comes in in a huff. He sits down next to me and asks me if I know a lot about science. I say yes. He asks if I know a lot about the sun. I say I know a little. Then, in a moment of genuine seriousness, Lunchbox looks me in the eye and says, “So, do scientists know, like, have they figured out what’s on the other side of the sun?”
“You mean, what’s on the inside of the sun? Like the center?” I replied, thinking of gas and pressure and whatnot.
“No, like what’s around back of it, like behind it, the other side.”
“You’re asking me what’s behind the back of the sun?”
“Yeah, do scientists know that?”
“Yes, Lunchbox, we are, planet Earth, like half of the year. We orbit it.”
Lunchbox stared at me in wonder. “What do you mean, orbit?”
“Are you serious? We circle it, all the planets do. It’s how we get our calendar.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Lunchbox said. “If we orbit it, then how come in all the science books the planets are all lined up in a row on one side?”
“That’s because it’s a diagram. It’s not to scale.”
“What does scale mean?”
I stopped there to let the crowd take it all in.
“Lunchbox, what do you have to say for yourself?” the judges asked, not shocked at all after playing with him for a few months.
“Hey, it’s not my fault. I’m not Mr. Science Nerd like Hayhurst is.” Everyone in attendance laughed, which made Lunchbox laugh as well, thinking he had won the room over. I wanted to point out to him that everyone was laughing at him. But I think Rob said it best when he said, “I’m going to take that as a guilty plea, but I’m going to waive the fine, since I don’t think it’s fair to fine him when life has already done it.”
Soon after, the court session broke down into a storytelling free-for-all with random fines sprinkled in for spice. It was one of the first times the team, as a whole, communicated, laughed, and socialized. Then the doors of the clubhouse opened and in walked the Brass. Grady