The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [40]
I just didn’t want to be jerked around. It may sound crazy, but it’d be such a relief to know I’d no chance at all. None. Then I could say I did all I could; I could close the book and walk away from it with no regrets. Instead, I’m supposed to live by the mantra, “If you have a jersey on your back…” Is that a chance I want? Don’t keep me around as an innings mopper or a babysitter. Don’t lie to me; don’t postpone my life with false promises. Is that too much to ask?
“I have to tell you Larry, you’re kinda weirding me out lurking outside the door while I’m throwing mud in here.”
“My bad. I was just thinking and you know how rare that is.”
“Well, don’t think too hard. We’re baseball players after all, just ask Hoffman.”
“By the way, what in the hell does ‘inculcate’ mean? [spit]”
“It means to instill an attitude or a belief by persistent instruction.”
“Like brainwashing yourself?”
“Yeah, I guess you could call it that too. Inculcate is a nicer way of saying it.”
“Shit, I thought it meant you got something pregnant. Like, I hope the Domos don’t inculcate my sister [spit].”
“If she hasn’t gotten pregnant yet, chances are she never will.”
“You gonna be able to play tomorrow, or will you still be inculcating the toilet?”
“I don’t know. I see the doctor in the morning and I hope to the Lord above he can make this stop because it’s killing me.” “And maybe my career,” I thought. Of all the ways I imagined I’d go out of this game, explaining to my grandkids that I crapped myself out of a job was not the one I expected.
Chapter Thirteen
The Imodium I downed didn’t kick in when I was with Larry, but during the next few days it came on in full, creating a force field around my ass through which I couldn’t squeeze even the tiniest of nuggets. By the time I was feeling better, it was cut day, and my first sick-free morning was met with the nauseating thought of what would happen to me when I arrived at camp.
I had done all I could. I had played my hardest, dug for answers the best way I knew, and adjusted radar reads diplomatically to give me a little extra edge. If I didn’t make a team, then baseball just wasn’t in the cards. At least I could walk away knowing I did the best I could. I would be okay with that. I think.
When Larry and I pulled into the complex, a group of players stood by the entrance in their street clothes, packed Padres bags on the ground next to them. They all had their cell phones to their ears. Some talked loudly and in angry tones, other in diffused, forlorn tones. Their time with the Padres had come to a close. At least they got to keep the bags.
“Anyone you know?” I asked, hoping Larry could identify the bodies.
“No. I think they were younger guys. I saw that one with the sunglasses on his head in the treatment room a lot though. That makes me feel real good, lemme tell ya.”
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
“Shit, it is what it is.” We exited the van and headed in.
No roster work groups were up on the cork scheduling board. No names on the early work sheet, no clues of any kind. The atmosphere of the locker room was like a funeral, somber and stark. No one joked around; most of the guys just sat at their lockers with heads down in respect for the fallen.
Everything is done in person. Bruce Wick, the equipment manager and Lord Clubbie of the minor league side, plays the harbinger of death. He is commissioned with the duty of telling the players who are soon to be unemployed that their presence is requested in the back office by Grady or Earp for execution. Players who really want to know, find him.
The locker next to mine was cleaned out, several others as well. Come day’s end, would mine be empty too? A pile of abandoned baseball equipment was forming next to the trash bin. Someone would take it for themselves before the end of the day, but not until cuts were over. It would seem too much like grave robbing.
Many players had not yet changed into their workout uniforms. I suppose there was no point in changing if you were going to be out of a job. Undeterred, I sat down on my dressing