The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [45]
“The latter.”
“Give me the scoop.”
I recited how it all went down.
“That’s all he said?”
“Yeah, just like that. If I wanted to call in and ask for more information, I could, but I thought that might be a bad idea since I would probably start yelling at anyone who answered, so I’m calling you for advice.”
“Good decision on your part.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I don’t think you should call.”
“Okay, but what else is there I can do?”
“Nothing.”
“I was afraid you would say that. Sitting here thinking about it is killing me.”
“Sure, I’ll bet it is.”
“What do you think it means?”
“It could mean a few things, but since they don’t want you to bring your bags in for Double-A, I don’t think they’ll send you there.”
“Damn it.” I moaned, and sat down. When I walked into camp today, I was okay with everything ending if it had to. But when I left, I did so with the belief I had earned my keep on the roster I set out to make. Now what had I earned?
“If I don’t go to Double-A, should I ask for my release? Do I get out of this organization and try to catch on with someone else? I pitched well against the Braves last year; maybe I could catch on there? Maybe they’d give me a better shake; I mean, I earned Double-A, right?”
Adam didn’t answer immediately, which meant he was trying to find a way to phrase something I wouldn’t enjoy hearing as positively as he could.
“Just tell me,” I said.
He took a breath. Cleared his throat. “Your chances of getting on another team right now aren’t that great. It’s not that you aren’t talented, but it’s just the time of year. Teams are setting their rosters. They’ve looked at a month’s worth of tryouts and let go of most of them just like the Padres have. Also, you’ve got to understand you’re an older guy with a mixed bag of results. You got experience at the higher levels, but the numbers aren’t impressive. The reality of it is, the Padres see something they like about you, which is why they’ve kept hold of you. You may have the benefit of the doubt with them you wouldn’t get someplace else. It may not be what you want to hear considering recent events, but they’re still your best chance for a future in this game. It just might not be Double-A, even if you’ve earned it.”
I held the cell phone to my ear in silence. I get quiet when I’m angry. Walking over to the hotel room window, I pulled the curtains and looked out. In the hotel’s hot tub were a group of players soaking. They were probably talking about the day’s cuts, where they were going, how they thought they would do on their respective teams. They probably didn’t just get a call telling them they might now be out of a job—those bastards.
Adam spoke up, trying his best to make sure I didn’t get defeated. “It’s baseball, brother. One of these days, when you’re in the bigs, you’ll look back at this and laugh.”
I hated when he talked to me like that, when he brought up being comfortable in the bigs, as if it was just a matter of time before I was there sipping from drinks with umbrellas in them while the good life washed over my toes. It was just a matter of time for guys who signed for millions to get there, not guys like me who’ve beat around the bush leagues and signed as seniors in college. I was a realist, and the big leagues were further away than ever.
Regardless of how inward focused and sure a player is, there’ll always be wavering moments of doubt. Sometimes, when the game’s going my way, when batters fall like autumn leaves and I can wring strikeouts out of my jersey like so much excess water, I permit myself to believe I can make it. Most of the time, however, when I’m in between excellence and catastrophe, I just hope I can. But in times like this, when I watch the window of opportunity slip shut and can feel the cold end of my career coming, I feel as if I’ll never make it and kick myself for ever thinking I could.
Not much was left to believe in now. The reality of the situation was the Padres probably liked me more than any