The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [46]
“Do you think they’ll send me back to High-A?”
“They could.”
“Oh God…”
“If that’s where they stick you, Dirk, then that’s the best chance you’ll have.”
“I seriously need to quit.” But I couldn’t. I wasn’t a quitter—a curse of mine.
“Quit? Quit pouting maybe. It could be worse. You could be like Larry and Varner or that crazy dude with the tattoo.”
“You mean Lars.”
“Yep, you could be like him. You’ve still got a chance—I’ll bet they’d trade places with you in a heartbeat.”
“I’m not them, Adam. It’s not apples to apples here. I don’t know what they were playing for, but I can tell you what I’m not playing for. I don’t want to waste another year of my life kicking around the California League with no idea what the fuck I’m—Hold on a sec.”
My phone beeped at me, it was my mother on the other line. She was calling me back. I let it beep, deciding to call her back when I was done with Adam. I put the phone back to my ear.
“I want a better quality of life to come along at some point. Is that wrong? I’m not a quitter, and I think that may be just stupid of me. I think if I was smart, I’d get out of this now. I know this is a dream and there’s an argument to be made for walking away from it, but it’s not a fairy tale. I don’t open up the fucking wardrobe and frolic into Narnia every time the umpire says play ball.”
“I’ve never heard anyone put it that way.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I understand what you’re talking about, and I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong. There aren’t any guarantees, and there will always be some dumbass fan who freaks out about you pissing away the magical experience of baseball. I would never tell you it’s not a hard life, but this is part of it. You make the best with the chance you got. I know you aren’t a quitter, so, even though you’re angry, we both know you aren’t going to give up this chance.”
“I’m so tired of hearing that word! Chance, chance, chance!” I transferred ears. “It’s okay to chase it when you have some promise, but you can’t honestly tell me my chances just improved with this news?”
“No. No they didn’t, but you still, as much as you are sick of the word, have a chance, is what I’m saying.”
“Maybe.”
“You do.”
“Is it a chance I want?”
“You look at things differently than most players. I mean, you just used Narnia and fuck in the same sentence. I think you need to take some time and think about all this, and if you are as serious about walking away as you think, then I’ll support you. I’ll make some phone calls and see if I can get some more information. Just don’t do anything you’ll regret in the meantime.”
I looked around the hotel room. All the furniture was flipped over, strewn through the place with a lampshade speared by a table leg.
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
When I got off the phone, a message popped up to inform me I had a voice mail from my mother. I dialed my voice mail box, and when the message began, my mom’s exasperated voice said, “Hey babe, if you want to get a hold of us, don’t call the house phone. Your brother came home drunk a few nights back and started doing his usual.” She said it as if he brought home another bad grade, as if she were accustomed to it now, more disappointed than angry. “He started in on your father, and your dad got so upset with him I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Dad threatened to call the cops on him, so your brother ripped the phone off the wall and smashed it.” I looked at the broken phone in my room. “I had to call the cops on my cell. We haven’t seen your brother in a few days—probably hiding over at your grandmother’s, who, by the way, has called us three times to tell us she