The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [79]
“You’ve angered the baseball gods, Dirk,” Slappy said, pointing at me as if he were some type of witch doctor speaking on the behalf of his volcano god.
“Maybe I should sacrifice you to appease them?”
“You better do something,” he countered.
“I’m not sitting by him. I’m going to end up dead,” Pickles said, genuinely concerned and picking up his seat to relocate.
“Like what?” I asked.
“Sleep with a fat chick, a slump buster.”
“Like the chick that shut you down at the Diamond Club?”
“Ha. Ha.” He gave me the finger.
“Sorry, I can’t right now. I don’t think the coaches will let me leave the game for that.” I righted my chair and sat down again.
“Besides, it won’t work,” Rosco said, matter of fact. “It only works for slumps, hence the name slump buster. Also, Hayhurst is pitching well right now, so—”
“He won’t be anymore, not now that he’s pissed off the gods.”
“I’ll take my chances,” I said.
“Well, you could play with a hangover,” Slappy said, still intent on the issue.
“That won’t work either, since he’s not a starter,” Rosco said.
“Why do these baseball gods require me to sleep with fat chicks or play wasted? Why not donate to charity or something?”
“Obviously, because they’re baseball gods,” came the harmonious response.
“Well, I don’t drink, and I’m waiting for marriage. The baseball gods are out of luck,” I said, flippantly. “I’m just going to have to wear it I guess, right?” I turned to face the field, but the silence behind me turned me back around. The bullpen was staring at me as if I walked into a party I wasn’t invited to and the record skipped.
“Wait—you’re a virgin, Hayhurst?”
“Yes. Why?”
“As in, you’ve never had sex?”
“That would be the requirement of virginity.”
“Holy shit!” Pickles blurted.
“You’ve played five years of pro ball and never had sex…wow. Are you gay?” Slappy asked.
“Come on!” I protested. “Just cuz I’m waiting for marriage, doesn’t mean I’m gay.”
“Do you even look at porn?”
“I’ve seen porn before.”
“Like what kind? Like the hard-core stuff or just the soft, cuddly, no money shot kind.”
I paused to sift through what I was just asked. “How did I get into this? How did we go from baseball gods to what brand of porn I look at?”
“It’s important, uh…for the baseball gods.”
“I doubt that.”
“Are you religious or something?” Slappy asked.
“Baseball god religious or real religion religious?”
“Real religion religious.”
“Yes.”
“But you’ve looked at porn before?”
I shrugged. “I’m only human. I’m definitely not the best example of—”
“And you don’t drink.”
“No. I don’t.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“No, I’m not Mormon!”
“Well then why don’t you drink?”
“…”
“Do you think there’s something wrong with people who drink?” All the guys currently on the team drank.
“No, I don’t think it’s evil, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Well, what’s your reasoning?” Curious looks turned to suspicious ones.
I shook my head and took a long look into the outfield. “The reason I’m waiting for marriage is because it’s something I believe in, and it’s spiritual for me.” I’d told this little tidbit with the foreknowledge the boys didn’t much care for my personal reasons as much as they wanted to know I didn’t think they were sinful bastards. Baseball players in our age group are a lot like the regular nonbaseball-playing-type guys; both like women and pursue sexual relations with them as often as possible. It wasn’t easy for me to hold out for as long as I had, and it made me the brunt of a lot of jokes, especially since the movie The 40-Year-Old Virgin came out.
Your sex life is private if you want it to be, and I could always cite religion to make the skeptical questioning stop. The drinking thing, however, was a male-bonding ritual. Tossing back a brew with the crew was part of donning the uniform, and guys would frequently remind me that even Jesus put down a glass of wine now and then. The fact is, a lot of guys, baseball or otherwise, don’t feel comfortable around a guy who won’t throw one back occasionally.