The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [90]
After batting practice, while the rest of the guys ran from the steamy gulf humidity for the comfort of the locker room’s air-conditioning, I went to the pen to toss a light side session. I needed a tune-up after the trek I had to get here. Fifteen fastballs and ten breaking balls later, I felt like a pitcher again.
Soaking wet from the sauna-like conditions, I stumbled into the clubhouse to a party that had started without me. When I opened the door, I could hear the bass blaring. Five steps into the clubhouse and I could feel the steady pulse of a cranked sub-woofer. Grandmaster Flash singing “White Lines” permeated the sanctum, almost completely drowning out the laughter of the team. When I turned the corner into the main locker room, there was Dalton riding around on an electric scooter. Where this scooter came from or how it got into the building was beyond me. The rest of the team had spaced chairs like cones on some kind of racetrack for the driver to weave in and out of while he sped around the locker room.
Ox was nearly falling over laughing so hard. Drew pushed chairs out into the middle of the track. The rest of the team stood off to the sides trying not to get run over. I remained in the doorway, unsure of my own safety.
Dalton rounded a corner, and ran over someone’s shoes, getting them lodged in the front wheel. The scooter screeched to a halt, but “White Lines” continued. Dalton picked the shoes out from under the tire, then threw them into a nearby chair, shouting like an angry mother, “Whose shoes are on the floor?” Dalton was obviously upset that the rest of the team did not take track safety as seriously as he did.
He punched the throttle again and the scooter whirred into motion, sending him on a collision course with another chair. He narrowly dodged, jerking the scooter around and inches away from running over someone’s Xbox, also lying on the floor. Like the scooter, I could not tell where the Xbox materialized from, as they are not commonly found in away-team locker rooms, but then again, neither are scooters.
“Oh, that was a hard one, watch out for the Xbox!” Each time he made a lap, or made up a lap, the team rearranged the chairs to make it harder. He snaked his way through as best he could, as fast as he could, sometimes kicking out to steady himself as he kept the speed up. Considering the track was only thirty feet by twenty feet with twenty-five chairs, a couch, a table, and an Xbox, he was pretty good.
Guys started throwing gloves and hats at him. The ones that missed were purposefully run over.
“Excuse me!” Dalton screamed as he barreled toward me. I sidestepped, and he flew into the hallway. Three seconds later, there was a crash in the training room, followed by laughter, followed by Eddie screaming. I turned to go investigate, but noticed no one else had moved to look, standing there as if it were all a normal occurrence. Woot walked in from the bathroom, looked around the clubhouse, then said, “Where’s my scooter?”
I stood with my glove on my hip. If you haven’t noticed by now, things are way more mature up here in Double-A…
Chapter Twenty-nine
The game started at 7:05 in the evening, and the Missions’ relief core rambled out to the pen seconds before the anthem was sung. The visiting bullpen was indeed a pen; two mounds caged by chain-link fencing. Fans could poke us through its links or stare down at us from the seats above, pointing as if we were zoo animals on display. Composed partially of the right field fence, if the right fielder went back on a ball, he would only be inches from running into the relievers languishing just beyond the links.
Next to the pen was a swimming pool. So close was the pool, spray from cannonballs could splash warming pitchers. Cutting across the skyline was a towering bridge, under which freighters the size of the stadium passed carrying cargo. The stadium was a gem displayed majestically on the shore of the gulf. Playing on it reminded me how cool my job could be.
The relief core dragged the pen’s chairs across the grass and up the