The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [96]
Dalton stood up and looked to the rest of us. “Where’s the clubbie at? Who the fuck puts caged dogs in a dark doorway? I’m going to lock him in one of these cages.” He marched down the remainder of the hallway and kicked the doors open. We followed.
Entering the clubhouse proper, Dalton could be heard yelling at the clubbie from around the corner, and every so often the words “dog” and “rat” could be heard. Blade and Rob went to their lockers and I to mine. On the far side of the lockers, more activity was brewing.
Woot was bent down behind yet another reliever’s bare ass with a permanent marker. This reliever went by the name Ward and worked as the team’s lefty specialist. Ward, like Wooten, was also a former big leaguer with years of experience. If his thickly accented voice didn’t make it clear he was from the Bronx, then the sharp, quick-witted New York banter surely would. Ward had a mouth that (1) never stopped running and (2) was missing teeth. His ADD explained the first part, why he never slowed down and possibly his current, yet-to-be-discovered, exploit involving an artist and his ass. The missing teeth were due to bad dental care, despite the popular theory that someone knocked them out. He wore a mouthpiece to fill in the blanks.
Taking the job more seriously than a man inscribing another man’s ass should, Woot made Ward move into better lighting so he could get a proper angle. The portrait was just as interesting as the canvas: Eddie, the team trainer. Woot drew a plump, round face with slanted eyes and short, buzzed hair. A mouth stretched from one cheek to the other, divided down the middle, of course. Though Eddie did not have acne, Ward’s canvas did.
When the portrait was finished, Ward strutted into the training room, bare ass hanging out.
“Hey Eddie, check out this new tattoo I got.” Ward bent over and showed Eddie Woot’s masterpiece. To make sure there was no doubt who was represented, Woot wrote EDDIE over the work. “This way I can always remember you,” Ward said.
Eddie was using the ultrasound wand on someone’s arm at the time, but that did not stop him from attempting to kick Ward in the canvas.
“Hey, take it easy, you’re gonna smear your face!” Ward protested.
Eddie launched rolls of athletic tape at Ward until he ran from the office.
“How’d he like it?” Wooten asked, as Ward scampered out.
“Oh, he loved it,” Ward said, smiling broadly.
“Don’t come crying to me the next time your arm hurts,” Eddie said while standing in the doorway of the training room.
“I wouldn’t do this to you if you’d just make me another PSP. You’re freaking Japanese bro, you can turn this dip can into a Nintendo.” Ward tossed the dip can at Eddie who batted it aside.
“Yeah, I could,” Eddie said, “but I’m not going to make one for you.”
“Awww, come on, bro, don’t be that way,” Ward said, smiling again.
“You draw a picture of me on your ass, and you want me to do you favors? I’m glad your PSP got stolen.” Eddie turned back into the training room.
I was suiting up at my locker while the Ward Show was in progress. I looked over at Manrique, who was also watching.
“What’s the deal with Ward’s PSP?” I asked.
“He say someone broke into his room and take it. He’s such a dipshit.” Manrique let out a chuckle, which Ward caught wind of.
“What you are laughing at?” Ward said, staring down Manrique. “It’s your cousins that took it. You tell them I want it back!”
“They not give it back, but they sell it back to you for a good price, since you’re my friend.”
Ward did not have a reply to that. Manrique, surprisingly coolheaded, trumped Ward’s rampage of ADD. So, as Ward often did when he did not have a reply for a target outsmarting him, he switched targets. “Eddie, EDDIE!” he shouted at the training room door. “Reek admitted his family stole my PSP. I need the number for MLB security!”
“Good for Reek’s family, I hope they enjoy it,” came the shout from the training