A Life of Inches (14 page)

Chapter Eighteen

August 11, 2006

Tonight my team, the Medina County Buzzards, faces the Terre Haute Monarchs, and I’m looking forward to an easy win. The Monarchs had most of their top-tier talent called up to double and triple-A to fill in gaps, leaving their roster decimated.

I flip on the radio and then jump into the shower. With Molly around, the bathroom stays clean and the tub gets lined with several scented soaps, shampoos, and facial cleansers.

“Tony Drizzle here on WCLE with some breaking news. The Indians just emailed an alert for a press conference to be held in a few minutes to allow Hank ‘Woodie’ Wodyzewski to announce his retirement from baseball.” The radio announcer triggers a sound clip of the Indians play-by-play guy shouting excitedly about a home run Woodie hit earlier in the year. “Sure, he hasn’t panned out as the big bat the Tribe was hoping they acquired with that winter trade a few seasons ago, but he has become an integral part of the team as a veteran leader. I will be sad to see him go. I mean, I’ve been covering this kid since his high school days. If he’s retiring, what does that say about me? When we come back we’ll be going live to the press conference…”

The roar of my thoughts drowns out the sports talk. As the surrealism of the moment crashes over me, I close my eyes, letting the scalding water wash away my anxiety. As I reopen them a few moments later, I understand, beyond the shadow of a doubt, what I must do.

Answer my phone.

Naked and dripping, I tiptoe over my dirty clothes to grab my cell phone. The ringer plays “Centerfield” by John Fogerty, which means this could only be one person calling.

“Hey, Woodster. From what they’re saying on the radio, you’re going to have plenty of free time coming up.”

“So you’ve heard the news already.” Woodie’s voice sounds warm, eager. It seems even on the day of his retirement, my friend has chosen to stay positive and professional.

“Sure did, slugger. Just know that whatever you need, we’ll be here for you. I mean, if there’s one thing I have experience in, it’s life after baseball.”

I choke up, visualizing my best friend’s last hurrah as a baseball player. And to think, I’ve spent years focused on the times he bested me while ignoring all the times he’s been there for me.

Woodie sighs. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear you say that.”

I wait a moment longer, expecting more, but when the silence lingers I decide to move the conversation along. “Maybe I can help you avoid some of the mistakes I made on the path to becoming a regular guy. Well, I guess–”

“Whoa. Whoa. Slow down. I’m happy to hear that you’re here for me, man, really I am, but I don’t think you heard the news. That is, I mean, the real news.”

He has my attention.

“Listen, I’ve known you for such a long time, and you’ve always been there—with me, against me, it didn’t matter. I’ve felt like we’ve always been best friends, even when we didn’t speak for long stretches. For years, I’ve gone through the same motions to get through every day, and as each season has come and gone, I’ve felt like my life needed more. Yes, the major leagues have been a challenge, and yes, baseball has allowed me to live an amazing life, but in the end…what if that isn’t enough?”

His words started with laughter, but now his tone sounds introspective. “I still feel great, considering the beating I’ve endured all these years, but if I’m not 100% committed it’s just no use. So, yeah, I went into Slim’s office late last night and told him I’m hanging up my cleats.”

“Hey man, if you’re leaving the game on your terms, consider yourself lucky.”

He agrees with a grunt.

I put down my bar of soap and rinse my hand. “If you’re up for it, why don’t you do your press conference, and then come with me to my ballpark? We could relax, talk some shop, and you could see the game from a different point of view. What do ya say?” I’m sure spending his first day of freedom around a baseball diamond falls low on his wish list, but at least he knows the offer stands. At least he knows he has a friend.

“That’s sorta why I called. As I left Slim’s office and started to say some goodbyes, he called me back and handed me his phone. He’d informed the General Manager of the Cleveland Indians of my decision. The GM told Slim to grab me before I left. It seems an opening for minor league manager has just come up, and he wants me to consider taking the job. I wanted to talk to you and get some advice.”

“Woah, congrats. Shoot away.”

“So, I see you’re playing The Monarchs tonight. What does your scouting report say for facing their slugger, Tim Wiest? I hear he’s a beast.”

Growing up, we always studied the game of baseball. I can recall countless days watching the Tribe on the tiny nineteen inch TV at my parents’ old house and breaking down each pitch.

“Well, it’s a weird time to talk shop, but if you’re that curious, I can tell you. The word around the league is, he loves the high heat, just cannot get enough. If he learns to lay off it, he could draw enough walks to rocket his on-base percentage up into the .380 to .400 range.”

Someone on the other end of the line says something to Woodie in the background. “Hey, listen, we’re about to get started, but we’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Good luck,” I say, wishing I could be there for my friend. Then again, I’m still wet and naked, not appropriate attire for a press conference. I flip the radio back on and step back into the shower. With Molly at a televised pep rally in Detroit and Woodie live on the radio, I’m the odd man out of the media blitz.

“Hey. Tony Drizzle here. I guess Woodie has taken a deep breath, and is now ready to go through with the press conference after all. Let’s go out to our man on the scene. Patrick, what’s happening on your end?”

Patrick clears his throat. “Well, Tony, the press conference started in very dramatic fashion as the Indians’ head manager, ‘Slim’ Svitak, gave the press a quick hello, and then he motioned for ‘Mr. Luck’ to come out. After that, nothing happened, Tony. Rumor percolated around the facility that Woodie was reconsidering his decision to retire. It seemed to all of us gathered here that those rumors must have some legs to them, because…”

“P, did we lose you?”

“No, Tony, sorry. Here comes Woodie to the podium, where we expect him to make a short speech, and then open it up for some questions.”

The reporter falls silent. Shuffling feet, a chair sliding, and someone clears their throat as Woodie takes his place in front of the microphone. I grab the soap as the sound of shuffling and creaking seats can be heard through the radio.

“Thanks for being here, all of you,” Woodie says. “As most of you have guessed, I’m not here to announce my candidacy for president.”

Laughter permeates the room.

“I’ve had the honor and privilege of making a career of playing baseball for many years now. From my earliest memories, I can recall dreaming of suiting up for my hometown team, and during these past few years I’ve fulfilled that dream. I’d be lying if I said the childhood dream ended without a World Series ring on my finger, but to be honest, I think Cleveland is making the right moves to be really good, really fast and I might just be in the way on the field. I was never the fastest player, the strongest player, or the most well-known player, so I relied on my understanding of the game to stay in the league—”

A reporter calls out, “Not to mention that lucky streak of yours.”

The crowd laughs.

Woodie chuckles as well, and then continues, “These past few years I’ve spent more and more time in the dugout, teaching, coaching, and picking the brain of our great manager. So, even though most of you already have your articles written, I’ll make it official. I’m retiring from the Cleveland Indians today and assuming the role of manager for the Terre Haute Monarchs.”

Caught off guard by the news, I slip on the slick bathtub floor, but avoid a complete fall with the aid of the shower curtain and the soap dish. I gape at my radio in disbelief as a familiar wave of adrenaline surges inside.

So tonight, I will once again go head-to-head with Woodie on the baseball field. Regardless of anything that has happened, I vow that starting right now my luck will change.

I grab a towel and forget the shower, instead focusing on tonight’s game.

Woodie continues giving his statement. “That’s about all I had planned. If there’re any questions I’ll field them now, but make it quick. I have a baseball team to whip into shape for tonight’s game.”

Applause broadcasts over the radio from the typically tedious midweek press conferences, a testament to Woodie’s likeability and relationship with the local media.

“Yes, sir, you in the striped suit. Patrick, is it?”

“Thanks Woodie.” The reporter for WCLE seems calm to the point of boredom. “Regardless of whether you have playing experience, managing a team with no prep time sounds daunting. How will you prepare for tonight’s game?”

“Well, it’s going to be a very big adjustment. After years of grinding it out each day on the field, I need to adjust to grinding it out while watching video, reading scouting reports, and assessing how my players are doing. In fact, one player I want to reevaluate is our stud, Tim Wiest. He’s a beauty at the plate, but I’ve noticed that he can’t seem to lay off the high heat. My theory is that if he can learn a little patience, he can draw some walks and raise his on-base percentage into the .380 to .400 range…”

I stand in my lilac scented bathroom, shaking my head in shame. The guy has been managing for a total of three seconds and he has already out-coached me.

One thing is for sure. Somehow, some way, this time Woodie is going down.

Chapter Nineteen

November 18, 2006

Molly stands in front of a mirror, assuring every strand of her hair looks perfect. “What do you mean you don’t know how to tie a tie?”

Though this comment sounds lighthearted, I know she sometimes wonders about my choice of lifestyle. We’re readying ourselves to attend an annual charity dinner at a German Heritage Hall. Molly calls the event a celebrity date auction, but in my experience, it’s just another excuse for rich older women to get a few cheap thrills with the most eligible bachelors in the city. Tonight, I’m confident that, no matter how high the bids get, Molly is spoken for.

Struggling with my cufflink, I deadpan, “Well dear, as shocking as it may seem, there aren’t many occasions for a minor league baseball manager to get dressed up and hobnob with the movers and shakers of the world.”

“Oh, I forgot, your whole life is baseball and nothing else. No time for culture, politics, and world events that don’t occur by throwing, catching, or hitting a ball.” Molly moves behind me, adjusting my orange and silver tie a couple inches, and then folds it into something respectable. “You look handsome.”

The tie tied, we tie tongues next.

As part of her political publicist duties, Molly co-hosts the event, and it didn’t escape my attention that Woodie made the list of bachelors up for grabs. I can’t say I blame Molly for recruiting him. He’s young, handsome, and he enjoyed a solid career as a professional ballplayer here in town. I better check myself, or I might just bid on him too.

When I’ve attended events like this in the past, my goal has always been to embarrass myself as little as possible. Tonight, however, my goal is to charm the crowd, Molly’s friends, and even her mother. I squeeze the lucky pendant around my neck, hidden behind my freshly ironed shirt.

I help her load the car with props and forms for the event and we head South on the back roads.

Molly twirls a finger in her hair, a nervous tick. “So, can you go one night without rubbing it in Woodie’s face that your team made the playoffs and his didn’t?”

“Oh, I don’t need to remind him.”

Molly gives me her stock glare of skepticism.

“I texted him the final standings a few minutes ago, just so I knew he knew.”

She shakes her head, releasing an unfamiliar scent around the SUV.

“New shampoo?”

She sniffs her hair. “Yeah. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Guess I’m just used to the usual fruity stuff. What’s this new one?”

“I worked out earlier, and all I had was a travel bottle I swiped from a hotel during my Arizona trip.”

The Arizona trip. Jesus. There’s nothing more stressful than your girlfriend heading right into the thick of things just after some psycho started shooting at the very same politicians she’s sent to aid.

She reaches for my hand and squeezes it. “You’re cute.”

“Why?”

“Your face.”

“No, your face.”

She giggles. “Whenever I talk about Arizona, you get this stressed-out look, like the expression Wilder would give me every time I left the house. It’s cute that you care enough that me going still causes discomfort to you, even after a month.”

“I’m an open book to you, darling.”

“Then why are you hiding your phone?”

My cellphone’s browser displays a page full of stats, so I can research waiver wire player pick-up possibilities for our fantasy football league.

I raise the heat a few degrees on the passenger side of the car. “There’s no way I can allow last year’s champion any advantages.”

This time it’s me doing the hand squeezing.

As we enter the event hall, with its walls covered in large murals of farmers and village-folk from the old country, I see Woodie standing with Molly’s mother. I enjoy forcing Mrs. De Leon to watch as I parade her daughter around the room before we make our way to her.

I shake Woodie’s hand. “I have thirty bucks and I’m saving it for you, stud.”

“If thirty bucks lands a date with me, I think breast cancer will be the real winner. Come on cheapskate, last year the high bid was eight hundred.”

I blink and shake my head. It looks like I’ll have to be content to go home with just Molly tonight. I kiss her high on her cheek, before she rushes off to play politics with some high-ranking VIPs.

Might be small of me, but I take pleasure in Woodie watching her go.

He sips his green drink. “Wow, she looks beautiful tonight.”

Now it’s time for Molly’s mother to be shocked and offended. “What are you trying to say? My Molly is beautiful every night.”

She laughs, just a little louder than necessary, making sure to glance around to see who pays her any attention. Having had my fill of the senator, I excuse myself to locate the bar for a soda. Ever since I left Stubby’s, with the aid of Stubby and two of Cleveland’s finest paramedics, I’ve steered clear of the strong stuff. Sure, the reason I couldn’t walk out on my own was due to my father’s fists and not the scotch, but if I had been sober, I might’ve been able to fend him off and my nose wouldn’t be so crooked.

A very recognizable man, walking with Molly, intercepts me before I can order a drink.

“How’re you holding up?” Carlton Massey slaps me on the back.

My jaw clenches like a boxer anticipating an uppercut. Last week, I sat in an office with Mr. Massey, now a freelance agent, and three other men interviewing for a bench coach position with the Triple-A Lincoln Sweet Corn team. They chew through managers like a dog with a new bone.

I point at Woodie. “Ask me again after my best friend has been paraded on stage for these ladies and bought for more money than I’ll make in a month.”

He chuckles.

Molly curtsies. “If you gentleman will excuse me, I believe we are close to starting up, so I’m headed backstage.”

Tonight, she wears a darker shade of lipstick than normal, green tinted eye shadow, and highlights in her hair. This new look of hers reminds me of her college era style, when she truly came into her own. I find it beyond sexy, so I pull her back for another kiss.

She pushes away, cheeks reddening. Molly has grown in many ways, but public displays of affection certainly aren’t one of them.

Mr. Massey leads me to the bar. We toast each other and survey the scene around us.

“She’s a lovely gal.”

I nod in total agreement.

“I’m glad my guy won’t have to compete with her for dollars tonight.”

It takes me a moment to realize Mr. Massey represents one of the men to be auctioned. He has been a staple in sports as a mover and shaker for years, so I’m sure he has some high-profile guys on his management roster.

“So, if I bid a lot on your man, does that grease the wheels to help me get the job?”

I feel tension and carbonated bubbles tickle my throat. “Sorry, I’m just anxious and—”

“Relax,” Mr. Massey says, reassuring me with a firm hand on my shoulder. “Lincoln likes you and they understand what you bring to the table.”

I nod, my jaw clenched.

“All right,” he says in a conspiratorial tone, glancing around the room. “I’ve been in your shoes, and I know you’re dying for some info. That about right?”

I nod.

“Management is dragging their feet in Nebraska. I don’t know when they’re going to make a decision. However, it looks like they want someone with more coaching experience than you can offer.”

My head lowers to meet my drink, which I down in one gulp. I knew meeting with team officials it was a long shot without much coaching experience to boast. I was hoping Mr. Massey could talk them into giving me a chance. I motion to the bartender with my empty glass and a grimace, wishing the drink had alcohol.

“Whoa, hear me out before you drink the bar dry.”

I crunch a cube of ice.

“Listen, I think this might be for the best.”

“Oh?”

Carlton Massey leans in a little closer as if preparing to divulge state secrets. “As early as the winter meetings, the Twins are going to announce that their Double-A Flint affiliate manager got promoted. They’ll need a replacement. I’d like you to throw your hat in the ring. The job could be a quick springboard, because you’ll be working with a good group of guys.”

Too excited to speak, I process the offer by blinking so fast it causes a strobe effect. To manage at the Double-A level, this soon, would put my career on a fast track to the big leagues.

Carlton jabs an elbow into my ribs. “There’s no doubt Molly will find you attractive in a Stones cap.”

As I agree, the lights dim a few times.

Appearing onstage, Molly steps up to the microphone. “All right, folks, we’re going to get rolling here in a few minutes. Please, if you’re one of our bachelors, make your way backstage for your numbered badges.”

She pauses to listen to someone out of sight, nods, and then returns her attention to the crowd. “So, how we feeling tonight?”

The female-dominated crowd begins a polite, conservative applause that by the end of the night will dissolve into a wild catcall of money, power, and alcohol-fueled confidence.

“That’s a good start, but I’m going to need more energy from you, ladies. Let’s remember that last year we had three men place high bids to keep us from enjoying ourselves, so can I count on you to raise the stakes this year?”

This time the crowd roars.

“All right then, let’s get some drinks, break out those wallets, and meet some single men.”

Though my strategy includes keeping my wallet secured in my double-breasted suit coat pocket and I’m off the market to all single men, I could get talked into another drink. Maybe I’ll get crazy and try a ginger ale.

Molly walks offstage as the crowd applauds.

Mr. Massey asks, “So, will Molly stay here during the season?”

I shake my head. “We’ve talked about a long-distance relationship, but it just wouldn’t work. When she is out doing these events and I’m wrapped up in the season, we just wouldn’t have the time or energy to make it work. Now that she’s back to focusing on local city campaigns, she can move wherever I go and find candidates to line up around the block for a chance to work with her.”

He nods. “Good deal. I miss my family more every time I leave town.”

We clink our glasses together, and I say, “Well, maybe it’s time Molly and I got started on a family of our own.”

The lights dim again.

Molly appears onstage, holding a small stack of index cards. “Listen up ladies, it’s going to take a strong bid to win our first bachelor of the night. I’ve already placed my absentee bid with the auctioneer.” She winks toward a table with some of the wealthiest women in Ohio.

A large projector screen lowers behind Molly, as multi-colored lights, flash, strobe and pulse along with thumping music.

My agent points as the screen lights up, revealing the Chief Wahoo logo the Indians have used for decades. “Here comes my guy, right out of the gates.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Molly announces, her voice booming around the hall. “Please, give a warm welcome to former Cleveland Indian and current soap opera heartthrob, Jeremy Wilder.”

I whistle in excitement and surprise, at the sight of one of my favorite players of all time. Sure, I’ve met Jeremy before, when Woodie won a contest back in high school, but tonight he could be my date. Woodie just might lose my thirty-dollar bid.

By the time we leave, I’ve decided it’s time to start shopping for a diamond ring in earnest, for Molly, not for Jeremy. With a new chapter in my life set to begin, I want to make sure Molly can share it with me.