Baseball 4
The day after I see Lata off at the airport, Hannigan phones at six am, "got a CRS shift today?"
"Yes Coach."
"Cancel, get here now."
The telco doesn't mind as long as you phone in.
First time I've seen Hannigan actually look happy, "parent team, right fielder was in a fender bender. Not taking any chances, til all the med results get back."
My big break.
"Your air ticket, hotel reservation." I examine them.
"Now the important stuff. Chances are it's only one game, just being careful. Hitting, just keep on how you do. Fielding, gotta change. You are the most aggressive right fielder in all Triple A. I correct that, the most aggressive outfielder."
"Thank you Coach."
"Our fans love it; our team loves it; our place in the standings does; so do I. But let's say it's only one day. Now that wall climb, that perfect timing of jump to steal away a home run. That you can keep. Even if you miss, no big deal, woulda been a homer anyhow. Shows good spirit. Important thing is it didn't cost the team anything."
I'm starting to catch on.
"That dive, charging a line drive, just don't do it. See you're used to playing on natural grass. Turf is a very different slide and bounce. Pull that stunt on turf, you'll miscalculate, he'll be on with a double or triple."
"Thank you Coach."
"Just take that line drive on the first bounce, body block very carefully, because it's a different bounce. No one will complain if your play looks boring, long as it's done right. Make one serious fielding error and you can kiss goodbye to a career in the Bigs."
My one game is uneventful in right. Hannigan was right; it is a very different bounce. Woulda looked like an idiot if I tried anything fancy. The climb of the wall simply never presents an opportunity.
In four at bats, I'm on with two singles, found holes. Team is happy I can hit precision as well as just power.
As I return home next morning, I reflect all went well, that is nothing went wrong.
Two days later, I face Slater, the hot new fastballer who can pop em to 106 mph.
Third inning, foul tip zings my ankle. Ump gives a minute or so to walk it off, then I'm ready again.
It's happened a hundred times, but feels different today. I finish the game, but go to the team doctor after.
It's only a crack, but I don't like the expression on his face. He downchecks me for rest of season (September), gets me a cane in case.
After the healing process, his prognosis, "no more baseball. You could be a postman, walk all day. Lope a block to catch the bus. Any sprints, turns, slides while running, out of the question. Only way you play next year, if Hannigan makes you DH (designated hitter)."
Fat chance, Ryan the DH is lousy in field.
As far as the team is concerned, it's as if I'm a plague carrier - my failure would infect their dreams. Season is over, but guys do gather for coffee. The chill is unbelievable, I just never go back.
Lata's emails go from warm and intimate to careful, afraid to risk any more emotional energy on me. I can almost hear the gears whirr in her mind. Baseball kept him focused, alert, busy, sober, out of trouble, in good physical condition. Take away the focus, he could be a lazy drunken bum.
I now work 40 hour weeks as CSR.
The two courses this semester seem different.
History - always had a soft spot for historical novels when I have time - I throw myself in with wild abandon - do far more than necessary.
French-Canadian Literature - I was born in Montreal, lived there til age twelve, love francophone culture. Again, I approach the course with prodigous abandon.
I soon see no one is reacting to me as a washed-up ex-jock. Profs and fellow students like my enthusiasm.
My hand shakes as I read Lata's email. She is releasing me from my vow. See like many East Indians, her real dream is entrepreneurship. In Canada, almost outa the question, needs too much capital. But she's buying a video rental store in her ancestral hometown of Enmore. Will lodge with relatives she knows from a high school summer vacation.
She wishes me well, adds I was always decent with her and with Indira.
I make a point of never wishing ill upon another, even a rival. There are religious reasons behind that, with which I will not bore you.
Still, my pulse escalates when I read of the death of Ryan, DH, is a drunk driving accident. A comeback, as DH?
In minutes, I've decided. First, too proud to go back, after being snubbed by those clowns. Second and more practical, DH position on a Canadian Triple A team gives about the same odds of success as buying a single lottery ticket; takes a lot more time than buying one. For better or worse, the baseball dream is over.
Hannigan phones an hour later, sounding me out. I tell him it's over. He thanks me for not wasting his time by hemming and hawing for months.
I've just bought a half pizza at telco when Sanjeev, Lata's younger brother, breezes by, Chinese food in hand. Seeing me, he stops, friendly smile, "mon, come join us."
It's four East Indians, all young guys whom I know more or less.
As if on cue, they start in with stories. All the people who got sick of it, came back to Canada.
Yes at first it seems nice to play big frog in a small pond. Yes, in terms of incomes there, ex-pat Indo-Guyanese make good incomes on these businesses. Compared to Canada, a joke, so poor, so primitive.
Sanjeev and I are alone as we head back, "find anyone else yet?"
"Truth is, haven't looked, job and school."
"Odds are 9/10 she's back in a year. If she does choose to marry a white guy, you'd be the best I know."
I'm touched by his vote of confidence, "thank you."
"Some are racist, show it. Others, keep it hidden, mostly. You, color-blind, totally non-racial. Alla the family is talking. Hope that if she comes back, it's you again."
I actually wipe a tear.
"I'm guessing she holds out a whole year."
In a flash, I know exactly why, "better for the resume. Quit before then, looks like a business failure. Entire year, people would believe you are just tired of the penny ante income."
Cheerful grin, "we'll make a real Guyanese outa you yet."
"Indira ah, did she ah gossip bout me?"
He blushes, "utter foolishness, no one believed it, not even her. Besides, no one likes her, puts on airs."
I laugh.
"Alla the Guyanese guys in your age group mon, happy to see when you and Indira hooked up."
"How so?"
"Means no more parental pressure about her. So how did you actually manage two years with her?"
"Not as bad as groupies."
"Might be nice to find that out myself."
"Despite Indira's attitude, she never assaulted me with anything. Nor redecorate my apartment with wine puke. Nor do drugs, drink too much or run around."
"Yes Coach."
"Cancel, get here now."
The telco doesn't mind as long as you phone in.
First time I've seen Hannigan actually look happy, "parent team, right fielder was in a fender bender. Not taking any chances, til all the med results get back."
My big break.
"Your air ticket, hotel reservation." I examine them.
"Now the important stuff. Chances are it's only one game, just being careful. Hitting, just keep on how you do. Fielding, gotta change. You are the most aggressive right fielder in all Triple A. I correct that, the most aggressive outfielder."
"Thank you Coach."
"Our fans love it; our team loves it; our place in the standings does; so do I. But let's say it's only one day. Now that wall climb, that perfect timing of jump to steal away a home run. That you can keep. Even if you miss, no big deal, woulda been a homer anyhow. Shows good spirit. Important thing is it didn't cost the team anything."
I'm starting to catch on.
"That dive, charging a line drive, just don't do it. See you're used to playing on natural grass. Turf is a very different slide and bounce. Pull that stunt on turf, you'll miscalculate, he'll be on with a double or triple."
"Thank you Coach."
"Just take that line drive on the first bounce, body block very carefully, because it's a different bounce. No one will complain if your play looks boring, long as it's done right. Make one serious fielding error and you can kiss goodbye to a career in the Bigs."
My one game is uneventful in right. Hannigan was right; it is a very different bounce. Woulda looked like an idiot if I tried anything fancy. The climb of the wall simply never presents an opportunity.
In four at bats, I'm on with two singles, found holes. Team is happy I can hit precision as well as just power.
As I return home next morning, I reflect all went well, that is nothing went wrong.
Two days later, I face Slater, the hot new fastballer who can pop em to 106 mph.
Third inning, foul tip zings my ankle. Ump gives a minute or so to walk it off, then I'm ready again.
It's happened a hundred times, but feels different today. I finish the game, but go to the team doctor after.
It's only a crack, but I don't like the expression on his face. He downchecks me for rest of season (September), gets me a cane in case.
After the healing process, his prognosis, "no more baseball. You could be a postman, walk all day. Lope a block to catch the bus. Any sprints, turns, slides while running, out of the question. Only way you play next year, if Hannigan makes you DH (designated hitter)."
Fat chance, Ryan the DH is lousy in field.
As far as the team is concerned, it's as if I'm a plague carrier - my failure would infect their dreams. Season is over, but guys do gather for coffee. The chill is unbelievable, I just never go back.
Lata's emails go from warm and intimate to careful, afraid to risk any more emotional energy on me. I can almost hear the gears whirr in her mind. Baseball kept him focused, alert, busy, sober, out of trouble, in good physical condition. Take away the focus, he could be a lazy drunken bum.
I now work 40 hour weeks as CSR.
The two courses this semester seem different.
History - always had a soft spot for historical novels when I have time - I throw myself in with wild abandon - do far more than necessary.
French-Canadian Literature - I was born in Montreal, lived there til age twelve, love francophone culture. Again, I approach the course with prodigous abandon.
I soon see no one is reacting to me as a washed-up ex-jock. Profs and fellow students like my enthusiasm.
My hand shakes as I read Lata's email. She is releasing me from my vow. See like many East Indians, her real dream is entrepreneurship. In Canada, almost outa the question, needs too much capital. But she's buying a video rental store in her ancestral hometown of Enmore. Will lodge with relatives she knows from a high school summer vacation.
She wishes me well, adds I was always decent with her and with Indira.
I make a point of never wishing ill upon another, even a rival. There are religious reasons behind that, with which I will not bore you.
Still, my pulse escalates when I read of the death of Ryan, DH, is a drunk driving accident. A comeback, as DH?
In minutes, I've decided. First, too proud to go back, after being snubbed by those clowns. Second and more practical, DH position on a Canadian Triple A team gives about the same odds of success as buying a single lottery ticket; takes a lot more time than buying one. For better or worse, the baseball dream is over.
Hannigan phones an hour later, sounding me out. I tell him it's over. He thanks me for not wasting his time by hemming and hawing for months.
I've just bought a half pizza at telco when Sanjeev, Lata's younger brother, breezes by, Chinese food in hand. Seeing me, he stops, friendly smile, "mon, come join us."
It's four East Indians, all young guys whom I know more or less.
As if on cue, they start in with stories. All the people who got sick of it, came back to Canada.
Yes at first it seems nice to play big frog in a small pond. Yes, in terms of incomes there, ex-pat Indo-Guyanese make good incomes on these businesses. Compared to Canada, a joke, so poor, so primitive.
Sanjeev and I are alone as we head back, "find anyone else yet?"
"Truth is, haven't looked, job and school."
"Odds are 9/10 she's back in a year. If she does choose to marry a white guy, you'd be the best I know."
I'm touched by his vote of confidence, "thank you."
"Some are racist, show it. Others, keep it hidden, mostly. You, color-blind, totally non-racial. Alla the family is talking. Hope that if she comes back, it's you again."
I actually wipe a tear.
"I'm guessing she holds out a whole year."
In a flash, I know exactly why, "better for the resume. Quit before then, looks like a business failure. Entire year, people would believe you are just tired of the penny ante income."
Cheerful grin, "we'll make a real Guyanese outa you yet."
"Indira ah, did she ah gossip bout me?"
He blushes, "utter foolishness, no one believed it, not even her. Besides, no one likes her, puts on airs."
I laugh.
"Alla the Guyanese guys in your age group mon, happy to see when you and Indira hooked up."
"How so?"
"Means no more parental pressure about her. So how did you actually manage two years with her?"
"Not as bad as groupies."
"Might be nice to find that out myself."
"Despite Indira's attitude, she never assaulted me with anything. Nor redecorate my apartment with wine puke. Nor do drugs, drink too much or run around."
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