CarnivalBarker
Literotica Guru
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THWACCK!! The ball burrowed deep in Mitchell's glove with far less force than the sound suggested. Twenty-six years playing ball taught him a trick or two about how to get in the batter's head and make his rookie pitchers look better than they were. He stood slowly and threw the ball back to the new kid, fresh up from AA. He squatted again and awaited the next warm-up pitch that clocked at a paltry 84.
"Gonna have to develop a curve or something," he thought, tossing the ball back once more. With all the athletes today, he was amazed the kids didn't throw harder. Two years here in Round Rock, Texas, and he hadn't seen one kid that could make his hand sting the way the guys in the bigs always did. He remembered fondly the first time he warmed up with Verlander in spring training with the Tigers. The Cy Young winner nearly cracked his wrist, and he knew he had arrived. But he was already old then, trying to break into the majors. Now, at 37, Mitchell McLaren had no shot to make it back. He had agreed to another year to help train some of the guys that might get called up to the Orioles lineup late in the year. But his knees were tired and the left one was shot. His back ached constantly, and his bat barely got him to .225. He would never be a hall of famer. At the same time, most of the kids in his dugout would never see the bigs. He had been there. For three good years, he played for the Red Sox and then the Orioles, even playing in one world series, where he barely saw the field, but connected on a two out single that tied Game 6 before the team won and forced a championship game two days later. The next game, the Dodgers bats lit up the Red Sox ace, and he never again saw any chance to win a ring. A year later, he had knee and elbow surgery, and from then on, little interest was shown in his services. But now, in this dusty town, he remembered the size and noise from the big league stadium, and the way the lockers there had all new gear each night, and travel on jet planes. He looked around and also thought of his days coming up in AA, when the beer was cheap, the guys were truly in the battle with him and not worried about their next Nike deal, and the women were all cute and young. He caught the last warm up pitch and threw it back again.
"Play ball!" The umpire pulled on his mask. Mitchell turned to look at the batter walking to the plate. "Would you look at that?" The ump said. Mitchell smiled, knowing what he meant. There, behind the batter toward the dugout, stood a girl he had noticed several times. She was a team trainer, though she had not tended to him yet. He didn't know her name, but he did know her legs and hips from every time he had checked her out.
"One of Austin's finest," Mitchell replied, taking his spot behind the plate and signaling for a fastball. He glanced at the girl once more and then focused on the incoming pitch. He was looking forward to this summer, his last in baseball.
http://s1.ibtimes.com/sites/www.ibtimes.com/files/styles/v2_article_large/public/2012/12/23/former-baseball-player-ryan-freel-found-dead-apparent-suicide.jpeg
"Gonna have to develop a curve or something," he thought, tossing the ball back once more. With all the athletes today, he was amazed the kids didn't throw harder. Two years here in Round Rock, Texas, and he hadn't seen one kid that could make his hand sting the way the guys in the bigs always did. He remembered fondly the first time he warmed up with Verlander in spring training with the Tigers. The Cy Young winner nearly cracked his wrist, and he knew he had arrived. But he was already old then, trying to break into the majors. Now, at 37, Mitchell McLaren had no shot to make it back. He had agreed to another year to help train some of the guys that might get called up to the Orioles lineup late in the year. But his knees were tired and the left one was shot. His back ached constantly, and his bat barely got him to .225. He would never be a hall of famer. At the same time, most of the kids in his dugout would never see the bigs. He had been there. For three good years, he played for the Red Sox and then the Orioles, even playing in one world series, where he barely saw the field, but connected on a two out single that tied Game 6 before the team won and forced a championship game two days later. The next game, the Dodgers bats lit up the Red Sox ace, and he never again saw any chance to win a ring. A year later, he had knee and elbow surgery, and from then on, little interest was shown in his services. But now, in this dusty town, he remembered the size and noise from the big league stadium, and the way the lockers there had all new gear each night, and travel on jet planes. He looked around and also thought of his days coming up in AA, when the beer was cheap, the guys were truly in the battle with him and not worried about their next Nike deal, and the women were all cute and young. He caught the last warm up pitch and threw it back again.
"Play ball!" The umpire pulled on his mask. Mitchell turned to look at the batter walking to the plate. "Would you look at that?" The ump said. Mitchell smiled, knowing what he meant. There, behind the batter toward the dugout, stood a girl he had noticed several times. She was a team trainer, though she had not tended to him yet. He didn't know her name, but he did know her legs and hips from every time he had checked her out.
"One of Austin's finest," Mitchell replied, taking his spot behind the plate and signaling for a fastball. He glanced at the girl once more and then focused on the incoming pitch. He was looking forward to this summer, his last in baseball.
http://s1.ibtimes.com/sites/www.ibtimes.com/files/styles/v2_article_large/public/2012/12/23/former-baseball-player-ryan-freel-found-dead-apparent-suicide.jpeg
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