ArcticAvenue
Randomly Pawing At Keys
- Joined
- Jul 16, 2013
- Posts
- 1,650
((Closed for Sweetandsexy3))
“Now Pitching for your Centerville Anglers, Number 30, Ken Cooper … Cooper.”
Through the smattering of applause and whistles, Kenny couldn’t help to notice how cool his name sounded as it rumbled around the stadium. There couldn’t have been more than a few hundred people here, and while most the seats were empty a full house wouldn’t be that impressive either. Still, just to hear his name called out over a stadium loudspeaker reminded him how close he was to “making it”.
After the last of his warm-ups, he stepped behind the mound and the catcher came out to talk to him. He was in his late 30s, almost old enough to be Kenny’s dad, and God knows how long he’d been stuck down here playing A-Ball. “Alright, kid,” the catcher said handing him the ball. “This ain’t the world series, but its still no high school. Don’t try to blow out your arm out. All you need to do is throw strikes, you got that?”
His 5’ 11” frame towered over the old, short catcher when he stood on the mound. He kept his sandy hair cut just short enough that the hat’s tan lines didn’t show from all the days he spent out on a baseball field. Kenny, for his height, was well built - not muscle bound but surely not skinny.
Kenny nodded, smiling big. This was what he was born for, what he lived for. Since the day his grandpa taught him how to throw a knuckleball his whole life built up to this point. Back in high school in Hickory, he was captain of the team, won a state championship, and was a three time All-Conference pitcher. Since he had to stick it out at home, his College ball was a walk in the park. He was 22, fully grown, and no longer a kid. Unlike the fat catcher, A-Ball was just a stepping stone. He’ll do his time, work on his game, and in a couple years would be in the bigs.
Staring down his first batter, he couldn’t help to grin. The batter was not much older than he was, and probably never seen a good knuckleball in his life. That’s what makes it so special. The first pitch of the rest of his life was now. He stood up, went through the wind, and threw.
…
Kenny slumped his way out of the park ready to make the long walk back to his little rental. Skipping the showers, he slipped out after the game was over to keep from having to talk to his new teammates. That will come surely, but not tonight, he didn’t want to talk to anyone who was in the park tonight.
Four batters. He lasted a measly four batters. Two walks, a double, and a home run. Skip yanked him without even a thought. Told him to not get down about this. But what is he supposed to do. It would be a couple days before he get another shot. Not get down about this, how can he avoid it?
With just the streetlights keeping him company on the cool summer evening, he just wandered. All he had right now was his mind, and all he could do was get lost in there.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
“Now Pitching for your Centerville Anglers, Number 30, Ken Cooper … Cooper.”
Through the smattering of applause and whistles, Kenny couldn’t help to notice how cool his name sounded as it rumbled around the stadium. There couldn’t have been more than a few hundred people here, and while most the seats were empty a full house wouldn’t be that impressive either. Still, just to hear his name called out over a stadium loudspeaker reminded him how close he was to “making it”.
After the last of his warm-ups, he stepped behind the mound and the catcher came out to talk to him. He was in his late 30s, almost old enough to be Kenny’s dad, and God knows how long he’d been stuck down here playing A-Ball. “Alright, kid,” the catcher said handing him the ball. “This ain’t the world series, but its still no high school. Don’t try to blow out your arm out. All you need to do is throw strikes, you got that?”
His 5’ 11” frame towered over the old, short catcher when he stood on the mound. He kept his sandy hair cut just short enough that the hat’s tan lines didn’t show from all the days he spent out on a baseball field. Kenny, for his height, was well built - not muscle bound but surely not skinny.
Kenny nodded, smiling big. This was what he was born for, what he lived for. Since the day his grandpa taught him how to throw a knuckleball his whole life built up to this point. Back in high school in Hickory, he was captain of the team, won a state championship, and was a three time All-Conference pitcher. Since he had to stick it out at home, his College ball was a walk in the park. He was 22, fully grown, and no longer a kid. Unlike the fat catcher, A-Ball was just a stepping stone. He’ll do his time, work on his game, and in a couple years would be in the bigs.
Staring down his first batter, he couldn’t help to grin. The batter was not much older than he was, and probably never seen a good knuckleball in his life. That’s what makes it so special. The first pitch of the rest of his life was now. He stood up, went through the wind, and threw.
…
Kenny slumped his way out of the park ready to make the long walk back to his little rental. Skipping the showers, he slipped out after the game was over to keep from having to talk to his new teammates. That will come surely, but not tonight, he didn’t want to talk to anyone who was in the park tonight.
Four batters. He lasted a measly four batters. Two walks, a double, and a home run. Skip yanked him without even a thought. Told him to not get down about this. But what is he supposed to do. It would be a couple days before he get another shot. Not get down about this, how can he avoid it?
With just the streetlights keeping him company on the cool summer evening, he just wandered. All he had right now was his mind, and all he could do was get lost in there.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
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