Spring training for the Medford Rogues began a little early this year due to a large amount of players uncertain of their final destination.
If you haven’t guessed already, Medford’s basically in the middle of nowhere, a minor league team that pro scouts don’t check in on much. For that reason most players will opt to play somewhere else if the opportunity presents itself.
“Hey Coach, did you hear anything from the Seattle Tycoons?” Mitch asks.
“No. Sorry Mitch. Nothing yet. Look kid, you’re one of the best pitchers I’ve seen in a while. Hope to keep you around.” Coach laughs to himself mostly.
“Thanks Coach.” Mitch smiles at the compliment.
“Everyone! Gather around, got a special announcement that I’d like to make!” Coach suddenly yells out.
It takes a couple of minutes, yet all the players leave their drills, and run to where Coach and Mitch stand at home plate.
“Jesus, there’s a lot of you bastards,” Coach says to chuckles. “Going to be difficult weeding you guys out. Lots of good players here. And of course, the best will be moving on soon. So here’s my test. Tomorrow, going to have some local guys come out here and play against you all.”
“Locals?” Jimmy, an outfielder says.
“Yeah, some guys I know that went to high school around here. Mostly drinking buddies of mine,” says Coach.
“You got to be joking.” Someone else in the crowd says.
“I know, doesn’t sound right. Still, they’re pretty darn good baseball players. And like I said, good friends of mine from back in my youth. So tomorrow we’re going to stage a scrimmage. They’ll be playing the same players the whole time. I’m going to rotate you guys in and out. That way everyone gets a shot at batting, playing in the field, or pitching. Should be fun . . .”
Next day, at high noon, David stands on the pitcher’s mound. David and Mitch are good friends. They are also rivals. David, a year older, and a year hungrier to get in the big leagues.
So David gets to start the game. He looks at the two dugouts. The Medford Rogues dugout overflowing with athletic young talent. Not to mention the seven players in the field behind him.
The locals are the Coach's drinking buddies no doubt. Middle age, bald, and hanging beer guts. Barflies, just flown in from that last spill of liquor. Did they know that they would be playing in a game today? Or did Coach scrape them off the asphalt of an alley offering them $5 each to jump in a van and go play in a baseball game?
“OK David, whenever you want to throw out the first pitch!” Coach yells from the dugout. His clipboard and pencil at the ready, and the assistant coaches standing around him, all evaluating talent.
David shakes his head, and smiles. He winds up and pitches a fastball.
“CRACK!”
The baseball goes sailing from the bat. Jimmy runs to the fence. He doesn’t jump. The baseball could have gone to Mars.
David gets out of the first inning respectfully. And the game continues with Coach swapping out players relentlessly at every position. While the older guys keep playing all the way through.
The game stays close all the way until the ninth inning. The Medford Rogues hold onto an 8 to 7 lead. Two outs, runner on second, top of the ninth inning.
“Mitch!” Coach yells. “Get in there.”
Mitch already pitched earlier. The game continues in a relaxing atmosphere. Mitch runs to the pitcher’s mound.
He looks at the batter, the same guy that started the game with a home run against David. Mitch nods to the catcher. Winds up and throws a slider. Swing and a miss. The next two pitches are outside the strike zone. The batter doesn’t chase them.
“Don’t go easy on Mitch!” Coach yells to the batter. Earlier, everyone would have laughed. Only now tension fills the air.
Mitch shakes off the catcher’s signal. He wants to throw his best pitch, the old reliable double knuckle curve ball. He gets the signal and nods. Winds up and lets her rip. Strike!
The count now even; two balls and two strikes. Mitch squints his eyes at the signal for fastball, nods his head, winds up, and throws the heat.
“CRACK!”
Another home run hit all the way to Mars. David laughs from the dugout.
“Mitch, come here. David, see if you can finish the inning.”
“You got it Coach!” David says and runs out to the mound.
Mitch runs to Coach and stands with his head down.
“Don’t worry about it Mitch. These guys are really good. They could probably hit a home run every single time if they wanted to do it. You gave him a good pitch. Fooled him into thinking it would be a ball. Great job!”
The Medford Rogues win the game in the bottom of the ninth off a Jimmy home run. Jimmy makes his way around the bases and swaggers to home plate.
“Not bad for a bunch of old timers,” Jimmy says to the catcher.
The catcher just shrugs his shoulders and smiles.
“No hard feelings man. Let’s go out for some beers or something.” Jimmy says as a joke.
“Beer? We don’t drink.” The catcher says.
“OK. Coach said you guys were his local drinking buddies or something. My bad,” says Jimmy. “Are you guys from here?”
“No. We’re from Mars.” And all the old sports laugh as they gather their gear.
“Jimmy, come here!” Coach yells out. “Nice home run!”
Jimmy runs to Coach at the dugout. “Thanks Coach. Only what’s going on with those guys? They said they don’t drink and that they’re from Mars? Kind of weird? And they didn’t talk much during the game either. Hell of good ball players! Why didn’t any of them go pro?”
“What’s with all the questions Jimmy? Are you a detective?” Coach asks laughing. He grabs the bill of Jimmy’s hat and pulls it down over his eyes.
“OK Coach. You got me.” Jimmy says laughing. “Only where are those dudes from?”
“Just like he said. They’re from Mars . . .”
Special thanks to @mctiller
Picture taken by me
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