Nothing like a little 4-month-or-whatever-its-been break in between posts, eh? Baseball season is in full swing and I sure as heck haven't been covering it for you guys! My bad.
Here's whats going on. I've got a little story for you guys. This is totally fiction. But I thought you guys might like reading a little of my creative fiction work!
Yes, I'll still be posting on here analysis and news of current stories but this will be a nice break from the normal hum-drum of baseball. I'll break it up into several posts over the next couple weeks or so.
Hope you enjoy! First post, coming your way in
3..
2...
1...
Play ball.
Just the Beginning.
“Sacks are loaded. 2-1 count on
Michaels. Here's the pitch---”
WHACK.
“A
drive! Heading into the corner in right! It drops in and 3 runs will score!
Michaels cruises into third standing up. He's blown this game wide open with a
two-out bases-clearing triple!”
Kris closes the door on his locker
and grabs his gear bag. God how he hates all the reporters. Guess that's what
comes from being the best player on the team—especially one that managed a
2-for-4 effort and 4 runs batted in.
“Kris!”
It was the director. Not of his
Double-A team, but of the parent club—the Braves! He had met him a couple times
before, earlier in the spring when he played on the major league team over spring
training.
“Hello Mr. Richardson! What brings
you down here?”
“You do.”
“Whatever could you want with me?”
“Your bat. And glove. In Atlanta.
Tomorrow. You've made the Show, kid!”
“Hey rookie!”
Kris was still kind of taking it all
in. He spent much of the spring with these guys during his Spring Training cup
of coffee, but it felt totally different during the regular season. “Yeah?”
“If you don’t homer in your first
at-bat you’re buying us all dinner!”
“Jesus man! I barely even have a
big-league contract man…you guys eat expensive too.”
“Sucks to suck—make it happen lil
man.”
Kris turned back to face his locker
with a wry smile on his face. Michael Bourn was such a troll. At the same time
though, he was somewhat worried that he would follow through with that threat.
And they do eat expensive. He threw
on his uniform shirt and gave his hat a good shake and pop with his hands. It
was crisp and new. With the way he played, it wouldn’t feel like that for very
long.
A quick jog out of the clubhouse and into the bright sunlight of PNC Park took a second to adjust to. The park was new and sparkling, quite unlike the smaller, cheaper parks he had played in in AAA. There was a sprinkling of fans finding their way up to field level to get some autographs.
A quick jog out of the clubhouse and into the bright sunlight of PNC Park took a second to adjust to. The park was new and sparkling, quite unlike the smaller, cheaper parks he had played in in AAA. There was a sprinkling of fans finding their way up to field level to get some autographs.
“Mr. Michaels?”
A young voice penetrated his
thoughts. Kris turned around to see a young boy in a Braves jersey standing at
the railing behind him.
“Hey! What’s up bud?”
The kid looked a little sheepish.
“Can-can I have your autograph?”
Kris grinned. “Sure!” He walked over
and took the autograph book and pen from the boy and made sure his first
big-league autograph was perfect. He glanced through and saw other top-level
players’ autographs—Brian McCann, Dan Uggla, a freaking GREG MADDUX autograph too—he didn’t look old enough to have one of
those.
“I take it you’re a big Braves fan?”
Kris was curious.
“Yeah!”
Kris handed the book and pen back to
the boy and held out his hand. The boy looked slightly confused, then a grin
passed his face as he shook Kris’ hand.
“Thanks mister!”
Enough of the mister crap. “Just
call me Kris.”
He waved as the boy and his
father—just guessing that it was his dad—walked up the concourse stairs.
“Now you’ve got to hit that homer!” Bourn called over from the outfield.
Dammit.
