cool. “It’s a real honor to be able to work with you.”
“Don’t you watch ESPN?” He couldn’t let the young man idolize him. “I’ve dishonored the game. I’m just trying to see if I’m not a complete fraud.”
Brandon blew out a breath, as if he’d been sucker-punched, but he shook it off. “Let’s get to work, then.”
The kid wasn’t rattled. He just grabbed his gear bag and began putting on his knee pads and chest protector. He stuck his hand in his catcher’s mitt and crouched down behind the plate, pulled down his mask, and popped his fist into his glove.
It was now or never. Time to find out if he still had it. Cooper grabbed a ball from the bucket his friend had set next to the practice mound.
“I’m going to start slow,” he announced. “I haven’t thrown much since the surgery.”
“Sure.” Brandon nodded, but remained in the ready position. The kid was a gamer.
Cooper stood a few feet in front of the rubber. His legs were a little shaky, but they held him upright.
He threw a soft toss toward his target, not even close to full speed. The kid had to reach up to catch it, but he had no trouble making the grab. He stood and tossed it back. Cooper caught it, and without even having to think, he threw back. Toss after toss until he was almost comfortable. Almost. He still couldn’t step up to the mound, though. He needed to get his muscles used to throwing in general before he could push himself to pitch.
But he was running out of time. There was less than a month until the first pitchers started reporting. And he didn’t have a contract, or an invitation to camp. He didn’t have shit.
But he had made a giant step forward. He was able to play a game of catch. A real game of catch with an up-and-coming ballplayer.
“Thanks.” Cooper took one last toss from the catcher. “I think I’m good here.”
“Anytime.” Brandon removed his mask, and walked over to shake hands, but with Cooper’s glove on his right hand and Brandon’s mitt on his left, it was a little awkward. Both men removed their gloves at the same time. The kid tried to extend his left hand at the same time Cooper extended his right. They both gave a nod and Cooper patted Brandon on the shoulder.
“You’re a good catcher, you’ll go far.”
“Thanks.” Brandon smiled, almost as if he was embarrassed by the compliment.
“I mean it. I can see why your uncle is always bragging about you.”
“It’s his job.” Color rose in the kid’s cheeks. “He has to brag about me. But if we’re lucky, I’ll make up for him not making it.”
Brandon nodded toward Sanders, who’d been watching the whole time.
“How old are you, kid?”
“Twenty.”
“Going on forty.” His uncle added with a father’s proud grin. “And he’ll make it. But not for me. He’ll make it because he’s good. Real good. And that’s not just family pride talking.”
“You’ve got talent.” Cooper hoped the kid understood how rare and special he was. “Keep your nose clean. Respect the game. Respect those who came before you. And be an example for those who come after you.”
“I’ll do my best.” Brandon stood with his mask tucked under his arm, looking much older and wiser than a twenty-year-old. Maybe it was because, unlike most kids his age, he knew it took more than talent to make it. It took hard work, dedication, and a whole lot of luck. He also knew it could disappear just like that. One play could end the dream.
Cooper wondered what would have happened if he’d been the one to have his career cut short just one step below the majors. He had no doubt that his friend would have been one hell of a big league ballplayer. And he would have walked away rather than do anything that would tarnish his legacy. He never would have been tempted by the dark side.
“Thanks again.” Cooper couldn’t even begin to explain how good today had felt. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could at least get an
“Don’t you watch ESPN?” He couldn’t let the young man idolize him. “I’ve dishonored the game. I’m just trying to see if I’m not a complete fraud.”
Brandon blew out a breath, as if he’d been sucker-punched, but he shook it off. “Let’s get to work, then.”
The kid wasn’t rattled. He just grabbed his gear bag and began putting on his knee pads and chest protector. He stuck his hand in his catcher’s mitt and crouched down behind the plate, pulled down his mask, and popped his fist into his glove.
It was now or never. Time to find out if he still had it. Cooper grabbed a ball from the bucket his friend had set next to the practice mound.
“I’m going to start slow,” he announced. “I haven’t thrown much since the surgery.”
“Sure.” Brandon nodded, but remained in the ready position. The kid was a gamer.
Cooper stood a few feet in front of the rubber. His legs were a little shaky, but they held him upright.
He threw a soft toss toward his target, not even close to full speed. The kid had to reach up to catch it, but he had no trouble making the grab. He stood and tossed it back. Cooper caught it, and without even having to think, he threw back. Toss after toss until he was almost comfortable. Almost. He still couldn’t step up to the mound, though. He needed to get his muscles used to throwing in general before he could push himself to pitch.
But he was running out of time. There was less than a month until the first pitchers started reporting. And he didn’t have a contract, or an invitation to camp. He didn’t have shit.
But he had made a giant step forward. He was able to play a game of catch. A real game of catch with an up-and-coming ballplayer.
“Thanks.” Cooper took one last toss from the catcher. “I think I’m good here.”
“Anytime.” Brandon removed his mask, and walked over to shake hands, but with Cooper’s glove on his right hand and Brandon’s mitt on his left, it was a little awkward. Both men removed their gloves at the same time. The kid tried to extend his left hand at the same time Cooper extended his right. They both gave a nod and Cooper patted Brandon on the shoulder.
“You’re a good catcher, you’ll go far.”
“Thanks.” Brandon smiled, almost as if he was embarrassed by the compliment.
“I mean it. I can see why your uncle is always bragging about you.”
“It’s his job.” Color rose in the kid’s cheeks. “He has to brag about me. But if we’re lucky, I’ll make up for him not making it.”
Brandon nodded toward Sanders, who’d been watching the whole time.
“How old are you, kid?”
“Twenty.”
“Going on forty.” His uncle added with a father’s proud grin. “And he’ll make it. But not for me. He’ll make it because he’s good. Real good. And that’s not just family pride talking.”
“You’ve got talent.” Cooper hoped the kid understood how rare and special he was. “Keep your nose clean. Respect the game. Respect those who came before you. And be an example for those who come after you.”
“I’ll do my best.” Brandon stood with his mask tucked under his arm, looking much older and wiser than a twenty-year-old. Maybe it was because, unlike most kids his age, he knew it took more than talent to make it. It took hard work, dedication, and a whole lot of luck. He also knew it could disappear just like that. One play could end the dream.
Cooper wondered what would have happened if he’d been the one to have his career cut short just one step below the majors. He had no doubt that his friend would have been one hell of a big league ballplayer. And he would have walked away rather than do anything that would tarnish his legacy. He never would have been tempted by the dark side.
“Thanks again.” Cooper couldn’t even begin to explain how good today had felt. He was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he could at least get an
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