Eight months ago, in Florida
A loud crack splits the air, and a baseball becomes a black dot in the sky. Half the crowd comes to their feet in the stands and erupts into cheers as the ball disappears over the fence behind left field. Proud moms and dads high-five each other and little children bounce in place, screaming in joy and support. Why wouldn't they? Their team, the Port Calusa Tarpons, just took the lead.
"Shit."
This utterance comes from assistant coach, Kip Brown, standing to Cal's left in the dugout. Everyone calls him Kipper, except their players who call him Coach Brown. Kipper will be taking over the team when Cal retires, but that's a few years off if Cal has any say in it—and he does because it's not something Cal is looking forward to. What will he do when he retires? Bump around an empty house already haunted by memories? Go on retirement cruises, alone, bored, and pathetic? Hell no. He will hang on to his coach's hat as long as they let him. The truth is, since Moll' died, baseball is about the only thing keeping him going.
"Yep," Cal agrees with Kipper's assessment.
Cal hears the visiting crowd cheering but keeps his eyes on the field. The batter casually rounding the bases is Number 42 from their regional rival, Port Calusa, a town on the Gulf an hour's drive west, and he sends a runner home in front of him before touching home himself. Just like that, the Tarpons are ahead by one at the top of the sixth and Cal's Heartland Highlanders are on the verge of elimination. But if Cal's closer, Lenny Springfield, can shake off the home run and put away the next batter, then the Highlanders will have a chance to come back and move on to State.
But Lenny isn't looking too confident, alone on the mound and digging a toe into the sand.
"Pull him?" Kipper asks about Lenny Springfield. Kipper is chewing his gum hard and gripping the short fence of the dugout.
"Not yet," Cal says, shaking his head. "Give him another batter. See what he does."
"He looks shaky, Coach," Kip says.
"Yeah, he does, but this might be his last game as a senior in front of his hometown."
"And his pops," Kip adds and then nods to the home-side bleachers where Lenny's dad, Dr. Manny Springfield, is on his feet and leaning over the fence with a disgusted look on his face.
Manny is a local dentist and is his son's greatest booster, but also his toughest critic. He cups his hands around his mouth of perfect teeth and shouts at Lenny to pull his head out of his ass and pitch. Manny is tall, like his son, and played basketball in college up at the University of Florida. One of Molly's paintings hangs in Manny's dentist lobby, purchased back when his son was still in little league and dreaming of big games just like this, but Cal and Manny aren't friends. In fact, Manny does not like the way Cal coaches.
But that's water off Cal's back. There are always critics.
"Yep, that asshole," Cal says. "Let's give Springfield a chance to respond to pressure, and there ain't no pressure like his pops screaming at him. He'll need that experience just as much as he'll need his fastball next year up in Florida."
Lenny is six-foot-five and long-limbed with a good pitching motion that can really deliver some heat. He could be the next Randy Johnson if he can stay healthy, make it through UF's baseball program and into the minors, but he's a sensitive kid, which is not a great attribute in a pitcher. Cal doesn't want to send the kid up to Gainesville with his last high school memory being kicked to the bench after a single bad pitch.
Cal and Kipper watch the Tarpon's next batter step up to the plate, Number 8. Lenny Springfield takes a deep breath and locks eyes with his catcher. He shakes his head at the pitch call, waits, and then accepts with a nod. Lenny goes into his windup and releases a rocket of a sinker that causes Number 8 to whiff and the home crowd to cheer.
Strike one. Lenny Springfield is going to be okay.
But not all endings are happy. Lenny Springfield delivers a fastball straight down the middle, his lanky arm spinning like a trebuchet hurling a boulder over a castle wall.
CRACK
And Lenny's fastball is headed in the opposite direction, high and over the fence. Number 8 watches it go as the visiting crowd jumps to their feet again with a roar. Lenny Springfield's chin sinks to his chest as Number 8 starts to round the bases, and the Tarpons are now up by two.
Cal's Heartland Highlanders are one turn-at-bat from elimination and a tough loss in front of a home crowd. It shouldn't matter, but it does. And damn it hurts to come so far and leave empty handed, especially for those seniors playing their last game. Elijah Manuel Martinez, for example, standing passively. *E-man—*they call him—and he has already signed with the Navy and is shipping out right after graduation. Not a bad move, but he will never play real baseball again.
Number 8 touches home plate and Kipper stares at Cal expectantly. Cal nods to Kipper, who immediately whistles sharply and motions the relief pitcher onto the field to replace Lenny.
"You gave him a chance, Coach," Kipper says.
Cal doesn't answer.
Lenny is already striding towards the dugout, not even waiting for his relief to arrive. The crowd claps for Lenny, but he keeps his chin buried into his chest. Even parents from the opposing team are clapping because everyone knows how hard these kids work to get a shot at State, and besides, it's easy to be good sports when they've just gone up two runs.
Cal hates to pull Lenny, but it's part of the game—you can't give up two homers this late in an elimination game and expect to keep the mound. Baseball is about learning resilience as much as it is about winning, and Lenny will have to learn that if he wants to make it to the majors. Cal has learned it from his own time at the plate, back in the minors, even if his knee gave out before his resolve. All those years of training and one bad slide into second takes it all away, but this is part of life, too, knowing when to move on to bigger and better things.
Like the family he made with Molly: thirty-five years of marriage, a daughter, and now a grandson. If only Moll' could be here to enjoy it with him.
God, he misses her.
"Coach!" Kipper says and points to the home-side bleachers.
Dr. Manny Springfield has jumped the fence and is storming onto the field to intercept his son before Lenny is halfway to the dugout. Every face around the field locks onto the unfolding drama. Cellphones appear in hands, ready to record.
"Goddamn it," Cal grumbles before he exits the dugout and chases Dr. Springfield onto the field. He is three steps behind when father and son meet halfway between the mound and the dugout.
"What the hell, boy?" Dr. Springfield yells in Lenny's face. He's tall, six-foot-six, and thin but still athletic in his late forties. He coaches basketball at the YMCA and shows off his three-pointers in pickup games. Most of the town thinks he's a stand-up guy—and he is in many ways—but he's also an asshole to his kid and that matters.
Cal inserts himself between father and son.
"Not the time nor the place, Manny!" he yells. "Now get off my field, you're embarrassing us."
"I'm embarrassing us?" Dr. Springfield yells back.
"Yes!"
Already this is getting out of hand, but Cal's patience shatters when Dr. Springfield chest-bumps him and knocks him back a step. The crowd goes ooo and Cal knows the video will go viral around school.
"Lenny's been shit all week!" Dr. Springfield says, "Ain't you been, boy? And, Coach, you still put him in with everything on the line."
Cal doesn't respond to the chest-bump, but he feels heat rising up through his face. He doesn't like having to look up at the prick in front of him, but he's not intimidated. He's enraged at the audacity of this man, embarrassing his son and the team like this, throwing his size around and dragging Cal into managing an adult temper tantrum.
"Manny, get off my field NOW! Lenny? Get in the dugout and get some ice on that arm."
Lenny is ghost white and steps around Cal and his father. This is the kind of shame that takes years to recover from—if ever.
Cal's heart breaks for him.
Lenny passes his father and for a moment it seems the situation is over. Until Dr. Springfield slaps the back of Lenny's head so hard that Lenny stumbles forward and his baseball cap lands in the grass.
That's it.
Cal shoves Dr. Springfield, who scrambles with his stork-like legs before catching his balance. Expletives are streaming from Cal's mouth, he knows it but can't control it, and the dentist sends them right back. They are face to face now, yelling, until Dr. Springfield slams forward and catches Cal in the chest with both hands. The crowd is roaring, but Cal ignores it.
"You want some of this?!" Dr. Springfield yells so close that Cal can taste his breath. Cal is bracing against more shoves, as the Highlanders' dugout spills on to the field, players and coaching staff swarming like ants to defend their coach. Except young Lenny Springfield who's already off the field and walking towards the locker room. Alone.
Cal's hands are up and he's pushing back against Dr. Springfield, whose red face is sneering down at him like the sun.
"You've been a shit coach for years now!" Dr. Springfield yells, still pushing Cal. "Fucking retire, already!"
"Eat shit, Manny!"
"Ever since your wife died!" Dr. Springfield adds.
Cal can only blink before the anger floods him again.
Fuck you, Manny, you entitled shit! You've got money, a great kid . . . and your wife is still alive!
The Highlanders players arrive in a wave, and Kipper has an arm around Dr. Springfield, but it's too late. Cal grabs the dentist's collar and then, with a hundred phone cameras watching, he pulls back a fist and cracks the good dentist right in the teeth.