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Prologue
June
Inthe time it takes a 102-mph fastball to reach the plate, the dream shatters.Thevision, the motivation, the year-long preparation, the countless hours of training, the team-building exercises, the wins and the losses during conference and tournament play.
Everythingcomes down to the final out in the national college baseball championship game.Theannouncer calls the play-by-play on the worldwide broadcast network:
“Thetying runner at third, the winning run at second, two outs.FCU’slast chance,All-AmericanChathamJohnSpencerat the plate.Three-two count on the batter.Jenkinsstares in for the sign and nods.Here’sthe windup and the pitch…Spencerswings…”
Theball thumps into the catcher’s mitt, and collective groans of pain rise from one side of the stadium while ecstatic cheers erupt on the other.
“ThisCinderellaseason screeches to a halt for theFCUStormSurge.Asthe famous poem says, ‘There’sno joy inMudville.’CaptainSpencerhas struck out.”
Hourslater,Spenceremained on the bus after watching his teammates exit, most of their faces blank.Someof the younger players’ eyes reflected disappointment, but most showed determination toward the next season.Eachglanced atSpencer, the senior captain who’d led them to this unexpected moment.Henodded when they clapped his shoulder, murmuring words of empathy.
Wasit worth it?Decliningthe draft yet again… dropping classes knowingIwouldn’t graduate this year.I’llneed at least another year to earn those credits.WouldImake the same decision now?Afterblowing our chance today?Spencertook a swig from his water bottle and wished he had something stronger.Hedreaded the team dinner in a few hours—where they’d believed they would celebrate theNationalChampionship.
Hedidn’t move as someone took the seat beside him.Withoutlooking, he knewToddAndersonwould give him a pep talk. “Coachsend you?”
“Nope.Gotan hour.Enoughtime to finish beating yourself up.”
Spencescrubbed his hand across his face. “Willyou enter the draft?”
“Willyou?”Toddcountered.
Spencershook his head. “Ipromised my parentsI’dget my degree.AndIhate unfinished business.”
“Ifyou stay, so willI—we need that trophy.Gettingred-shirted stunk, but now that additional year of eligibility looks pretty freaking good.Besides,Iwon’t go in the first round, the second, or…”
Spence’slips quirked in a semi-smile. “You’llgo high whenever you enter.What’sanother year, right?”
“Myparents aren’t any less demanding when it comes to graduating,County.”WhenToddused his high school nickname,Spencersnorted a laugh.Anative ofSavannah,Georgia,Spencer’smother had named him after the city’s county,Chatham.Whenhe entered the university, he identified himself as “Spence.”Onlya few friends continued to call himCounty.Toddstood and slappedSpencer’sshoulder. “C’mon,Captain, a bunch of teammates could use a dose of leadership and a toast to what we accomplished this year.”
Forthe last night in the hotel,CoachJosephRamirezplanned a team dinner—no matter the game’s outcome—to recognize the historic season thatFloridaCoastalUniversity(FCU) recorded and the unprecedented appearance in theHolyGrailof college baseball.WinningtheNationalChampionship—the team’s established motivational goal—gained steam as the season progressed until the players believed in its probability, then the inevitability of playing for the dream.Avision left hanging by a frayed string.
CoachRamirezapproached the two friends when they entered the hotel lobby.
“Spencer, the team had an amazing season,” he said. “Don’tfocus on would have, could have, should have.Yourteammates need to hear from you at dinner tonight—acknowledge the letdown but emphasize and celebrate the successes.We’llbe stronger next year, and we hope every man on this team commits to doing what it takes to get us another chance to play for the title.”
Spenceallowed a small smile. “That’sa given,Coach.”Hepaused. “Iknow whatIwant… need to say.Iwon’t let you down.”
Ramirezclapped a hand on his captain’s shoulder. “Iknow you won’t.JustasIknow, you willnotshoulder the blame.”Heraised his eyebrows in question.
Spencelaughed. “Yeah,Iget what you’re saying.It’sthe unmet goal…I’llhave nightmares about that strikeout.Butit makes me more determined to prove this season wasn’t a fluke.Ibelieve the rest of the team feels the same way.”
“Youcan count on us,”Toddadded.
“Expectnothing less, gentlemen.”
WhenRamirezleft to meet with reporters,ToddnudgedSpenceand tilted his head toward their teammate,EricMarsden.Nosurprise—a group of coeds surrounded him, vying for his attention.
“Shallwe rescue him?”Spenceasked.
“Don’tthink he needs rescuing.Heneeds to share his fan club, don’t you think?”Toddsmiled as one student glanced at him, then waved them over. “Howlong until the dinner?”
Spenceconsulted his watch. “Lessthan an hour.Notenough time…”
“…to set up plans for the after-dinner party?We’vegot it covered,County.Let’sintroduce ourselves.”
