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He scoffs. “I’ve never cost my team a game.” Justin looks around at the other players doing various exercises on the field. “You wanna help someone get better? Pick literally anyone else. I guarantee they need more work than me.”
He chucks his bat on the ground and jogs off to where a handful of the guys are tossing the ball back and forth.
“I doubt anyone will get through to that kid,” Rush says, coming up behind me, a clipboard in hand and a smile on his face. “Didn’t you hear? He knows everything.”
I roll my eyes. “Know-it-alls fuck me off so hard,” I grumble, my eyes scanning the field. “Who’s next?”
Rush glances down at his list, his finger tracing down the page. “Last one of the day,” he tells me before shouting across the field at one of the players. “Ruben! You’re up!”
A tall kid begins jogging over as Rush gives me a quick rundown of what his batting history has been like this year and last, and I mentally begin to frame up how I want to work with him.
We’ve been at these one-on-ones since the middle of last week. I spent the first week as the batting coach just observing the team as a whole, trying to get to know the guys. Then we moved into individual meetings. Rush said he wants me working individually with each player, helping them improve in my own area of expertise.
Which is, of course, batting. I make no bones about it: my shining feature is my big swing. My homerun record at this school was over 100 more than the second guy on the list. I averaged a homerun per game.
But in every other area, I’m just like everyone else. Sure, I can run fast, but other guys are faster. I’m a good fielder and I’ve done a few running dives for balls in the outfield, but I’ve had plenty hit the ground, and my arm is mid at best.
To make up for where I’m lacking, I condition harder. I practice more. I do research and watch tape of myself and take every piece of advice that will make me better.
In high school, though, I was more cocky than I am now. I mean, every athlete has at least a little bit of arrogance. You have to believe you’re the best in order to put your body on the line like we do, day after day, practice after practice, game after game. Workouts and nutrition and on and on it goes.
But like I told Justin, when you’re young, you don’t know what you don’t know. When I was a player here—a Cedar Point Pirate—I thought I knew it all. Then I had a meeting with Coach Graham where he kind of laid it out for me the way I just did for Justin, though Coach G was a lot more abrasive than I am. Hence why I tried a softer approach today.
Who knows? Maybe Justin needs the tough-as-nails coach in order to listen. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.
“Alright, that’s it for the day, guys!” Rush calls out once I’ve finished working with Ruben. “Clean up, round up!”
The players collect all the gear scattered across the field then make their way over, forming a half circle once they’ve put balls into buckets and cones in a pile.
“We only have a few weeks left of outdoor training before the temps start to really drop, and then we’ll be relegated to indoor strength and conditioning. So make sure you’re all bringing your A game, got it?”
A round of “Yes, Coach” rises from the guys, and then everyone is putting their hand in the middle.
“Pirates on three. One, two, three, Pirates!”
I catch Justin rolling his eyes, his mouth closed during the group cheer. When his gaze catches mine, he just stares at me blank-faced for a beat before jogging off the field to the locker rooms with everyone else.
Letting out a sigh, I glance at Rush. “You forgot to warn me about teenage attitudes when you offered me this job.”
He laughs. “Warn you? If I remember correctly, you had just as much attitude when we were running around this place. Or did you forget about the time you gave Coach G the middle finger and stormed off the field after he benched you for that scrimmage with Spencer Creek?”
Wincing, I chuckle under my breath as I pick up a bucket of balls with my good hand. “Maybe not my finest moment. My dad lit into me about that one.”
“Mark Mitchell? Mr. Calm? I don’t believe it.”
“Oh, yeah. He sat me down on the couch and let me know if he ever caught wind of me treating someone with disrespect like that again, there would be no more baseball. I was officially shaking in my boots at that threat.”
Rush snorts. “I like how your idea of your dad ‘lighting you up’ is just him sitting you down to let you know there would be consequences.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You wanna know what being ‘lit up’ looks like, you should have seen my dad when I told him I wanted to be a high school baseball coach.” He shakes his head, laughing.
“I can only imagine.”
We step into his office, and I set down the bucket of balls.
“With Justin, though…his dad’s not in the picture, you know?” Rush continues. “He’s got some anger he doesn’t know how to deal with.”
