Page 8

8

CADE

F or a game day, I’m pretty relaxed. I step out of the shower and wrap a towel around my waist then grab another to towel-dry my hair. Earlier we did pre-game cardio and light weight training that loosened my muscles and cleared my head. After lunch Dean and I dissected the opposing players until our food settled, then I was right back at it knocking some balls in the batting cages. When I returned to the clubhouse I slipped on my earbuds and listened to music to keep my head in the zone.

But my favorite part of the pre-game practice is now, when I go out to the field with no one in the stands. It’s relaxed and easy, no pressure. I’m a left field position player, so I hit some balls first then practice defense, focusing on my jumps and fielding plays from my teammates still taking batting practice. Repetition leads to muscle memory, which leads to efficiency and baseball IQ. It has to be instinctive. I mean you’ve got zero time to think about a play when a flyball or line drive is coming at you.

Overall, I feel ready as I leave the field, mentally replaying my batting practice and outfield plays, my mind focused on the upcoming game. I’m thinking about game strategy and visualizing specific plays as I make my way to my locker.

The clubhouse is like a second home to us players. We do everything here, eat, nap, shower, shave, play card games, listen to music, goof around, work out and relax. They drop a lot of coin on modern MLB clubhouses. They’re pretty luxe. The blue Cutter logo is plastered everywhere and photographs of Hall of Famers hang on the walls. We have a players’ lounge and kitchen, a chef who whips out whatever meals we want, whenever we want. Sometimes we have dogs, kids and family running around. After games, there are reporters and sportscasters. We do post-game interviews in a designated area right outside the locker room.

Our job is grueling at times, and we get plenty beat up, especially late in the season but getting paid to play a game that I love… yeah, I have no complaints. This late in the season, everyone is tired and pushing through aches, pain and injuries. But we all love the game. Few players make it to the big leagues and only the dedicated ballers can make a career out of it.

“Cadeski, my man, ya feelin’ it?” Dean calls out. He’s sitting at a card table with Max, hunched over their iPad studying the other team’s starting pitcher.

“I’m feeling it, fo sho,” I say as I drop the towel and reach into my locker to grab my athletic shorts. I slip into them then take a big swig from my water bottle. “Gonna hit a homer tonight.”

“Bro, you were on fire in batting practice today,” our shortstop Carlos says.

“You weren’t too shabby yourself, King.”

He smiles broadly. “Don’t ya know it, man. Just got to beware of Rodriques’ slider. He’s pitching high nineties.” Carlos is amazing. Total respect. He’s from the Dominican Republic and a year ago couldn’t speak English and now he’s doing interviews without his interpreter. He’s a rising star and a great teammate. Brings a lot of energy to our team.

“I heard your interview with Jim earlier. You nailed it. Gave me all the feels,” I say, for a laugh.

“You’re just jealous, yeah?” he replies.

“Maybe. Hard to shine around a bottle rocket like you.”

“Bro, get outta here,” he laughs. “Coach wants to talk strategy in five.” He saunters out toward the meeting room. The room has cleared so I hurriedly pull on my muscle shirt and kicks and scramble to the pre-game meeting to talk strategy.

M y mom and dad, along with Quinn and his family, are in the stands seated right behind the dugout. My niece and nephew jump up and down cheering me on when I’m up to bat. What a thrill to play in the major leagues for the team I grew up rooting for with my family in the stands. They had a chance to sit in the sky box, but opted out, preferring to experience the excitement of the stadium crowd.

It’s the ninth inning. Bases are loaded with two outs and I’m on deck taking a few practice swings. We’re a run behind. The crowd is buzzing with excitement. The rally signs are flashing “Make Noise” and the roar in the stadium is deafening. Carlos just fouled off a ball and it’s a full count, three balls, two strikes. He fouls off again and I feel amped. He’s fouled off five pitches. He’s due. The fans start a wave that moves around the entire stadium. Carlos takes another swing at a fastball right over the plate, and the crowd goes bonkers as the ball sails over the head of the shortstop for a base hit and an RBI. We just tied the game in the ninth inning. I put my helmet on and walk up to the plate. I’m facing a tough closing pitcher and the game win rests all on me. I take a couple of deep breaths and tap my necklace. Superstition is a way of life in baseball. Georgia flashes through my mind for a brief second… this one is for you, Gigi .

Chadwick pitches a hundred-mile-per-hour fastball and I swing and miss. Strike one! Stepping away from the plate, I adjust my batting gloves, the snitch of the Velcro a familiar grounding sound, then step back up. I take a deep steadying breath. I’m in the zone. It’s a battle between Chadwick and me. I zero in and wait, the pitch comes, it’s in my sweet spot and I swing. Crack . The sound of the ball against the bat rings out and sweet Jesus I know it’s a grand slam. Out of the park!

Fireworks shoot up and fill the night sky then tumble down in a colorful cascade as I round the bases. The fans are on their feet giving me a standing ovation as they cheer me on in a deafening roar. A freaking walk-off! I glance at my teammates in the dugout their faces lit with euphoria and disbelief as they jump up and down doing body slams and high fives. This is a moment I’ve dreamed of, something I’ve played countless times in my mind. I feel like I’m floating as I reach home plate and raise my arms in triumph soaking in the electric atmosphere.

My teammates who’ve just scored are waiting for me at home plate. Carlos picks me up from behind in a bone-breaking squeeze then sets me down as the team forms a handshake line. We give each other high fives, hugs and butt slaps to celebrate our win before we head through the tunnel to the clubhouse.

Before I can take off, our manager, Bill McQuire, motions to me and I trot over. “Jim wants a quick interview on the field before you head to the clubhouse,” he says.

“Hope I can form a coherent sentence. I’m higher than a kite.”

Bill laughs. “Welcome to the Cutters, Kid. Great job tonight in the outfield and at bat. You made some great defensive plays.”

Cameras are rolling as Jim, the local sportscaster, holds the mic and interviews me. “How’s it feel to hit your first major league grand slam with a new team and in only your second appearance?”

I can’t wipe the ear-to-ear grin off my face. I’m stoked. “Unbelievable. I mean anything I can do for the team to bring us wins. Playing here, for the Cutters, the team I’ve idolized my whole life, it’s a dream come true. This is a great group of guys and I love being back home and playing here.”

“I had a brief interview with your parents during the game, they are understandably thrilled. What does their support mean to you?”

“It means everything. My family has been behind me supporting me through everything. All my ups and downs, they’ve always believed in me.”

“Tell us what was going through your mind with bases loaded and a tie game, bottom of the ninth?”

“I had watched Carlos battle it out so I was kind of waiting for a fastball pitch over the plate and I got the pitch I was hoping for. What can I say?” I shrug and grin.

Jim glances behind me and steps back so I have an inkling of what’s to come. I turn around right as Dean and Max dump a bucket of ice water over my head. I sputter and laugh then squeegee my hair back.

“Dang that’s cold.” Everyone is laughing as my chicken-ass teammates run off the field and into the dugout.

“I’ll let you get back to your celebration. Congratulations on your big win tonight.”

“Thank you, Jim.” I trot back to the dugout, through the tunnel and enter the clubhouse ready for a celebration.

A half hour later I’m showered and mingling in the clubhouse with my family.

“I can’t believe you hit a grand slam! Home run game one, and now this!” Quinn says. “I am so frickin’ proud of you!” He hauls me into a big bear hug.

My nephew tugs on my shirt. “Uncle Cade, it was so loud when you hit it outta the park I had to cover my ears.”

“That’s half the fun of it, Grayson,” I say, ruffling his hair.

My mom dabs at her eyes. “I’m so incredibly proud of you Cade. All the sacrifices and hard work have finally paid off. It was a moment I’ll never forget.”

“It’s just beginning to sink in,” I say, then pick Mom up in a hug and swing her around. “What’s this I hear… you’re giving interviews now?” I tease.

She laughs. “Yes, Jim O’Conner came up to our seats and sat down with us. They filmed it live! I hope I didn’t sound like an idiot.”

“I hope you didn’t say anything to embarrass me,” I say.

“Never.”

“Dad, is that the truth?”

“Son, what can I tell ya? We had to brag a little. Your mom told him all about your legendary t-ball record.”

“Geesh. Tell me you’re kidding.”

Quinn laughs. “Unfortunately, it’s true bro. Quite the brag-a-thon it was.”

“You were adorable and always determined. I told Jim how you used to scrunch up your little face in concentration. Even when you were only four, the other kids were playing in the dirt and picking daisies but not you! You were focused on the game.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dear Lord. I’ll never live this down. My teammates are going to go ape shit over this. Thanks, Mom.”

She smiles. “You’re welcome. Congratulations on your win.”

“Uncle Cade, when you come over, I want you to play ball with me,” Emma says.

“Me too,” Grayson chimes in.

“We’ll do that,” I promise.

Coach comes over to meet my family and I make the introductions. I’m still floating above the clouds wondering how I got so lucky to be here. I want to savor every single moment. A lot of blood, sweat and tears have brought me here and I don’t want to miss a thing. I think about the biggest sacrifice I didn’t even know I was making, two years of my son’s life, but squish that down for now. I can’t live my life for what could have been. Today is a brand new day and it looks pretty damn bright.