Bigger Than the Game by Dirk Hayhurst

Author:Dirk Hayhurst [Hayhurst, Dirk]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Publishing Corp.
Published: 2014-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 24

The next day I was in the training room lying on a table and getting my arm rubbed when Downs came strolling in. He needed some Gold Bond Medicated Powder—the official powder of big league ass cracks—to get his day started right. However, when he saw me, he stopped dumping powder down his shorts, looked me over, then barked out the decree, “Rookies: Get the fuck out of the training room!” He pluralized it, so it would sound more like the recitation of a rule than a personal command. But since I was the only rookie in the training room, this was my personal cue to exit.

The rule concerning rookies in the big league training room is simple: don’t be in there. Unless you’ve exploded on the field in plain view of everyone, or have some well-documented illness, younger guys are assumed healthy until proven otherwise. Therefore your presence in the training room only serves to waste time that a trainer could use to grease up older, crankier talent. This is yet another of the unwritten but universally understood rules of the major leagues. In fact, in some organizations, the trainers quietly enforce this rule by refusing to treat rookies under the pretense of always being busy with “unforeseen” demands. In other organizations, like the Jays, the older guys police the rule by shouting orders while jiggling their nuts in so much crotch powder they could have them deep-fried.

I didn’t question it. Obediently I rolled off the training table and scampered for the door, a smile on my face as I left. As bizarre as it may seem, Downs’s yelling was a good thing. If a veteran likes you, he’ll look out for your best interests, even if he’s insolent about it. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll let you stumble onto every social land mine there is. And believe me, there are a lot of them. A major league locker room can be like a goddamn demilitarized zone. This is why you should always be wary of guys who don’t talk to you in a clubhouse. It’s a surefire way to tell you’re in trouble.

I made it a point to cultivate communication channels with everyone. I didn’t want any secrets or false conclusions to be drawn from what I was doing by writing on the side. I knew it was senseless to hide this from the team. They’d find out eventually, so I decided it was best they heard it from me. I first let everyone know during the Reunion Phase of spring training, and since I stuck around till the end of camp, everyone had gotten comfortable enough with me to know I wasn’t out to get them.

Well, almost everyone.

“Stay out of the training room, rook,” Rabbit said as I walked into the Phillies’ visitors’ kitchen. It was like a miniature café, right inside the locker room, with round tables and chairs spaced around them like petals on a flower. Polished metal tins with cold cuts and condiments and multiple types of bread.

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