The Chicken Runs at Midnight by Tom Friend

Author:Tom Friend
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Zondervan
Published: 2018-08-29T16:00:00+00:00

It could’ve been worse—the boys could’ve been Amy. Because she was female, it was sacrilege to let her in the clubhouse or even near the batting cage. At least the boys could inhabit the field, sit in the dugout, play catch with their dad, and mingle with the players. Amy had to stay put in the Green Room, or Wives Room.

It may sound restrictive, but compared to every other kid they knew back home, it was a dream scenario. Their playground was a big league stadium, and they’d have been nuts to complain. A few weeks into the visit, the boys became virtually part of the locker room furniture. From a distance, they had watched a rotund clubhouse attendant nicknamed “Chuck E. Cheese” pick up stray jockstraps with a clothes hanger and toss them into a hamper. So the boys began to pick up towels and soiled socks—ingratiating themselves to everyone.

Before long, the players knew the kids by name and would send them on errands. The boys would fetch the players coffee or, in rare cases, dart out of the stadium to buy them a hamburger and fries from a nearby McDonald’s. One time, Bubba brought Bonds back a burger that had pickles on it. “Don’t you know I hate pickles?” Bonds scolded him. So Bubba flicked the pickles off of it.

The upside was that Bonds had given him twenty bucks to buy the burger—and let Bubba keep the $15 change as a tip. Bonds wasn’t such a sourpuss, after all. But the most gracious player of all was Bream, the religious first baseman who hailed from faith-based Liberty University. Bream struck the boys as the kind of the guy who would fit in on their cul-de-sac. When they shined the cleats of other players, they’d be critiqued for smearing the black polish. But Bream couldn’t have cared less how bright his cleats looked. He was never negative; he’d always say hello, good-bye, please, and thank you. They gravitated to Bream for just that reason.

By and large, the players couldn’t have been kinder. On travel days, when the team would be leaving on a road trip immediately following a home game, the boys would volunteer to carry players’ luggage to the bus—receiving handsome tips. Bobby Bonilla was another of their favorites because of his toothy grin and propensity to shell out $20 bills for suitcase services rendered. The three boys would often leave the stadium with up to $50 each.

Amy was somewhat jealous about being left out, although the summer was more about repairing her relationship with her father than anything else. If ever the Pirates lost a home game in 1986—and they lost a lot—a word would never be spoken on the Donnelly car ride back to Weirton. No one was a lousier loser than Rich. But if ever the Pirates won, these rides back were full of Amy’s wondrous, unfiltered, uncensored banter. Rich might spend much of the car ride demanding that Bubba get in a basketball workout the next day or telling Mike to stop talking back all the time.

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