Charlie? The previous assistant pitching coach? It’s strange to come back for the new season, then leave halfway through spring training.”
“Not sure,” he said in a tight voice as I stretched out his hamstring. “Lots of rumors about it, though. Disagreement on his salary. An argument about the direction the team was going. All I know is one morning we showed up and he was gone.”
Disagreement on salary? I thought I was getting paid alright. Hell, I would have done this job for free.
“There’s the ownership issue too,” Rafael added.
“Oh?”
He hesitated. “I probably shouldn’t talk about that.”
“That’s not fair. You can’t tease me with juicy gossip and then not deliver.”
Rafael exhaled slowly before answering. “The new owner, Jeff Delorian? The billionaire who bought the team last year? Supposedly he’s a cheapskate. Has tight purse strings and only cares about maximizing his profit.”
“Isn’t that the goal of any owner?” I asked. “To make money?”
“Sure, to a degree,” Rafael muttered. “But the team is raking in money thanks to the new stadium in Arlington. Delorian refuses to spend any of it on improving the team. We’ve got the core pieces to make a championship run, and just needed to add another elite pitcher and a closer. Delorian wouldn’t let Theo pull the trigger.”
I had heard that the Rangers were inactive during the free agent market this off-season. Everyone had expected them to add one or two elite players. This explained why they had not.
“We’ll just have to get by with what we have,” I said. “You’re a strong ace. And relief pitchers are notoriously unpredictable. We can find a closer among all the minor leaguers we have.”
A closer was a pitcher who came in to pitch the ninth inning of a game you were winning—typically when the lead was three runs or fewer. Anyone could be a closer, but the really good ones were hard to find. It took a special kind of personality to handle the pressure of shutting down the opposing team and securing the win.
“Maybe,” Rafael said skeptically.
“I’m serious,” I insisted. “There’s a lot of potential in the group I’ve seen at spring training. And maybe the owner is saving his resources to sign someone at the trade deadline in July.”
“Maybe,” he repeated.
The crack of a bat echoed throughout the stadium. I leaned back a foot so I could peer through the door in the bullpen to see who was taking batting practice. Darryl Bryant was unmistakable at the plate, with his chiseled frame and tattoo-covered skin. He lifted the bat to his shoulders, kicked his leg up, and swung the bat with blinding speed. Once again the melodious crack of wood-on-ball cut the air, delayed half a second thanks to the distance between the plate and the bullpen.
“With him on our team, I think we can win the division,” I said.
Rafael didn’t need to look to see who I meant. “Oh yeah. Darryl Dingers is going to win the MVP this year.”
“Hopefully the World Series MVP, too.”
“One step at a time there, Coach,” he said with another smile.
I lowered his leg. He popped up onto his feet, bringing his face dangerously close to mine. For a moment we both stood there, inches apart. I had to tilt my head to look into his eyes. They gazed back, impassive and confident. I was certain he would kiss me.
“Alright then,” I said. “Let’s work on your windup.”
I turned away so the ace pitcher couldn’t see me blush.
6
Natalie
I spent the game taking notes on today’s pitcher, Jake Miner, a veteran journeyman who was in the final year of his three-year contract. There wasn’t much I could do with him. His ERA—Earned Run Average, or how many runs he allowed in a nine-inning game—was fine, and his stuff was average. He didn’t strike out a lot of guys. He pitched to contact, inducing a lot of ground balls. He was the kind of pitcher who would go out there and give up two or three runs in six innings pretty much every outing. Solid, but nothing special.
Joel Rogers came in to relieve him in the fifth inning. He was far more erratic with his pitches, and walked the first two batters. He was able to induce a ground ball after that, but the second baseman made an error and they weren’t able to turn the double-play. Joel talked to himself on the mound like a postal worker having a bad day. He gave up three more hits before finally getting out of