same time tomorrow. An hour before the game.” He took a long pull and then blinked. “Go on, then. Go back to the hotel or wherever they’ve put ya.”
I hadn’t come this far to let my skilled eye go to waste, so I said, “I think Rafael was tipping his pitches.”
Coach Schultz barked a laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I would’ve noticed that,” he said simply. “None of my boys tip their pitches.”
He stared at me, challenging me to say more. He seemed to take genuine offense at the suggestion, like it was an affront to his professional ability. It was only my first day so I didn’t want to push it.
“See you tomorrow,” I said.
I felt conflicted as I left the spring training facility. This was my dream job. I was finally a pitching coach at the professional level! But so far I had been less useful than the bat boy. And I was afraid that wouldn’t change.
Spring training lasted from the middle of February to the end of March. The veteran players on the team all rented huge Airbnb mansions near the stadium. For everyone else—the various staff, the coaches, and the minor leaguers who received spring training invites—stayed in the team-provided hotel, a Holiday Inn Express.
It was a five-minute walk from the stadium. My room wasn’t ready when I had arrived this morning, but it was ready by the time I arrived.
“You’re with the Rangers?” the bellhop asked while carrying my luggage up to the room. He looked like he was sixteen.
I smiled. “I am.”
“Wow. I mean wow. That’s so cool. It must be the best job in the world.”
“I hope so! It’s my first day,” I replied.
He unlocked my room and carried my bags inside. “I hope you do great! The Rangers have reserved this entire floor for players and staff. Darryl Bryant is my favorite player. I have a Darryl Dingers poster in my room. I haven’t seen him, though.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that as the star first baseman, Darryl Bryant was certainly not staying in a hotel with all the minor leaguers who had been invited to training camp. “If I see him, I’ll get an autograph for you.”
His face lit up like I had offered to give him my kidney. “Oh man. That would be sick. Thank you so much. And good luck!”
The interaction put a smile on my face. Then I slumped on the bed and called my dad.
“Nat!” he said excitedly. “I was wondering if you would call. I saw you on TV when they panned across the dugout! I paused it and took a photo to send to grandma. How was it?”
My dad and I had always been close. Even though I had two older brothers who played baseball, he never favored them over me. He had coached me my entire life, and given me the job as the pitching coach on the Colleyville Baptist team, and he was my best friend in the world. As soon as I heard his voice I relaxed and told him everything that had happened that day, from the moment I arrived at the stadium to the bellhop who made me feel proud to be an employee of the team.
“Respect has to be earned, Nat,” he said when I was done. “You weren’t respected by the Colleyville boys at first. It took time. So will this.”
“That was different,” I said.
“I don’t see how.”
“I had you backing me up at Colleyville. The players had to listen to me. They were afraid if they didn’t, it would piss you off.”
“Listen to me, Nat,” he said in the tone he used whenever he was about to impart some deep wisdom. “It sucks that Bobby Schultz isn’t listening to you yet, and is making you run bullshit errands. And yeah, it’s because you’re a woman. I bet that feels like you’re starting every at-bat in an oh-two count. That just means you’re going to have to work twice as hard. Put your head down and make them see that you’re a valuable member of the team. If you can do that, they won’t care about anything else. I promise you that.”
I always felt better after talking to dad. He had the best pep-talks. I guess that came from being a coach.
After the call I pulled out my laptop and connected to the hotel Wi-Fi. I had a new email from the Texas Rangers General Manager’s office, detailing my employee account information and how to login to the