SHORT HOP - My Career In Baseball by David Driscoll

[clutch]

this is great. I just can't wait for Saturday.

[jaxmagicman]

Wonderful Story.

[Skywalker76]

Wow, simply wow. One of the best chapters (isn't that what I always think) !

[Tib]

SHORT HOP is 20 chapters old today. Actually, I have a couple more "in the can", but as far as posting goes it's 20. For many of you this will be the chapter you've been waiting for. I know it was for me.

As for some of Dave's past teammates, I dug around and came up with the following for last season (Dave was in Topeka): Moose hit .271/24/73 for Durham but didn't get a call up. Lino Lopez, as near as I can figure, was out for the season because he didn't appear anywhere, even when I extended the leaderboards to include all players. Mark Kearse hit .288 at Raleigh but I don't know if he got called up. J.R. went .313/23/71 with a bunch of Ks in Hinesville. Jose Landeros learned to hit, going .296 with 37 doubles for the Gents. Cristobal Ayala hit .258 at Durham, but he's a slow starter anyway. Steve Ugarte had an ERA of 6.61 in 49 IP with 49 Ks and a 3-4 record. I don't know if he was reinjured because ITP doesn't let you pull up minor league player stats for other teams. Dexter Suttles pitched 118 innings as a starter but had a 6.29ERA. I didn't write down his record for some reason.

As far as the rest, I don't know, but if their names come up I'll jot something down. In the CBA, Jaffe (BOS) won another batting title (.377) and some guy from Vancouver named Kuo (.362) won it in the Mutual League. Schmidt (DAL) led the UL with 51 homers and a guy named Lewis (PHI) clobbered 70! He also knocked in 188!

I think that's gets us up to date, so here's Chapter 20.

[Faroo6]

ahhhh where is it. I'm here and there's no Chapter 20

[Tib]

CHAPTER 20:

Can You Repeat That?

Santa Fe, New Mexico is about 75 miles northeast of Albuquerque on I-25. It is a lovely city, full of history, friendly people, and great southwestern food. In spite of the turmoil of my life there, I loved the place.

The Corral was the name of Santa Fe’s stadium. It was located on Cerrillos Road at the southern end of Ashbaugh Park. It was a great location because it could be seen from one of the busiest avenues in town and because the mountainous topography surrounding the city gave fans a fantastic view of Santa Fe’s multi-colored mountains.

I leased a house in the northeast canyons, at the end of a little street called Calle Oso. No water behind my house this time, but lots of windy canyon trails and crevices. At night, deer would come down and feed right in my back yard. There were also lots of coyotes, foxes, and other nocturnal creatures. There was not a bog or frog for a hundred miles.

I had been in correspondence with the Stampede coaching staff since the end of the previous season. John Grier was the manager, and you couldn’t find anyone more the opposite of Atcheson or Theo than John G. A consummate baseball man, Grier was considered the frontrunner for the Kansas City job as soon as Kellinger got the guts to fire Clark McKinnon. Even though I was only with the team for two games, Grier made sure I had a copy of his Player’s Book, an almanac of plays, strategies, workout regimens, diet suggestions, articles, and just about anything else he thought could help a ballplayer reach his potential. It became so valuable to me I still keep two or three copies today.

Grier was a sharp, sharp guy. He was a professional’s professional; in control without being controlling, approachable, calm. Yet he knew exactly when to tell the dirtiest joke you ever heard. He was well spoken, generous with his time, respectful of the press and of the privacy of his players. He had played in the CBA, but only for a short time. Still, he knew players. He had a talent for the business end of things as well. He knew about everything from economics to the stock market to insurance to who just got voted off Survivor 9.

When I arrived in Santa Fe in mid-March for the first players’ meeting, I met him coming into the stadium and we talked. He told me what I already knew: I was the future of the shortstop position in KC and everybody knew it. My job was to relax and play.
“I can do that,” I said.
“There’s one other thing you have to do,” said Grier. “Get an agent.”
“Yeah, I know. I haven’t really pursued it yet.”
“The time is now, David. Have you even spoken to anyone?”
“Not really.”
“I got a phone call this morning from someone who’s interested in representing you.”
“You did? Who? And why did they call you?”
“Because he’s my agent, too. His name’s Jackson Majkowski.”
I knew that name. Every first round draft pick hears that name at some point. Jackson “Magic Man” Majkowski was one of the biggest agents in professional sports. He represented players from all sports, including a certain fabulous shortstop/missionary from Kansas City. He was called the Magic Man because of his ability to find talent in unlikely places. It was he who flew to Argentina and found Rafael Grazata. He signed Ray Burnham in Australia and he discovered Terry Pelechek playing hockey in the wilds of Saskatchewan.
“Wow. How does he even know I’m available?”
“He knows. He’s got people everywhere looking for him. You’re one of two first rounders who aren’t represented yet.”
“I’d love to talk with him.”
“You’ll have your chance. He’s coming here in a week to speak to you.”

The Magic Man was coming to see me. This was a big deal. I immediately started to worry, then I called my dad. He gave me a list of topics to discuss and told me I had a week to formulate a business plan and mission statement.
“Can you repeat that?” I said, grabbing a pen and paper.
“Tell him your goals.”
“I don’t even know what my goals are.”
“Then tell him that, too. An agent’s job is to help you reach your goals, but they have to know what those goals are. They also have to know what you haven’t decided yet.”

I started to realize what Hal meant by “just play the game”. The game of baseball was so much easier than the business of baseball.

The Santa Fe Stampede were a curious mixture of young talent, journeyman professionals and veterans looking for one last shot. On the one hand we had Mike Moore, who was promoted with me from Topeka, and Gerald Ryoko, an untested phenom who was only eighteen. On the other hand we had 30-year old Paul Puleo, a free agent left-hander who just signed a stay-in-for-one-more-year contract. On this hand we had 21-year old Guillermo Trejo, who was also my teammate last season. On the other we had 29-year old Elmer Leitch, whose seven year career consisted of several cups of coffee and not a single entrée.

Bill Borgman and Andre Salas were my other Stars teammates who made the jump with me. On the flip side were Angel Trevino, who just got reassigned to Santa Fe following three seasons as KC’s starting right fielder, and 30-year old Jonathan Vasquez, who hadn’t done anything in almost 11 minor league seasons except be a lefty/lefty specialist.

Workouts went well. The thing I remember most about that pre-season was the nature of the workouts. It was more businesslike, more professional somehow. Guys did their thing and did it responsibly. Nobody was too up or too down, and there were absolutely no theatrics or juvenile bull****. You could feel it: this was where pros were. This was the business of baseball, of being a professional athlete.

My own workouts went well. I had a couple of twinges from my knee, but nothing I couldn’t hide. I roped the ball. I loved the infield. It was even, flat and consistent; nothing like the hard here/soft there crap I had to navigate in Little Rock or Hinesville. Jimmy Hollars, who started parts of last season in KC, was slated to be my backup. There was some attitude at first, a kind of “I’ve been there and don’t think I’m not getting back”. But he struggled with the glove, which was always his main trouble, and after a couple days of me snagging everything hit to me, he was quiet and left me alone.

My meeting with Jackson Majkowski went so well I signed with him. I gave him my discouragingly short list of goals (“hit .300 in the Bigs”, “get a new truck” and “buy a house” were three of them). He immediately came up with fifteen or twenty other things I should consider. Public appearance fees. Life insurance. Union-funded retirement. Choosing a charity. What colors to wear for a television interview.

It became very clear very fast that what he knew could really help me establish myself as a professional. Right now I was just a ballplayer, but I knew with his help I could learn to be more.
“From now on you and MMI are teammates also. Together we can do all the things on that list. Your job is to play ball and always be truthful with me. My job is to make sure you are adequately compensated for your ability, to guide you, advise you, support you and help you accomplish your goals,” he said.
Of course, being new to the business of baseball, I thought when I signed the contract that Magic Man International meant Jackson Majkowski was my agent. Silly boy.

Newly energized from a good spring, a new agent, talented teammates and the tantalizing prospect of reaching the CBA by season’s end, I began my year with an eight game hitting streak (.333). I used everything to my advantage. When John Fender, one of our veteran pitchers, gave me some tips about our opposing pitcher’s breaking ball, I adjusted for it and hit my first AAA homer later that night. When I went 0 for 4 against a brutal sinkerballer, I went to our own breaking ball pitcher, Morris Ince, for some insight. I immediately went 5 for my next 9. I was having a blast.

Then, after getting 2 hits and two full count walks that pushed my OBP to .377, Grier called me into his office. There was another guy in there; a short Hispanic guy with a mustache and a brown cigarette in his hand.
“Nice game,” said the Hispanic guy with a broad smile.
“Thanks,” I nodded.
“David, this is Julien Paneda. He’s one of KC’s advance scouts.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in L.A. scouting the Colts for the Knights’ homestand next week?”
Grier and Paneda exchanged a look. Grier smiled. “I told you,” he said to Paneda. Paneda raised his eyebrows and nodded, taking a drag on the cigarette.
“Dave,” said Grier, “Mr. Paneda’s trip to the West Coast has been postponed for a day.”
“Oh?” I said, wondering how this all affected me. “Why?”
“Because he’s escorting you to Dallas to meet the team on the road.”
I must have stood there for five seconds before I said, “Can you repeat that?”
“He’s taking you to Dallas, David. As of fifteen minutes ago you are a Kansas City Knight.”

I’m not really a yeller. I’m not one to bellow out expletives at a sporting event or scream when I hit my thumb with a hammer. I don’t even get loudly angry when Gwen beats me at Monopoly. But I let out a whoop that still echoes in that locker room to this day. I couldn’t believe it was happening so soon! After Theo Garner and a serious elbow injury, after all the bus rides and the long nights in crappy motels, after the trade to Little Rock and a forgettable winter in the Mexican League, I was a Knight! I was going to tread the same ground as Horatio Munoz! I was going to play the same position in the same stadium as my childhood hero! At last I was a big leaguer!
<i>I made it!</i> was all I could think. <i>I made it, I made it, I made it!

Now what?</i>

“I’ve got to call my folks! I have to call my girlfriend! My God, thank you, Mr. Paneda,” I said as I pumped his hand up and down like a piston.
“Call me Julien, and you don’t have to thank me.”
“Thanks, skip.”
“You’re welcome, David, but you don’t have to thank me either. You were only here for two weeks. I barely had time to screw you up.”
“My God, I’ve got to call my landlady. I’ve got to pack my gear.”
“The gear’s already been done,” said Grier. “Go out and look.”
I turned and walked into the locker room and was met by my applauding teammates. They all stood there clapping, some whooping, other whistling, everyone smiling.
“Knew you would do it, Davey,” said Bill Borgman.
In front of my locker was my gear, neatly stowed in my bag. My locker was empty.
“It’s a little tradition we have around here,” said Grier from behind me. “A guy who gets called up never packs his gear.”

I left the Corral with Julien Paneda, a full gear bag, and a brain full of questions about the future. My back still stung from everyone smacking it. We went to my place and had a beer while I packed my clothes. Paneda told me to keep the house until the end of the season because “you never know”. The sentiment did not make me feel very safe. I remembered what I had heard about Kellinger and thought he might be right. I called my folks and told them. I called Gwen, Cliff and Moose. Moose promised to record SportsCenter, Cliff promised to come to see me during next week’s homestand and Gwen promised something I’m not going to tell you. One other thing: Jackson Majkowski called me and offered his personal congratulations. “You’ve got some paperwork to look over when you get there,” he added. “It’s a contract for the league minimum: $300,000 a year. If the terms are okay with you, it should be signed immediately. Return it to Ginger as soon as it’s signed. Good luck, David.”

I had a thousand questions for Paneda, and he answered them all by the time we got to Dallas. I discovered that I was not as well kept a secret as I believed. Apparently, everyone keeps track of first rounders no matter where they were traded or how poorly they were doing. I found out that the big club had a dress code for travel and I was going to need a sport coat or suit. I also found out the odds on my being sent back to AAA within the month were 50-50.
“Why?”
“Kellinger,” was all Paneda said.
“Well I spent a lot of effort getting here. I’m not leaving so soon.”
Paneda shrugged. “Fifty-fifty,” he said.

When we got off the plane there were no less than four people there to greet me. I hadn’t had four people meet me in three years of minor league ball. Now, before I even put on a Knights jersey I have the Players’ Liaison, two attendants, and a member of the Knights’ security force waiting for me in Dallas at 3:30 in the morning. The liaison stepped forward, a tall pretty blonde named Ginger Wilson.
“Welcome to the Kansas City Knights, Mr. Driscoll.”
Did I hear what I think I heard?
“Can you repeat that?” I asked.
“I said welcome, Mr. Driscoll.”

<i>Mr. Driscoll?</i> I almost let out a laugh. <i>Mr. Driscoll?</i> Nobody ever called me mister anything, unless you count Moose calling me Mr. ****head a couple hundred times. I wasn’t complaining, though. It sure beat the hell out of “Davey”.

Next week: Chapter 21: <i>Me, My Pajamas and Rutherford Monroe</i>

[Faroo6]

wooo hoooo
nice writing once again

[Jazzmosis]

Fantastic!! I was a little worried about how you'd approach the inevitable callup, and you pulled it off expertly.

I just have one question: How old is David at the time of the callup? In all the chaos of the last few chapters, I've completely lost what the date is and how old David is. From what I gather, he's either 21 or 22?

[Tib]

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

I just have one question: How old is David at the time of the callup? In all the chaos of the last few chapters, I've completely lost what the date is and how old David is. From what I gather, he's either 21 or 22?

You'll be reminded in Chapter 21...

[Jazzmosis]

Originally Posted by Tib

You'll be reminded in Chapter 21...

Okay, perfect. Covering all the angles before I could even think of them.

[cknox0723]

Originally Posted by Tib

<i>Mr. Driscoll?</i> I almost let out a laugh. <i>Mr. Driscoll?</i> Nobody ever called me mister anything, unless you count Moose calling me Mr. ****head a couple hundred times. I wasn’t complaining, though. It sure beat the hell out of “Davey”.

I read that, almost let out a laugh, and then said "Screw it" and cracked the hell up. What a great way to end the chapter.

To echo the other guys, you pulled off the call-up brilliantly. Pat yourself on the back until it stings.

Great title for the next chapter...can't wait.

[Icy]

Wow what a fast callup after only 2 weeks, let's see his perfomance this year.
Keep up the great work, i'm really enjoying it.

[jaxmagicman]

Good chapter. Kind of short though. You probably could have made it longer by telling us some more about that "Magic Man" character he sounds like a really nice and interesting guy. I bet he is really cute and all the girls love him.

[Tib]

I kept my word and wrote you in, jax. As I recall, you said you wanted to be an agent or something like that. But don't worry, the Magic Man (or his fully-empowered associates) will be around again, and again, and again.

[clutch]

Originally Posted by Tib

I kept my word and wrote you in, jax. As I recall, you said you wanted to be an agent or something like that. But don't worry, the Magic Man (or his fully-empowered associates) will be around again, and again, and again.

Oh so how do I get in.

[jaxmagicman]

Originally Posted by Tib

I kept my word and wrote you in, jax. As I recall, you said you wanted to be an agent or something like that. But don't worry, the Magic Man (or his fully-empowered associates) will be around again, and again, and again.

I rule!!! Thanks for the write-in. If you need any more computer help let me know.

[Tib]

Originally Posted by clutch

Oh so how do I get in.

You have to contribute to the lasting appeal of Dave's story. In Jax's case, he helped me save Dave's ITP career file when it disappeared for a while when I changed computers.

But no matter what you do, I'm not calling you Mr.Clutch. Also, it has to be something big. Very big. As much as I'd like, I can't write everyone in. The story would lose its credibility.

[clutch]

Originally Posted by Tib

You have to contribute to the lasting appeal of Dave's story. In Jax's case, he helped me save Dave ITP career file when it disappeared for a while when I changed computers.

But no matter what you do, I'm not calling you Mr.Clutch. Also, it has to be something big. Very big. As much as I'd like, I can't write everyone in. The story would lose its credibility.

You should know that most words that end in an unpronounced "s" form their possessive by adding an apostrophe + s. So we would write about "Illinois's next governor" and "Arkansas's former governor" and "the Marine Corps's policy." However, many non-English words that end with a silent "s" or "x" will form their possessives with only an apostrophe. So we would write "Alexander Dumas' first novel" and "this bordeaux' bouquet." According to the New York Public Library's Guide to Style and Usage, there are "certain expressions that end in s or the s sound that traditionally require an apostrophe only: for appearance' sake, for conscience' sake, for goodness' sake"

Did I make an impression?

[davwms]

Originally Posted by clutch

You should know that most words that end in an unpronounced "s" form their possessive by adding an apostrophe + s. So we would write about "Illinois's next governor" and "Arkansas's former governor" and "the Marine Corps's policy." However, many non-English words that end with a silent "s" or "x" will form their possessives with only an apostrophe. So we would write "Alexander Dumas' first novel" and "this bordeaux' bouquet." According to the New York Public Library's Guide to Style and Usage, there are "certain expressions that end in s or the s sound that traditionally require an apostrophe only: for appearance' sake, for conscience' sake, for goodness' sake"

Did I make an impression?

Yes, unfortunately...



:-)

[Green & Gold Heart]

I just have to say, Tib, I only discovered this today but spent nearly my entire work day reading this story nonstop. It's one of the most purely entertaining things I've ever read.

As I'm packing up to head home for the day, I finding myself daydreaming that this was a book on tape and I could listen to it while I drive home from work.

(editted for tense agreement reasons)