Green Expectations by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 5
TEWKSBURY, NJ - 12-20-12
In the comforts of home Dave forgot about his pitching distractions and planned to spend the winter doing something more enjoyable; monitoring his money. He sat in the living room at the Queen Anne chair next to the tilt-top table where he had placed his laptop. “Not bad,” he thought after his morning examination of his, or maybe her investments. “Gains aren’t that great. But, in this market as long as I don’t lose anything I’ll be quite all right.”
Lucretia came downstairs with an undue collection of satchels. She seemed to be in some sort of hurry. She dropped the bags in the hallway and hustled to Dave. She gave him a perfunctory kiss on the neck and announced that she was leaving for a few days. She said; “I want to spend time with my divorced sister in Old Chatham, NY. Being around kids and all that on Christmas.”
As she moved quickly toward her bags and the front door Dave tried to think of something nice to say. His difficulty was that he really didn’t mind at all, and didn’t want to openly convey that. In fact he was cautious not to appear overly cheerful. He called out; “Drive safely. Call me when you get there.” He went to the window and watched until her loaded white SUV exited the driveway and made a right. As usual she left the
gate open and Dave pushed the controller button to close it behind her. He thought; “Fantastic.”
Dave looked forward to a day of complete solitude and privacy. He had no particular plans of what he would do, and that was the point. Complete luxury with no errands, no meetings and no particular place to go. As he drank his black coffee he gazed out a window at the scene. The rolling hills and abundance of trees compensated for the grayish-blue, winter, almost adequately lit sky. He wished for a snowfall prior to Christmas as everyone has done in recent years. The problem was that the daily low temperatures no longer dropped below thirty-five.
Consequently any precipitation came as rain, sometimes dangerous-to-drive, freezing rain as the asphalt roads became colder than the air. Dave could not help but think of global warming, but quickly learned not to broach the anecdotal evidence in the Republican and Inheritance Rights territory.
He took a quick survey of his 2008 pale yellow “colonial,”
supposedly a reasonable adaptation of those made back in the day. Everything was more or less in place and most importantly the refrigerator was full. He sat back at the computer and dreamily perused a passion, the internet’s supply of capital asset pricing models. He was jarred by the gate’s bell and the Honda parked near it.
He grimaced and thought; “Why is it that every time I have a day for complete relaxation some jerk shows up and wants to trim my trees or rake the leaves?” He decided to ignore it in the hope that it would try to sell its services elsewhere. It didn’t. The bell rang again. Every time David peered through the front window it was still there. He got more and more irritated with each viewing. After what seemed like an hour and two more rings he decided that the best thing to do was go out and get rid of it.
With his head to the ground he slowly walked down the gravel driveway. He reached the gate and saw that the recent model, bluish gray, sky matching Honda was parked parallel to the road, presumably to not jut out into it. He hoped that didn’t mean the driver had settled in for a lengthy stay. He then saw a gray-jacketed, old man sitting at the wheel nonchalantly staring into the space ahead of him.
Dave called out; “Dad, what the hell are you doing here?”
His Dad looked to him and with no smile and the slightest of nods. He exited the car making the movement look painful. He stood there as if he was waiting for some sort of salutation or invitation, after no contact in four years, when Dave married Lucretia. Actually Dad said nothing about the matter at the time, but as always acquiesced to Mom’s wishes. She had a strong distaste for Lucretia, which she acquired from about forty
minutes of group meetings. She told Dave that she would disown and/or disinherit him if he married her. Dave thought large charge and that her knowledge of his bride-to-be was much too cursory to make any judgment. He thought that she probably would have come to the same unreasoned conclusion about anyone after he signed his seven year, four million per contract. Since he was fifteen Dave remembered that she openly fancied living near one of her sisters in a two family house in Sayreville, paid for by Dave, who would occupy the other side like a good boy. Fat chance. Dad broke the silence and said; “Well, are you going to invite me in or what?”
Dave considered saying; “Or what?” But he thought that would invite the “wise guy” stare and set him up for unwanted comments about how he didn’t know everything there was to know.
He knew that he didn’t and also didn’t care to as he considered much of what passes for knowledge irrelevant or wrong, as the conclusions change every ten years. Still, he found the gate separation comforting and was reluctant to give it up. It was his last protection from the marauding 2012 barbarians, armed with smiling faces and almost competent at psychological warfare. He looked at his father’s grim face and was comforted that he had only seen this man smile four times; when his know-it-all brother-in-law, Uncle Chesty came close to electrocution attempting to fix the TV set; the time Mom was completely
grossed out to have gotten bird shit on her paper food plate at a barbeque, all over the split peas; when Kenny’s father leaped up from the old wooden Little League bleachers and gingerly extricated a splinter from his ass; and when his well-educated sister-in-law, by marriage, Aunt Ida said that all societies were moving toward freedom that can no longer be denied. It appeared as if the talky man’s self-administered tushy operation was his favorite, but even then it was little more than a fast, snorting smirk. He felt safe from the smiley attack and knew that at least up until four years ago his father had no use for psychology. With some reason to be more secure he opened the gate and said; “Come on in. You’ve never seen the place.”
Dad got back into the Honda and made a series of three point turns to align himself with the driveway. He came close to going off the wooden bridge and into the stream at which point Dave brightly said; “Be careful!” to which his father coldly replied; “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.” It quickly brought back memories for Dave.
Dave watched his father follow the gravel driveway toward the house, re-closed the gate and walked behind him. Dad, who is also named David, exited the car in his gray zip-up jacket with a newspaper wedged under an armpit, hands in pockets, just as Dave remembered his cold weather style uniform. Dave said; “That jacket must be twenty-five years old.”
“Maybe more. So what? Still works.”
“So, nothin’. Just makin’ conversation.” Dave stepped away from the house and added; “Want to take a look at the place?”
Standing still, his father looked right, then looked left and said; “Trees. I’ve been in the sticks before.”
Dave was irked. He recalled the phrase “in the sticks”
being used derisively by both his parents, who grew up and stayed in the city of Bayonne where most of the sticks were made of metal and had a nightlight on top. He tried to be mildly surly and asked; “Don’t you believe in calling ahead?”
“I figured if I did that you would say you were just leaving for somewhere.”
Dave was silently disarmed as he often was many years ago.
Dad said; “Let’s go inside for Christ’s sake. I’m getting cold out here.” He brushed by Dave and led him to the front door.
Having seen only one car in the open garage Dad said;
“Lucretia’s not here?”
“No, she’s spending a few days with her sister in upstate New York.”
“Mmnn.”
Dave opened the door and as soon as they were inside Dad pulled out the Jersey Bulletin stuffed under his arm. He handed it to Dave and said; “Read this and weep, kiddo.”
CROWS GO BELLY UP
INVOLUNTARY BANKRUPTCY PETITION FILED
LISTING NO ASSETS. ALL DEBTS AND CONTRACTS
VOIDED. FRANCHISE FOR SALE. NO BUYERS.
JERSEY BULLETIN 12-23-12. Yesterday, team spokesman, Tom Underwood called a press conference at the Meadowlands team headquarters ...................................................
................................................................
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Dave’s heart fell into his left leg and was working its way further down. But in the long established tradition of this father-son relationship, Dave’s face remained impassive and without inflection he said; “You always were the good news guy, weren’t ‘ya.” His head spun from one worry to another and back again. Money in general, Lucretia, over-the-hill, end of career, how much money he had, how much more he needed, etc., etc.
Dad could easily imagine Dave’s concerns and liked his son’s stoic exterior. He hated it when Dave cried as a kid and was proud to see that he had trained him out of being a sissy.
He shrugged his shoulders and said; “Well somebody was gonna tell ‘ya. It might as well be me.”
Dave actually found some kind of perverse humor somewhere in there, made a small laugh and said; “What are families for?
Take off that damn jacket if it isn’t glued on.” He realized his presumption and added; “You’re staying a while, right?”
Dad hung the jacket on the hall rack and said; “Yeah, I’ll be here a while. I’ve got four weeks’ vacation now and your mother is going through ‘change of life.’ Told me to go somewhere and leave her alone.”
“And here I thought you decided to become a newspaper delivery boy in your old age.”
“Don’t laugh. The way this economy is going you never know.”
They walked to the rear left and entered the kitchen. Dad sat at the table and Dave got coffee for the both of them, then sat directly opposite his father and looked at his face. Now fifty-eight, it seemed that he aged a lot in the last four years. The front hair seemed thinner and the widow’s peaks seemed more prominent. He noticed no other physical evidence. It was more the man’s demeanor; slouched shoulders, averted eyes looking at the nothing on the ceiling and an overtired look of disappointment. But, he preached; “Don’t expect anything from anybody,” so with no expectations what could have been so disappointing. Dave thought; “Me? Mom’s change of life? I don’t want to go in either of those directions.”
Meaning to say something that might be mildly contentious and not having any other ideas Dave said; “What’s so interesting up there?”
Dad looked Dave in the eye and without inflection replied;
“What’s so interesting down here.” From decades of experience Dave didn’t think he was making mockery of the early American motif, but, as usual wasn’t sure. He also recalled that any follow up question asking elaboration had always been greeted with a small shrug and a miniscule turning up of one thumb. Dave thought he might try once more to see if his father was a poet who wrote nothing or an interior decoration critic. He said;
“You have aesthetic issues with this table? It’s a copy of a classic William and Mary piece.”
Shrug, thumb and an exciting new addition to the routine; Dad scratched his nose with the other thumb. He breathed heavily, leaned back on his chair and said; “So what are you going to do about money now?”
“I’m going to write a book of your witticisms. ‘Quotes from Chairman David.’” This didn’t produce laugh number five. It also didn’t cause the slightest of visible irritation. Dad just patiently sat and waited for the “real” answer. Dave followed with; “I don’t know. You just hit me with this five minutes ago and you think I’ve got it figured out already?”
“You’re supposed to be so smart.”
“I never said that.”
Dad waved his hand dismissively and said; “That’s how you act.”
Dave felt like he was again fifteen. He said; “Since I played this game at the professional level I know some things you don’t.”
Dad leaned back on his chair, folded his arms across his chest and said; “Enlighten me.”
Undeterred and feeling silly Dave answered; “Those pictures of Oscar Bonds in fishnet stockings were not doctored and he’s not gay. ...... Nobody will dare step on the foul lines as they run on and off the field, yet no one knows why. There is no credible account of any catastrophe happening when and if someone may have done that. ...... When two or three infielders simultaneously call for a pop up, they will all back off and let it drop, unless the pitcher calls out one’s name. ...... When someone says ‘That’s an excellent question,’ it means that they think they are capable of answering it. ...... Fans rather see a home run fest than a pitching duel. ...... Players still don’t like to see female reporters in the locker room. Some will expose themselves and wave. Women reporters who don’t want to see this activity bring a camera crew. ...... Though no one has proven it there is no doubt that some balls are jacked. ......
Catchers take personal offense at being shaken off. ...... In
public, baseball stars laugh out loud at the things written of them on the “funny sports news websites” out of a fear of being called overly sensitive. In private they say that the sites are retarded. ...... If you ask any pro about steroid use they will say everyone takes them except themselves. ...... Black guys are more likely to wear bikini briefs. ...... All pros are superstitious. On a good streak they won’t change their socks and underwear. ...... Lefties truly are weird. ...... Many players do not root for their team. They wish the regulars play lousy in the hope that they can take their place. ...... The most important job of a first base coach is to fondle the ass of someone who has gotten on base or hit a home run. ...... When players fall down they stay on the ground, even if they are uninjured, until visited by the team physician. I haven’t the slightest idea why. ...... What the batter thinks the pitcher is going to throw is just as important as what the pitcher does throw. ...... Ninety percent of the players do not know all the words of the National Anthem. No one knows all the words of the Canadian Anthem. ...... Pitching off the last pitch is a very effective strategy unless the batter is swinging off the last swing. ...... Sometimes the game is truly over before the fat lady sings. ...... It is proven that drinking does not hinder performance, unless blood alcohol levels exceed .16. ...... Pot smoking actually enhances performance; at least the potheads say
so. ...... The best hitters get hits only three out of every ten at bats. But if they go up to the plate thinking; ‘Chances are a landslide against me,’ they will be ten of ten certain not to get one. ....... The stats of a pitcher who relies entirely on his fastball, without exception, drop off after age 32. ......
Switch hitting Mickey Mantle was the greatest batsman of all time.”
“Whoa, hold on there.”
“Just wanted to see if you were paying any attention.”
“All right. I get the idea.”
“I could do more.”
Dad again scoured the ceiling and said; “That’s okay. I’m already enlightened. Let me try a few. ...... It’s not whether you win or lose. It’s how you play the game.”
Dave interjected; “Didn’t that end sometime around World War II?”
“You’ve always got an answer.”
“That was a question.”
Dad tried another he thought was safe for all time; “You know we all put on our pants the same way.”
“Do you put left foot first, right foot first or both at the same time?”
“Son of a bitch.”
Dave considered saying; “You should know best,” but felt strange that he had subjected his father to the badinage. Though he had been avoiding it, he decided to get serious and said; “I don’t know what to do now. The money will run out in a few years and pitching is the only thing I really know how to do.”
Dad lowered his eyes to Dave’s level and appeared as if he was hearing Uncle Chesty speak of his electronic acumen.
Dave clarified and continued; “I didn’t end that sentence with ‘well.’ Ah, shit on it. How’s Kenny’s father’s ass these days?”
“All right. He started carrying a towel and making a big production of placing it before he sits.”
“He still goes to games?”
“Yeah, he’s watching his grandchildren.” Dad’s eyes directly met Dave’s.
Dave scratched his neck and took a look at the ceiling.
Dad continued; “Everything’s modern now. Those old wooden bleachers have been replaced by metal ones.”
“And he still uses the towel? Why?”
“Says he gets a cold ass at night games and a hot one during the day.”
Dave laughed.
Dad said; “It ain’t funny. How’d you like to park your ass in the freezer or the oven?”
“All right. All right. I won’t laugh at his ass. But, you did when he got a splinter in it.”
Dad’s face scrunched up as if he were smelling something foul and said; “Noooooooo. Where’d you get that from? Your mother?”
“I saw it.”
Dad just shook his head and this time eyed the floor. After a few seconds he said; “The real reason I’m here is because your mother sent me. But, don’t tell her I said that. She’s gotten over you marrying that Lucretia and wouldn’t mind seeing you again.”
“Good. What’s her problem with Lucretia anyway?”
Dad shrugged and grimaced, indicating that he had heard a stupid question. He said; “You know. I don’t think she likes any women, including her mother and sisters.”
“What’s she doing with herself these days?”
“Sittin’ in the house grousin’ about one thing or another.”
“Imagine if she had a real problem.”
“Yeah, like mine. The factory’s been bought and sold five times in the last eight years and every time the new owner sends over a team of snots, fresh out of MBA school, and they keep asking me what I do, why I do it that way, and have I ever tried another approach. The last purchase was by a French company and
the guy I got stuck talking to didn’t even understand English.”
He wrinkled his nose as if he were about to sneeze.
Dave said; “Well, you survived them all. Right?”
“Yeah, but it’s a real pain every time.”
“Hell, consider my problem. I’m out of a job and my 92-93
MPH fast ball is down to 88-89.”
“Always happens at your age. What did you expect?”
“I did expect it. But, I also expected to be collecting four million a year for the next three years. This is the first team I ever heard of going bankrupt.”
“Back in the old days a lot of them did. But with all the
‘new and improved’ systems this wasn’t supposed to happen again, just like the Depression.” He clucked his lips and stared impassively, appearing as bored as a Chief Executive Officer who was just informed of a sure-thing-investment.
“You’ve got to admit that baseball has had a long good run.”
“Everything has their faults. There is no such thing as a foolproof system. You watch. The Crows aren’t going to be the only ones.”
“Well, I’m not going to worry about their problems. I’ve got my own.”
“It’s your own fault. You could have made a lot more money if you didn’t have that I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude.”
Dave was silent.
Dad continued; “I think it goes back to that last Little League game. You wanted to win that championship so badly and the first guy up hit a dribbler in front of home plate that the catcher fell down going after and the next guy hit one over the right centerfield fence. Only home run the little guy ever hit in his life.”
Dave remembered well. It may well have been his biggest disappointment. But, he said; “Some good came of it. I used to try to strike everybody out with fastballs. After that I started to mix in the curve, which you were always after me to do. You can’t play baseball well if you’re on edge. It’s not like basketball or football. You’ve got to relax into the game. You always told me that. And do you remember that after that home run you walked out to the mound and said; “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
With a stone face Dad said; “Nooooo.”
“Yaay-uh.”
“Got a witness?”
Dave chuckled and said; “I really didn’t mind. I was wondering what the fuck was wrong with me too. It was funny to hear you use that word, though. You seldom did.”
“Enough ancient history. We’ve got to come up with a way for an over-the-hill pitcher with a lousy lifetime record to make a living.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re gonna learn a new pitch; a split fingered fastball.
Nobody can hit it.”
“Nobody can throw it for strikes either.”
“Bet you never tried.”
Dave shook his head “No.”
“You got two gloves and a ball around?”
“In the barn.”
“All right. You know how to throw the thing?”
“Not really.”
Dad went to the refrigerator and retrieved an apple. He held it with his right hand’s second and third finger and thumb.
He made a slow throwing motion and said; “Fastball.” He moved the apple to the space between his second and third fingers, supported by his thumb and fake threw again, saying; “Split fingered fastball,” as the apple fell to the floor.
“I was afraid of that. Can you throw one of them?”
“No, but I can’t throw a curveball either and I taught you to throw one. Come on. It’s warming up outside. Let’s get on some sweatshirts and throw the ball around.” He reached into his
back pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Dave. He said; “It’s not the worst there’s ever been.”
Dave looked at the cold numbers of his “career.”
Year
Team
Games
Wins
Losses
ERA
2002
Lumberjacks
22
8
6
3.73
2003
Lumberjacks
25
10
6
3.27
2004
Lumberjacks
31
9
14
4.85
2005
Lumberjacks
38
14
16
4.36
2006
Lumberjacks
36
13
14
4.02
2007
Lumberjacks
35
15
14
3.38
2008
Lumberjacks
40
17
13
3.34
2009
Crows
42
18
14
3.25
2010
Crows
36
13
15
3.78
2011
Crows
34
11
16
4.39
2012
Crows
28
7
15
5.06
LIFETIME
367
135
143
3.95
Dave grinned, but also noted the three year severely declining trend. He said; “Wait here,” and went to his bureau and found two brand new Crows sweatshirts.