In the Shadows

Part Twenty-Five: the Party

    I finally finished raking the infield. Perfect lines brushed into the dirt from base to base, all that I needed to do was wait for the freshman team to finish cleaning around the pitchers mound. In an act of light hazing, some of the varsity players had convinced those kids that the in field grass needed to be hand cut. Watching them crawl their way around the grass, snipped each blade with scissors to ensure they were the same height, always made us laugh. I'm not sure when this became a tradition, but I did it when I first joined the team also.

    Peeling the shirt off my back, I used the fabric to dry the sweat from my forehead. The sun was beating down hard today.

    Making my way to the dugout in search of water, I noticed coach talking to someone I'd never seen before.

    "Slater, come over here a minute." Coach hollered, hiking the waistband of his pants higher over his large gut. He was often winded from the twenty foot walk from the locker room to the field. None of the guys on the team ever believed he had played ball before.

    "What's up, coach?" I jogged over.

    "This is Mr. Sterling, he's the recruitment officer for Stanford."

    Holy shit. Stanford?

    Coach continued, "He wanted to have a sit down with you about your college plans. I've got some things to wrap up, why don't you get cleaned up and go have a chat in my office?"

    "Yes sir." I shook both their hands and went in to the dugout quickly.

    I dumped a water bottle in my hands to splash on my face. Grinning with sudden excitement, I tried to control myself. Stanford would be huge. With the extra workload over the last few months, I didn't think I had grades nearly good enough for a school like that. I pulled on a clean shirt. How long had they been watching me play? Dad said I had been slacking lately. To be on that team would set my career in stone. Swiping deodorant over my armpits quickly, I shook off any lingering nerves. Time to go impress this guy.

    Ducking into coach's office, Mr. Sterling was looking over the plaques on the wall. The list of team and individual player accomplishments seemed endless. Several of those polished gold plates had my name and number on there.

    "You got quite the canon, Anthony." The recruiter said as I closed the door behind me.

    The plastic blinds rattled against the small window of the door. The air conditioner clicked on from underneath the window, blowing a cold gust of air at the two of us. Mr. Sterling leaned against the coach's L-shaped desk. The old wood creaked under his weight. My eyes were fixated on the emblem embroidered on the upper left corner of his dark red shirt. The capital S surrounded by dark green trees was tempting me.

    Stanford would be the ideal school. If only it wasn't so far. I felt a pang of guilt in my gut. It would be much harder to visit Stephanie if I was that far away.

    "I'll cut to the chase," Sterling said, tucking his phone back into his slacks, "We'd like you on the team. Your batting stats are on par with our starting line up, and you have a well deserved reputation at third. We could use a defenser like you on our side. I'm not sure what other offers you're juggling right now, but Stanford can give you a full ride for four years."

    "A full ride?"

    "Do you know what you plan to study? It would be good to have something to fall back on when you're done with the game. A lot of athletes, in all sports, forget their back up plan. Then you get a bad season or an injury, you get dropped from the team, a lot of guys go downhill after that. Burn through their money, no job prospects cause all they know is the game. A career in sports is a gamble each time you step on to the field."