Broken Road (2 page)

The stands were filled beyond capacity on both sides of the field. People who couldn’t find seats were standing along the first and third baselines with a few spectators set up in the outfield area. Some folks had even brought lounge chairs and seemed quite comfortable out there with their large golf umbrellas to shield them from the sun’s biting rays and canned drinks to quench their steady thirsts. Both teams were warming up. Jarrod had already warmed his arm up and was sitting in the dugout just waiting. Every now and then, he would look up toward the stands to see if he could identify the scout. At one point he thought he might have figured out whom it was. A balding, elderly man who stood out from the crowd seemed to have that “scout” look, but then one of the players from Secaucus waved to him and yelled, “Hey, Gramps!” “Gramps” grinned brightly, showing off his perfectly shaped, porcelain-white dentures. He waved back and gave his grandson the double thumbs-up sign. Later another man kept looking down and shuffling some papers while simultaneously talking on his cell phone, but eventually Jarrod ruled him out as well. He overheard him ask the lady next to him how many innings there were in a high school game.

A voice over the loudspeaker welcomed everyone to the BCSL Championship Game. The voice thanked everyone for being there to show their support to the players and went on to wish both teams good luck. Everyone rose; those wearing hats removed them and placed them over their hearts while they listened to the scratchy recorded version of Whitney Houston’s “Star-Spangled Banner.”

“Play ball,” the umpire yelled, and the Patriots took the field. The lead batter for the Raiders, Connor Dempsey, took his position in the batter’s box. He glared unblinkingly at the pitcher as he wound up and threw the first pitch of the game.

“Ball!” yelled the umpire. Cheers, as well as hoots of disapproval, could be heard coming from both sides.

The game progressed and was quickly turning out to be a true nail-biter. Both teams were giving it their all. The scores crept up like the NASDAQ index on a good day. It seemed every time one team was ahead by a run or two, the other team came back swinging and knocked their socks off.

With a tie score of five-five and neither team scoring in the seventh inning, the game went into extra innings. After a scoreless eighth, Cliffside managed to scratch out a run in the top of the ninth. The score was now six-five, Cliffside. The first two batters in the bottom of the ninth were retired easily on routine ground balls to the second baseman and shortstop respectively. The Patriots were down to their last out. Jarrod gave up consecutive singles to the next two hitters and walked the third batter to load the bases.

Alec, along with his two friends, sat next to his parents. Janet grabbed his hand and held it tightly. He squeezed hers gently, letting her know he too felt anxious.

“C’mon, Jarrod,” he whispered softly as he closed his eyes tightly for a brief moment and said a quick prayer.

With the bases now loaded and two outs in the bottom of the ninth, the batter worked the count to two and two. Jarrod wound up from the stretch and emitted a hard “Oomph!” as he released the ball.

“Ball!” screamed the ump. The tension and weight of the pressure on his shoulders was almost insupportable. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his right arm and took a deep, cleansing breath. “C’mon, Jarrod! You can do it, man!” cried the Raiders shortstop, Tim Watson. The Raider fans were all chanting, “Jar-rod, Jar-rod, Jar-rod!” Several people could be seen wiping away the nervous sweat from their foreheads while others simply lowered their heads, not able to watch him throw the next pitch.

Jarrod’s shoulder and elbow were practically screaming to be iced down, and his arm felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He looked up into the crowd, and his eyes met with Alec’s. Alec winked at him and mouthed the word “zone.” Jarrod gave him a small, hesitant smile and nodded.

There comes a point in time in everyone’s life, however transient it may be, that determines the rest of it. Jarrod was fiercely aware that this indeed was his moment.

“Stop thinking,” he mumbled under his breath while shaking his head.
Just breathe and focus
, he told himself.
Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out…

Jarrod stared down the batter prior to his windup. For the three-two pitch, he went from the stretch position, came to a set, and delivered the pitch with all the strength he could muster after eight and two-thirds innings of intensive, exhaustive work. The pitch seemed to have some extra zip on it as the batter started his swing, but to his mortified chagrin, the ball found its way into the catcher’s glove, resulting in the final out of the game.

“Strike three! Game over!” screamed the umpire from behind the plate. Cliffside won six-five on a game-ending, bases-loaded strikeout by Jarrod.

A good portion of the crowd jumped to their feet and began hugging one another, while others remained seated with their heads lowered in sorrow and disappointment. A combination of cheers, tears, and roars could be heard and felt throughout the entire area. The players from the outfield ran toward the pitching mound, where they met up with the infielders who were all embracing, jumping up and down, crying tears of joy, and raising their arms up high in victory. Obscured somewhere in that mass of joyous camaraderie was Jarrod.

“Congratulations, Jarrod. My name is Griffin Wyatt. I’m with the Charleston Riverdogs.” Mr. Wyatt held out his left hand, and Jarrod eagerly shook it.

“Thanks, Mr. Wyatt,” Jarrod said. “It’s a real pleasure to meet you. I wish I could wipe this smile off my face, but I just can’t seem to shake it!” Countless times he had dreamed about this moment, and in every one of his fantasies, he always envisioned himself handling the situation calmly and professionally. Reality was so much different. Here he was, at a pinnacle moment in his life, with a huge, silly grin plastered across his face that he simply couldn’t get rid of. Surprisingly, Mr. Wyatt looked nothing like what Jarrod had expected a baseball scout to look like. Jarrod’s mind had somehow formed the picture of an aging, balding, heavyset man sporting a baseball cap, with a half-smoked, cut-rate cigar dangling from his lips. Mr. Wyatt appeared to be no older than his early forties, fairly handsome, with a full head of fiery red hair. He wore fashionable glasses and a gold chain with a pendant that read “#1 Dad.”

Mr. Wyatt responded with a loaded Southern drawl. “Nah, don’t. You have a lot to be happy and excited about. That was some fine pitchin’ I saw today. It takes quite a bit to impress me, and I’m happy to say, I’m impressed.”

“Thanks again.” He just couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This absolutely was going down as one of the best days of his life.

“I like your mechanics, your motion, and your delivery. You’ve got a good, strong arm. And I must say, I was plenty awed by how you handled yourself when things got a little tense out there.”

“Wow. I know I’m repeating myself, but thanks again.” As Jarrod spoke to Mr. Wyatt, friends continually ran up to him and congratulated him, patted him on the back, or tousled his hair. He couldn’t stop beaming.

“Listen, here’s my card. It’s got my cell number on it. I’d like to get together with you and your folks to talk. That is, if you’re interested in the opportunity to perhaps play a little professional ball someday.”

“Yes, sir, definitely. I’m real interested. When would be a good time to get together?” Jarrod asked with so much exuberance that he accidentally dropped the card and immediately bent down to retrieve it.

The scout smiled at Jarrod’s zestful enthusiasm and said, “Well, looks like there might be some well-earned team celebratin’ going on tonight, so why don’t we just plan on gettin’ together tomorrow? There’s another kid in the area I’d like to check out, so I’ll be ‘round ‘til Monday. Call me later on so we can set somethin’ up, alright?”

“Yes, sir. I will. Thank you again so much.”

Griffin Wyatt shook his hand once again and took off. Soon after that Jarrod was surrounded by his family, his girlfriend, Morgan, and his closest friends, each taking turns hugging and congratulating him. He was on an emotional high that he’d never experienced before and perhaps never would again in this lifetime.

That evening a family celebration was in order. After going home, taking a shower, and changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a black button-down shirt, Jarrod and his family headed out to dinner to one of the finest seafood restaurants in the area, the Waterfront. Jarrod’s mouth was watering at the mere thought of digging into their famous surf ‘n turf.

Close to three hours later, with bellies heartily filled beyond capacity, the Wentworths returned home. Jarrod asked if it would be alright for him and Alec to celebrate with a few friends at a party later.

“Yeah, sure,” Jim replied. “But not too late, okay? You still have to meet with Mr. Wyatt sometime tomorrow, and I don’t think it would be in your best interest for you to show up looking tired and haggard. And no drinking anything other than soda!”

“Yeah, don’t worry. We’ll just hang with the guys for a bit, and then come home. I’ll call Mr. Wyatt now, before they pick us up.”

“No Morgan tonight?” asked Janet, referring to his girlfriend.

“I’ll meet up with her at the party.”

“Oh yay,” said Alec sarcastically. Janet gave Alec a stern look of warning while Jarrod opted to simply ignore him and headed straight for the phone in the kitchen, pulling Mr. Wyatt’s business card from his back pocket. Before dialing he stared down at the card for a moment. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and whispered a quick prayer as he released the air. He nervously began to dial, but stopped because his hand was shaking so much. Janet, who was standing nearby watching him, quietly walked over. She gently took the phone and card out of his hand and laid her right hand softly on his cheek.

“It’s going to be fine, you’ll see,” she said. “One step at a time, okay? Right now you’re just calling to set up an appointment.” Her soothing voice seemed to calm him down immediately. He took another deep breath and nodded. She kissed him gently on the cheek, returned the phone and card to his hand, and quietly left the room, allowing him privacy.

Jarrod dialed slowly this time and listened as the phone rang on the other end.

“Hello?” said Mr. Wyatt.

“Hi, Mr. Wyatt?” asked Jarrod.

“Yes, it is,” said the scout.

“This is Jarrod Wentworth, sir.”

“Ah, Jarrod. Glad you called. How you doin’, son? All done celebratin’?”

“Not quite yet. Still working on it. I just came back from dinner with my family, and I’ll be heading out in a bit to celebrate with the rest of the team and some friends.” He nervously began to pace back and forth in the small kitchen.

“Good, good. Just don’t overdo it, son. So, let’s see. Why don’t we set up our meetin’ for tomorrow? I have a few things to do in the mornin’, but do you think you and your folks could meet with me in the afternoon, maybe around three or so?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever works best for you. Where would you like to meet? You’re more than welcome to come to our house, or we can meet you at your hotel.” Jarrod quickly ran over to the counter and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen so he could jot down the information.