Baseball Boys

By Joe Rector

Martin Simmons was the king of the middle school. Ike Stearn was every bit as athletic as Martin, but unlike him, Ike didn’t flaunt his abilities. Before long, a showdown came, but the end result of it wasn’t the development of a vicious rivalry. Instead, the two became close friends.
Ike struggled with Martin’s constant demands on his time. He wasn’t strong enough to stand up to his friend, so he went along and silently held a grudge. He and Ike, however, shined their brightest on the baseball field.
Whenever Martin needed help, he called Ike to summon his presence. Resentment grew in Ike as he played baseball because Martin expected him to. His dad’s demands concerning his baseball play fueled more controversy as the man tried to find glory through his son’s abilities.
Ike harbored a secret interest—writing. He successfully joins the staff of the school paper and finds an outlet for his need to create.
In their senior year, the boys reach the title game for the state baseball championship. Martin covets the MVP award, but it’s Ike who makes the plays and receives it. The two experience some icy moments in their relationship, but things settle when Martin is offered a baseball scholarship from powerhouse LSU. He sees the opportunity as the first step toward a professional baseball career.
Ike tells his dad that he has earned an academic scholarship to Northwestern University, where he can study to become a writer. His dad understands the importance of writing to Ike and gives his blessing.
Martin arrives at LSU and in storm trooper fashion takes on life in college. On the field Martin excels, and his reputation grows.
Ike arrives at NU and meets Barbara Watkins, the editor of the college paper, and after submitting a sample of his writing, he lands a weekly column about the new experiences in a freshman’s life.
Now a junior, Martin leaves school and waits for the professional draft.. He is drafted by the Chicago Cubs and assigned to the minor league affiliate in Sevierville, TN, half way across the state from his home in Bellevue.
Martin meets Susie Sexton after his car runs into hers. He falls for her immediately, and the two begin dating. Their relationship blossoms, and when Martin is called up to the big leagues, he proposes to Susie.
Ike graduates and accepts an offer to work for the Chicago Sun Times. He is given another assignment writing a column on activities in the Chicago area. An unwelcomed part of his job is covering the Cubs for the paper.
Both men marry and life settles. The wives become close friends, and Martin and Ike develop a friendship with new boundaries. Martin is a successful major league ball player and crowd favorite. In his twelfth year of playing, he breaks his leg, and ensuing difficulties and infections lead to amputation.
Ike becomes a favorite of readers in the Chicago area. He also sells short stories and then writes a best selling novel.
Martin travels to spring training with the Cubs and is stricken with severe headaches, dizziness, and temporary paralysis. His doctor tells him that he suffers from a brain tumor and has little time left. He asks Ike to speak at his funeral and to tell the truth about him. After Martin’s death, Ike does speak. His next visits Wrigley field at night, where he pours Martin’s ashes at the base of the ivy-covered walls. Ike knows that his last act for his friend will be writing a book about his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe Rector
• Release date: Jan 28, 2011
• ISBN: 9780983219804

Joe Rector

I spent 30 years teaching high school English to juniors, seniors, and advance placement students before retiring in 2008.. My writing attempts began in 2003 after the death of my older brother, who had always been thought of as the “scribe” of our family. I wrote a weekly column for the Knoxville Focus from 2004 until 2009. I also wrote a weekly community column for the Knoxville News Sentinel for three years from 2005-2008. In June of 2010 I accepted a job as the community editor for the Karns/Hardin Valley Shopper News and work on a part time basis. My wife Amy and I have been married for 36 years and have two grown children, Lacey and Dallas, and a grandson Madden. My work has appeared in eight different Chicken Soup books, as well Low Explosions, an anthology published by the Knoxville Writers’ Guild, and several other magazines and newspapers. Baseball Boys is my first fiction novel. A nonfiction work titled Love the Boy, Love the Game is also ready for publication. Additionally, I have sets of columns on a variety of subjects ready for publication under the title of The Common Is Spectacular, and several of them are available on my blog www.thecommonisspectacular.com.

Book preview

Baseball Boys

Joe Rector

Published by Joseph T. Rector

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Joseph T. Rector

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1

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Mid-March ushers in warmer temperatures with the promise of spring not far behind. Instead, a blustery cold with a wind that cut through jackets and chilled to the bone dominated the area. Gray clouds that threatened either rain or snow blanketed the skies.

Children in the town of Bellevue were tired of it all. They’d watched the snows being melted by drizzle that fell for days. No, flooding wouldn’t occur, not even with the snow melt. The rain had been just enough to keep things wet and damp and raw as it does when winter hangs on to its last days of life.

The snow lost its appeal to children and adults alike. Record setting seasonal amounts in excess of three feet first appeared Thanksgiving weekend. At first, kids couldn’t sit still at their desks as the flakes piled up. Places in the south like Tennessee don’t have snow equipment. No, when a storm is coming, salt and sand are spread on the streets by the road department. It’s not enough to make them passable for long. So when the accumulation begins, children’s excitement at the prospects of being dismissed from school overtakes them to the point that concentrating on an essay or a page of math problems is impossible.

Ike Stearn found himself mesmerized. He’d moved from Tampa during the summer, so this was the first snow he’d ever seen. The whiteness of the stuff awed him. The falling flakes possessed an almost hypnotic effect, and he jerked so violently that he almost fell from his desk when his teacher, Mrs. Brooks, called on him.

Ike… IKE, what is the answer to number 12?" she asked.

He felt the red flush rise from collarbone to ears as his embarrassment spread.

I have X equals 22, he said.

That’s right. Pay attention, you and the rest of the class, or I’ll pull down the window shades, the teacher said.

Students’ minds again mentally joined their bodies in the classroom and suffered in silence for the announcement from the office that school would be dismissed early. In spite of the teacher’s threats and scowl, the cheer of children’s voices echoed in the classroom and down the halls started another buzz of excited talk in the room.

Ike looked across the room to his best friend Martin Simmons. They formed muted Yea’s and pumped their fists. Nothing is sweeter to a seventh grade boy than an unexpected day out of school, and both boys planned to join forces to make the most of the occasion.

Ike and Martin hadn’t started out as friends.

Kids almost idolized Martin, and he’d been the most popular boy in class. Girls lined up to go with him, and he changed his favorite as thoughtlessly as if he were surfing channels on the television set.

Martin possessed good looks uncommon to most boys his age. In some mysterious way he’d managed to escape the ugly years, those between eight and thirteen when nothing seems to fit, to be in proportion. His body was muscular and looked almost chiseled. Dark skin made him always appear to have a tan. His green eyes captivated everyone—girls, boys, parents, teachers. In some eerie way Martin seemed able to capture people with his look, and once in its grasp, people forgot and forgave all that Martin had done. The sheen of his black hair sometimes looked more like a radiance that lighted up his entire being.

If his Adonis looks weren’t enough, Martin’ athletic prowess wowed everyone. When he was only in the sixth grade, he’d taken a starting position from eighth grade boys on the middle school teams. He ran for touchdowns through the stoutest defense, and he unloaded vicious hits from his linebacker position. He ran the school’s basketball team with precision from his guard position and filled up the basket with outside shots, but only after he’d left defenders reaching for the ball as dribbled through their defenses. Coaches from the high school attended games in both sports and dreamed of the day when Martin would bring his skills to their programs.

As well as Martin performed in football and basketball, baseball was his first love and the sport in which he had known no equal. From his shortstop position he ran down ground balls deep in the hole, so deep that fans watched in awe as Martin picked them from the ground and made a laser-like throw to first base. A switch-hitting offensive machine at bat, he hit for a gaudy .735 average. In many games, opposing pitchers and their coaches feared Martin’s bat so much that they walked him instead of allowing him to crush a ball far past the outfield fence. Yes, Martin Simmons was the stuff that legends were made of. At least that’s the way things were before Ike moved to town.

Ike Stearn and his family had spent most of his life in Tampa. There his dad Marshall was an electrical engineer with the power company. His mom Sarah Beth, who had taught school for a couple of years before he and his younger sister Jaylee had come along, became a stay-at-home, carpooling mom, complete with the mini-van. As Ike and Jaylee grew up and started school, Sarah Beth took a job working part-time as a real estate agent.

A consolidation of departments at the electric company left Marshall on the outside, and after several months of frustration and worry and after sending out what seemed to be thousands of resumes, he secured a position with Tennessee Valley Authority, the major power supplier for Tennessee. The cut in pay worried Marshall, but the cheaper prices of the region made the job a good one.

Sarah Beth took the first couple of months learning her way around Nashville, of which Bellevue was a suburb. After she felt comfortable with the city, the schools, and the stores, she too looked for work. She found a position with a local real estate company. The commissions on sales were much smaller than in Tampa, and the slow economy limited the opportunities. Still, she could make a bit of money for her family and learn more about their new hometown.

Ike Stearn inherited his physique from Sarah Beth’s side of the family. Her dad had been 6’6 and weighed 240. Her two brothers, Mark and Jim, were clones of their dad—Mark at 6’5 and 238 and Jim at 6’3" and 247. Also like their dad, the boys had been star athletes in high school. Only a year apart in age, they played on the same teams and anchored the left side of the defense. Both played basketball in high school and earned scholarships to small colleges in the northeast.

At Thirteen, Ike’s body had already passed that little boy stage. He stood 6’1" and weighed 175. His upper body was muscled; his legs looked more like that of a well-conditioned high school athlete.

What Ike didn’t have was a burning desire to play sports. As a younger boy, he’d played on all sorts of community teams—peewee football, t-ball, and soccer. None of it appealed to him. Sure, he was a natural at the games; he couldn’t have been any other way having come from such a lineage. His coaches placed him at shortstop on every team because he glided to the ball, speared it, and threw out runners by a couple of steps. Still, the games didn’t strike a chord with him. In fact, Ike found sports boring and time-consuming.

Ike wanted to spend his time in something else—writing. He’d always had a vivid imagination. Even the daycare workers had reported it to his parents.

Ike certainly can come up with the best stories to tell the other children. It’s too bad they’re all so scary, they’d said.

It was true. On more than one occasion over the years, Ike had made up stories that had sent his inconsolable friends running for an adult. They were about monsters and ghosts and mommies and daddies that hurt their children.

Ike saw his stories as nothing more than make-believe. His intent wasn’t to scare his friends, but he always liked the power he had over them when he caused them to run for an adult in fear.

His life grew brighter after learning to write so that he could put his ideas down on paper. That joy increased when Ike could peck away on a computer. His parents thought he was playing games on the keyboard, but their son was hard at work to get his ideas down and saved on a disc. By the time he reached thirteen, a couple of discs and thousands of words were tucked away in a shoe box hidden in the back of his bedroom closet.

He knew better than to let family or friends in on his interest. No need disappointing them or being ridiculed by them. He never could figure out how to explain his fascination for words and writing and how it superseded any trivial sport that he might play. To say so would be slapping his maternal grandfather and uncles.

So, Ike hid his real love and participated in sports as he was expected to by friends and family alike.

That’s why Ike and Martin initially didn’t get along. Martin was jealous of this new boy who was an equal to him. He’d never had to contend with that in his young life, but all of a sudden, Ike appeared. The new kid could run as quickly, hit a baseball as hard, and shoot a basket with the same precision. Girls that had cooed over Martin now turned their attention to the new boy in school. He was a serious rival for their affection, something that no other boy had ever come close to being.

Martin fretted that Ike would steal his place of stardom, and he hated him for it. Games during recess became wars. Martin put on dazzling displays, but Ike equaled them. The new kid robbed him of homeruns as he leaped to catch fly balls before they came down on the other side of the fence. Ike swatted away passes intended for Martin. Worst of all, Ike blocked Martin’s attempts at fifteen-foot jump shots.

It was after one of those blocked shots that things changed for Martin. He claimed Ike had fouled him, and when Ike rolled his eyes and turned his back, Martin exploded. He pounced on Ike and punched him in the back of the head. Ike spun around, and on his face was a look of amazement, not anger. Martin drew back his arm to deliver another punch, but Ike tackled him. In another second, he sat on top of Martin. Ike could have pummeled him from that position. Instead, he stood up, offered his hand to Martin and pulled him up. Then Ike said,

My bad. I didn’t mean to foul. Your ball.

Ike again took his defensive position and waited for the game to resume. Martin, shocked by Ike’s reactions and embarrassed by his own, stood motionless. Just then, the teacher called the students back to class.

The rest of the day Martin fretted about his actions and those of Ike. Why hadn’t the kid hit him? Why did he say he’d fouled Martin when they both knew no infraction had taken place? How could Ike be so cool about a situation that had escalated in a matter of seconds?

Martin chewed on these things instead of school work for the rest of the day. When the final bell of the day ended, he knew what had to be done. Ike was out the door and already on the sidewalk heading home when Martin caught up to him. This time no other students were around, so if a fight broke out, only the two boys would know the result. When he was only a couple of steps behind, Martin yelled,

Hey, Stearn! I want to talk to you.

Ike stopped completely and bowed his head.

I hope this ass hole doesn’t want to fight, he thought.

He turned around, all the while expecting the jolting contact of Martin’s fist with his chin. But he found Martin just standing there with a look that included anger and confusion on his reddening face.

Hey, you afraid to fight? Is that why you didn’t hit me earlier? Chicken or something?

Ike closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief at what he was hearing.

No…no, I’m not afraid. Ah, go ahead and tell everyone I’m scared to death of you if you want to. I don’t care, he said.

With that Ike turned and began to walk again. Martin didn’t understand what was happening, but he realized that he was not in control of the situation, another first for him.

I’m not trying to pick a fight, he said, I just can’t figure you out. You could have beaten the crap out of me today, but you got off me, apologized, and acted like nothing ever happened. I want to know why, Martin said.

Again Ike turned to face Martin, and he felt a slow anger building. He thought Martin must be thick, just like all kids who are good at sports.

I didn’t fight because it didn’t matter to me. I don’t care who wins a lousy game or if I fouled you or if you get mad. I just don’t give a shit! Understand?

Not really, Martin said. But that’s okay. I just want to know where we stand with each other. We going to be friends, get along, or fight all the time? I just gotta know, he said.

Ike looked at Martin in disbelief.

Have it either way you want. I’m not fighting over a stupid foul. You want to be friends now but wanted to stomp me a couple of hours ago? Weird.

When Ike turned and walked again, Martin was by his side.

You got a good baseline shot, Martin said.

Thanks. Ike answered.

They walked the rest of the way home silently.

2

When school was finally dismissed, Martin and Ike met on the front school steps. Without saying a word, they turned and headed toward home. They lived two blocks from each other, a space covered by young boys with two leaps and a bound.

As usual, Martin began the conversation.

I got a new bat last night. It cost a fortune, but Dad said I needed to have the best equipment if I was going to play on a travel team.

Ike knew where this was leading, and he dreaded it. Martin had been on him for a month to join the same team he was on. Martin figured it would be cool. They’d get two new uniforms, bat bags, batting helmets, and jackets. It’d be like a fraternity except for the drinking. During the baseball season, the traveling team, called the Wildcats, would play about sixty games. Most important of all, they’d travel to tournaments every weekend during May, June, and July. Martin already could envision the fun times as they stayed in motels.

Ike couldn’t have cared less. Even though he was a natural at the game, he wasn’t fond of an activity that took place in brutal heat. Sixty games? What were the coaches—crazy? When the team wasn’t playing, it’d be practicing. That left no time for anything else in his life.

The expense was another thing. His dad did have a job, but he’d taken a big cut in pay. His mom was working, but the economy had taken a turn for the worse, and the problems in the lending industry had all but dried up the markets that Sarah Beth worked. No, Ike’s family wasn’t destitute, but he wasn’t so sure that they could afford motel stays every weekend for three months. It pissed him off that much money might be blown so that he could play on a team that wasn’t important to him at all.

Still, Ike knew that’d he would spend his summer playing baseball for the Wildcats. Martin wanted him to be on the team, and he’d convince Ike’s parents that doing so was a good thing for their son. Ike would go along because that’s the way Ike was—a pleaser. It irked him every time he acknowledged that fact. He’d sacrifice his summer and the things he wanted to do to make Martin happy.

I don’t know about playing on that team. My parents might not have the money to buy all that stuff and pay for motel rooms and food and gas. Besides, Jaylee just got braces, and I heard Mom and Dad talking about how expensive they were and how the budget was tight and…

Martin cut Ike off.

Relax, man. If you can’t afford to be on the team, I’ll tell the coaches about it, and they’ll give you the stuff free. If they don’t, I’ll tell them I won’t play either, and that will fix it.

Ike realized that Martin would do what he said. At thirteen, he already knew how important his skills were to coaches and teams. He also knew that those coaches would do anything to keep him and to add Ike to the roster. It was a sure strategy to win, and travel team coaches were sometimes a cut-throat bunch. They got little or no pay for their coaching, but the bragging rights were more important anyway. It allowed them to put together teams each year that were better than all but a few.

You better not do it. I’ll kick your ass. Mom and Dad will figure out a way. If they don’t, I won’t play. Simple. But you better not go begging for me, Ike said.

I won’t as long as you promise to play. Besides, you have to because I already told the coaches you wanted to. They expect you to be on the team. Oh what’s more is I ain’t so sure you can kick my