Ninth Man Ii:: The First Woman

By Bill Pennabaker

Can a woman make it to the major leagues?
In this much anticipated sequel to the beloved book, The Ninth Man, Ninth Man II: The First Woman continues with the saga of Casey Collins, a female baseball player who is striving to become the first woman to make it to the major leagues.
As Casey attempts to make history, she unintentionally ignites this generations battle of the sexes. The stakes are raised as a legion of young girls and women rally to support Casey in her quest, and her fear of letting down her girls far outweighs any fear of a 95-mph fastball.
While the core cast from The Ninth Man remains, many new characters are introduced. Some are favorable to Casey; others are not. Included are a legendary pitcher straight out of a Leroy Neiman portrait, a woman from Nigeria with piercing eyes and a wit to match, and Tomasino Hawk, the major leagues only Native American player.
Follow Casey Collins and this diverse cast of characters as the issues of baseball and life collide.
As it was with The Ninth Man, Ninth Man II: The First Woman is about more than baseball. Much more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 21, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524646080

Bill Pennabaker

A graduate of Penn State University (we are!), Bill Pennabaker lives in Redmond, Washington, USA, just outside of Seattle. He is currently working on the third book in The Ninth Man Trilogy, called Ninth Man III: The Beginning. Bill welcomes comments about his work at [e-mail]. Go Mariners! Go Storm! Go Seahawks! Go Sounders! Go Reign!

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© 2016 Bill Pennabaker. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people or organizations are strictly coincidental.

Published by AuthorHouse    12/08/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4609-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4607-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4608-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016917608

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Epilogue

In memory of my sister, BJ, our neighborhood’s real-life Ninth Man. My friends and I let her play one day because we were short of players.

As it turned out, she was better than we were.

Prologue

Casey Collins stood on first base, her fists clenched as she looked in at the pitcher, Marty Phillips. Phillips looked back, biting his lip and shaking his head. How could she possibly have gotten on base? They thought they had done everything they could to stop the bunt. That damn, left-handed, falling out of the batter’s box, half-leaning, half-running down the base path but at the last second slapping at the ball, impossible to defend, bunt.

They had seen it many times that year in the Youth League, and their coaches warned them it was coming.

She’s fast, they cautioned, and she’ll use her speed to get on base. Be ready; play in close, but not too close, ‘cause she’ll pop it over your head and be standing on first base before you know it.

Be ready, the coaches said. Be ready.

And they were. Or at least they thought they were.

The third baseman and the first baseman were both playing in tight, gradually inching in closer as the pitcher went into his windup. The shortstop had moved up onto the grass, poised to field anything that got by the pitcher, but also prepared for one of Casey’s now famous pop it over the head of the third baseman bunts.

The second baseman was also on the tip of the grass, guarding against the push bunt, where she pushed the ball past the pitcher hard enough that the second baseman had to field it, and had to do it fast enough to beat a speeding Casey Collins to first base, which was an almost impossible task.

They had taken every measure to guard against her speed, but it still wasn’t enough.

Showing uncanny bat control for an eleven-year-old, Casey had somehow managed to slap the ball into the dirt hard enough that it bounced up high in the air, in the direction of the shortstop.

Knowing it would be a close play, the shortstop charged hard toward the ball, catching it and throwing it in a single fluid motion over to the first baseman, who had backpedaled in order to cover the bag.

He caught the ball in his glove just as his foot touched the bag, but it was a full second after Casey had already raced by, safe by an inch.

The infielders looked at each other and shook their heads, while the parents murmured amongst themselves.

They too had seen it all, during that special Youth League season. That year when an eleven-year-old girl had been audacious enough to think she could play with the boys, and then proved she could. That year when she became the first girl in Washington State to play Youth League, and had not only played, but excelled.

Some said it was an unfair advantage, the offspring of a major league baseball player, two inches taller than any of the boys she competed against, getting special training from her father and his fellow major leaguers.

Special batting practice. Special instruction on how to field, how to throw, how to tell if a pitcher was throwing a fastball or a curve, and how to adjust the swing accordingly.

When to steal a base, when not to. How to tell from the direction of the pitch where the batter was likely to hit the ball, and to be in position before the ball was even hit. How to judge a fly ball – determining from the arc of the ball where it was likely to land. How to decoy a runner into thinking you were going to catch the ball when only you knew you couldn’t get to it.

These were things an eleven-year-old was not supposed to know. Especially an eleven-year-old girl.

But when you are the daughter of a major league center fielder, a man who made his living and supported his family by playing baseball, a man who saw in his daughter unlimited potential, you didn’t really have a choice.

And when your track star mother gave you speed which was not only inherited, but continuously cultivated, you did in fact have an unfair advantage.

You were born to be a baseball player.

Casey, now on first base, glared back at the pitcher, then looked over at the third base coach for the sign, even though it really wasn’t necessary.

It was a tie ballgame, 2-2, between the Richmond Rockets and the Spokane Warriors, for the Washington State Youth League Championship, winner take all.

Bottom of the sixth, nobody out, and Casey Collins represented the winning run. Everyone in the ballpark knew what was coming next – a sacrifice bunt.

Twelve-year-old Carl Nielson approached the plate, wearing eye black under both eyes and a batting glove on his left hand. A right-handed batter, he was tall and blond, good-looking with a strong jaw, owing to his Norwegian heritage.

All the girls in the sixth grade wanted him, though most were not yet sure why.

Before stepping into the batter’s box, Carl reached up and adjusted his batting helmet, making sure it was secure on his head. He turned to look at the third base coach for the signs, but like everyone else Carl knew what he had to do.

Terry Franks, a forty-year-old ex-small college baseball player with strong baseball knowledge but never quite good enough to make it to the major leagues, was the head manager and third base coach, and he went through the token signs.

A tip of the hat, a tug on the belt. A scrape of the hand across the beard, followed by a clap of the hands.

It was all for show, as everyone knew what was coming. Franks could just as easily have yelled, Lay the bunt down, Carl! because Carl’s job was to move Casey over to second base, to get her into scoring position. They would gladly give up an out, hence the term sacrifice bunt, if they could get Casey over to second base, because then they would have two chances to get a hit and bring her in to score the winning run.

Casey looked in at Carl, and established eye contact. At the beginning of the season, Carl had been one of the most outspoken opponents to having Casey on the team.

What, we can’t do any better than having a girl in right field? he proclaimed when he was informed of the final roster back in May. Are we really that desperate?

Three months later, he changed his tune, having witnessed not only Casey’s stalwart defensive performance in right field, where they used to place their weakest players, but also her hitting skills and speed on the base paths.

Previously the lead-off batter and a contact hitter, Carl had realized that with Casey’s speed, if she could get on base he could move her along, and after all, boy or girl, it was all about winning the title and being able to shove it in the faces of those arrogant rival Spokane Warriors.

Bragging rights for the state of Washington, at least until they made it into junior high school, were at stake.

The parents in the stands were on their feet. Casey’s mother Sue squinted as she watched her daughter closely, while Carl’s mother dug her fingernails into her husband’s arm. The pitcher’s father shouted encouragement to his son.

Out on the mound, Marty Phillips eyed the signal from the catcher, and went into his windup.

Casey, at first base, was dying to run, but she had to wait until the ball passed the batter before she could leave first base.

At least, that was the rule.

She knew there wasn’t much of a difference between the ball leaving the pitcher’s hand and when it crossed the plate, so she anticipated a little by pushing off the bag as soon as the ball neared the batter.

Casey tensed as she stepped off the bag, ready to sprint to second, ready to slide, to get into position to score the winning run.

But it was a pitchout – a ball thrown high and far enough outside that the batter couldn’t reach it.

The opposing catcher stood upright to take the pitch, poised to launch a rocket down to second base, where the second baseman had moved over to cover the bag.

Back! the first base coach yelled to Casey, but she had watched the ball all the way, realized it was a pitchout, and scampered back to the bag safely.

One ball, no strikes, still no outs.

The Richmond head coach stood at third base with his arms crossed. He scoffed as he looked over at the opposing manager in the Spokane dugout. A pitchout. Good call. But his runner on first hadn’t fallen for it, and now they were ahead with a 1 & 0 count.

Both coaches surveyed the field, where they had positioned their players like chess pieces, strategically moving them around in anticipation of their opponent’s next move.

Phillips wound up again, and fired a fastball down the middle of the plate.

The infielders crouched down low, inching in toward the plate, ready for the bunt, hoping it would be hard enough that they could field it and throw down to second base and get Casey on a force out.

But Carl was a good bunter, and he placed it far enough out in front of the plate that the catcher couldn’t get to it, but close enough that the third baseman had to move in further to field the ball.

The entire ballpark went into motion.

The catcher whipped off his mask and lunged out in front of the plate, stopping only when he saw the third baseman nearing the ball.

The pitcher and the first baseman, both charging, also backed off when they saw the third baseman field the bunt.

The second baseman sprinted over to cover first base, while the shortstop rushed to cover second, as Casey barreled toward the bag.

Every outfielder moved, racing in to back up the infielders.

The coaches shouted their instructions, while the umpires got into position, ready to make the call.

The parents held their breaths.

First! the catcher yelled as he pointed to first base, informing the third baseman he didn’t have a play on Casey at second base, and to take the sure out at first.

The third baseman, after briefly glancing at second to see if he had a play, made the throw to first, just in time to get Carl Nielson.

Out! the first base umpire called, thrusting his fist into the air.

The parents for both sides began clapping their hands – the parents for the offense applauding the well-executed sacrifice bunt; the parents for the defense knowing their team had done the only thing it could do, which was to take the sure out.

But in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Casey, running down to second, had watched how the infielders moved, and as she expected, they did exactly what they were trained to do. She saw an opportunity, and in a split second she made her decision.

Instead of sliding into second base, she approached the bag at full speed, stepped on the inside of the bag and continued running toward third base, past a surprised shortstop who had been covering second.

Hey! he yelled in shock, throwing his arms up in the air and motioning toward third.

The infielders, who had briefly relaxed after the out was made at first, suddenly recognized what was happening.

The third baseman, who had just completed the throw to first base, was still facing that direction. He starting backpedaling frantically toward third base, but tripped as he got his legs tangled, and fell to the ground. He quickly scrambled to his feet, but he had lost precious seconds.

The pitcher broke for third, running toward the bag but at the same time trying to turn back toward the first baseman. Throw me the ball! he yelled, running sideways, but the first baseman could see that Casey would easily beat him to the bag.

The shortstop had tried to chase Casey, but he was too far out of the play.

It was now a race between Casey and the left fielder, who had originally run in to back up third base, but had let up once Carl had been called out at first. Now ten feet behind the bag, he accelerated again toward third, holding his glove high in the air to present a target for the first baseman.

The first baseman cocked his arm and fired a bullet over to third base, where Casey and the left fielder were arriving simultaneously. The left fielder, now standing in the base path between Casey and the bag, reached up to catch the ball, just as Casey slammed into him.

Ooof, he grunted, as he and Casey both went down in a heap on the bag, as the ball ricocheted off the top of his glove and bounded onto the outfield grass, rolling into foul territory.

Get up! Get Up! the third base coach screamed at Casey, who was strewn across the bag, as she struggled to push the left fielder off of her.

The shortstop, now in the base path halfway between second and third, scrambled after the ball, keeping one eye on Casey as he ran.

Casey stumbled to her feet.

Go! Run! Go! the Richmond parents yelled, which mixed with cries of despair from the Spokane parents, who begged the young shortstop to hurry up and get to the ball.

Casey raced for home, as her teammates in the dugout jumped up and down, cheering her on.

The shortstop, now on the outfield grass, went into a slide on one knee as he reached the ball. Grabbing it, he sprung up and fired the ball toward home, his momentum causing him to fall backwards.

The catcher, standing in front of the plate with his mask off, reached high in the air to retrieve the shortstop’s throw, as the umpire positioned himself to make the call.

In the stands behind the backstop, the Richmond parents held their arms out in front of them, motioning downwards in a desperate signal for Casey to slide.

Casey hit the dirt as the catcher caught the ball and applied the tag.

She’s out! the Spokane parents yelled in unison.

She’s safe! the Richmond parents countered.

Safe! the home plate umpire called, weighing in with the only opinion that mattered. He spread his arms wide with his palms down in the signal that is recognized by baseball fans everywhere.

Bedlam ensued on the field.

The manager for the Spokane Warriors raced out on the field toward home plate to protest the call, where his catcher was already arguing with the umpire.

The infielders dropped to their knees, crushed, while the pitcher started crying.

The players from the Richmond Rockets raced out of their dugout and swarmed around Casey at home plate, offering high fives and slapping her on the back.

The Richmond parents hugged and kissed each other in joy, while the Spokane parents clung to each other in despair, as they saw the effects of the crushing defeat in the body language of their sons on the field. Some held back their tears; others could not.

An outside observer to the reactions on both sides of the field would not have been able to tell it was only a Youth League State Championship game and not the Major League Championship, because to the people in the ball park that day, it was.

Once the fervor of the game had subsided and the players and coaches from both teams had shaken hands in a show of sportsmanship, they retreated to their respective dugouts and began gathering their equipment. For Spokane, it was the end of their season; for Richmond, it was on to the West Coast Regionals.

In the stands, the parents looked on, talking amongst themselves. Some were still arguing over the last call at the plate, but many were discussing the same subject – Casey Collins.

How could a girl so dominate a baseball game, going three for four, with three stolen bases, scoring all three runs, on top of making a diving catch with two outs and bases loaded, robbing the offense of at least two runs, maybe more?

It was just Youth League, after all, some said, and at that age the boys hadn’t quite caught up to some of the girls in height and physical capabilities.

It was cute that a girl could compete with boys in Youth League, but just wait until she gets into junior high and high school, when the boys get bigger and stronger and faster. Then things would be different.

It was just a matter of time, they said.

It was not the first time they had talked about Casey Collins, nor would it be the last.

They talked about her when she moved into junior high school, when the boys did start to get bigger and stronger, but it hadn’t stopped her from becoming the first girl to play in the Teen Leagues, for 13- to 15-year-olds.

They talked about her when she got to high school, where she grew from a girl into a young woman, when she and her mother challenged the school board to let her try out for the boys’ baseball team, and it took the threat of a lawsuit and a now famous speech for them to agree.

When she made the team on her own merit, and two years later as a senior, even after the boys had gotten their growth spurts, when she was voted MVP, they talked about her.

They began to refer to her in the same reverent manner in which they spoke of their high school quarterback, their senior basketball star and the local tennis phenomenon.

When talking with people from other districts who would brag about their stars, they would counter, Oh yeah, that’s nothing. We’ve got a woman baseball player who leads the men’s team in batting and stolen bases, and rumor has it she’s being offered college scholarships.

And when she signed a contract with a local independent minor league team and became the first woman to play in the minor leagues, they talked, even though the discussions were not always positive.

Some said the owner had signed her only because of her local celebrity, so he could sell more tickets. Sure, they said, technically she had become the first woman to play in the professional leagues, but it was only a local Single A team after all, and it didn’t really mean anything, did it? It didn’t mean she could ever hope to make it to the major leagues, did it?

And when she was suddenly promoted to a Triple A team in Portland, Oregon, one step away from the major leagues, they talked again. When she was voted MVP in the league championship series, only a few days ago, and received national attention as a female baseball player who could actually become the first woman to make it to the major leagues, they talked some more.

Seemingly every resident of Washington State swore they had seen her play in person. Cars displayed bumper stickers reading, Casey Collins, home grown in Washington State and, Casey Collins – Where no woman has gone before.

This woman they had watched grow up, who had progressed from being a Youth League curiosity to a local source of pride, was now garnering national attention. They had been talking about Casey Collins for twenty-seven years.

And they would not stop now.

One

A nervous silence engulfed the room the moment Sue Collins uttered the words, It’s David Appleby, from Cincinnati. No one thought for a moment this was just some distant relative calling to congratulate Casey on winning the league championship.

Casey’s eyes opened wide as she rose from the couch and walked tentatively over to where her mother stood holding the phone. Her palms grew sweaty as she took the receiver, put it to her mouth, then weakly said, Hello, this is Casey.

Casey, this is David Appleby. I’m the director of player personnel for the Cincinnati Fire. How are you?

I’m fine, sir, how are you?

Call me David, please. Listen, the reason I’m calling is first of all to congratulate you on winning the West Coast League Championship. I was there for the last game in Portland, and you turned in quite a performance.

Thank you. It was a team effort, Casey mumbled, her throat dry. She could feel her pulse quickening.

Right. Well, like I said, you played great, and I think there might be a place for you in our organization.

Casey’s knees suddenly felt weak as she heard the words she had been waiting to hear, longing to hear, all her life. She knew Appleby was not calling to offer her a position with one of Cincinnati’s minor league teams. No, this was a call to the majors. The Call. To The Majors. The call that every minor leaguer dreams about.

Casey’s face flushed as her entire life seemed to flash before her eyes, like a montage of movie scenes being played in her mind. She saw her father, so many years ago, tall and strong, standing on the makeshift pitching mound in their back yard, ready to pitch to her. She saw her mother, always there to support her, making her now famous speech before the school board. Her first game as an eight-year-old – that first time she had played with the boys; her first at-bat as a professional baseball player; her miserable first game with the Portland Power; laughing with Mooch during their private batting practice, and finally, the front page picture of her posed atop her teammates’ shoulders with her fist raised in triumph after they had won the West Coast League Championship.

It had all led to this moment.

She shook her head to snap herself out of it, worried she may have been silent for several minutes, when in reality it was only a few seconds. Still, she didn’t know how to respond. Screaming out, "Yes, I’m interested!" probably wasn’t the right thing to do. But what was?

Really? Uh, okay, Casey responded, then mentally chastised herself. Stupid.

Appleby chuckled. He’d been through this before with young players. All right, here’s what we’d like to do. You’re aware that the Fire clinched a Mid-west League Wild Card spot?

Yes, of course.

Well, the first game is in Cincinnati a week from Monday, and we’d like you to be our guest. We’ll make all the arrangements, first class of course.

Can I bring my mother?

Of course. I’ll make the arrangements for three.

Three?

Well, yes. You, your mother, and your agent, of course. You do have an agent, don’t you?

Casey winced. Well, no, actually. I’m sorry, but I never needed one before. My other contracts were pretty basic, and signed directly with an owner that I knew. Sorry.

She wasn’t about to tell him that never in her wildest dreams did she expect to actually be in a situation where she needed an agent.

Nothing to apologize for, Casey, but you do need representation, for your own protection. You’re entering a whole different league, so to speak, and the negotiations can get rather complex.

Again Casey did not know how to respond. She was suddenly embarrassed for not having an agent. Talk about feeling like an amateur. She recognized that she needed representation, but had no idea how to proceed. She had to tell Appleby something.

Um, all right, I’ll look for one. Wow, I’m sounding stupider by the moment.

Appleby seemed to be a little surprised that Casey did not have an agent, but proceeded. Well, look, we’re planning on presenting you an offer during your visit to Cincinnati, and we’re hoping to have you signed soon. So as soon as you can, get me the name of your representative, and we’ll get the ball rolling. One way or another, we’re counting on seeing you in Cincinnati for the playoffs. Okay?

Okay, sure, that sounds great. It all sounds great. Thank you. Goodbye.

Casey hung up the phone, feeling a bit stunned, and turned around to find everyone staring at her. Things seemed to move in slow motion, as she glanced around the room.

First, there was Michael Mooch Moran, the lanky, almost gawky, average looking but genuinely nice guy who could throw a baseball ninety-six miles an hour. Mooch, a truly evolved human being who wasn’t threatened in the least by dating someone who had experienced more success than himself. The practical joker who had been too shy to make the first move on Casey, yet never hesitated to scream Bite me! at a six foot four, two hundred and twenty pound batter.

How could she not love him?

Her gaze moved to Anne Ross, her friend and confidante, who had helped the small town girl from Richmond, Washington, get by in Portland, Oregon, which to Casey had seemed like such a big city at the time. It was Anne, always the professional businesswoman, who guided Casey through some of her toughest moments, and helped smooth some of the rough edges Casey had brought with her from her small town, rural background.

Casey continued her visual sweep of the room, seeing her friends from high school, a few of her mother’s friends from the restaurant, and finally her mother, Sue Collins, to whom Casey owed so much. Much more than a mother, she was Casey’s best friend and number one fan. The woman who had strong-armed the school board, so many years ago, into letting Casey join the boys’ baseball team.

But the expression on Sue’s face caused Casey to pause, because it was a look she didn’t understand, one she’d never seen before from her mother. Perplexed, she tilted her head slightly, looking at Sue, wondering what was going through her mind that would generate such a look. It thoroughly confused Casey, because to her it appeared to be one of indifference.

Anne Ross, with her brown hair in a bun and only slightly dressed down in jeans, a white blouse and a blue blazer, made a comment that snapped Casey out of her reflection. So, are you going to tell us what that was about, or do we have to guess? she chided.

Hey, I know what that was about, Mooch interrupted, rising off the couch to join Casey. He looked at her with his self-proclaimed Steely Blue eyes, which were actually more gray than anything else. His slightly pointed nose, which had caused one of his teammates to call him Bird Man, gave him a look of constant inquisitiveness. That was the call, wasn’t it?

Still in a mild state of shock, Casey muttered, Yeah, that was the call.

The group erupted in one big cheer, as everyone rushed over to congratulate Casey, giving her high fives and patting her on the back.

Anne said, So, tell us about it; what did he say?

Casey, trying to compose herself, grabbed the beer bottle out of Mooch’s hand and took a big swig. Well, that was the director of player personnel for the Fire. He wants me to come to Cincinnati for the Wild Card game next week, and he said they want to present me with an offer.

Sue Collins saw the mixture of excitement and consternation on her daughter’s face. That’s wonderful, sweetheart, but why the concerned look?

He told me to bring my agent. I don’t have an agent.

That’s no problem, we can get you one, Anne said.

Yeah, you could use my agent, Monty, Mooch added.

I thought you hate Monty? Casey said.

Well, that’s true, Mooch frowned.

Casey looked at Anne. What about you?

Anne raised her eyebrows. What about me?

Why can’t you be my agent? I trust you.

Anne frowned. Look, Casey, I’m flattered, really, but I don’t know anything about being an agent. You need a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing. Especially if Portland ever gets a major league franchise, it could become a conflict of interest with me working for the team. This is your career, your livelihood; you need someone who does this for a living.

Anne’s right, Casey, Sue said. You need someone who knows the ropes. She put her hand on her daughter’s shoulder as she looked at the group. But look, everyone, we don’t have to solve this right now, do we? We’re supposed to be having a celebration. Didn’t we just win some sort of championship or something? Well, now we have another reason to celebrate. So let’s celebrate.

You’re right, Mrs. C., Casey’s friend Kelly broke in, as she raised her glass. Here’s to the next step in Casey’s career. Cheers!

As everyone toasted the event, Casey tried to enjoy the moment, but her mind kept drifting back to the fact that she didn’t have an agent, and she couldn’t help wondering what she was going to do about it.

Two

A few hours later, the guests had all left, except for Mooch. Anne had decided to drive back to Portland that night, rather than stay over, since she had a meeting with Bud Harley, the owner of the Triple A Portland Power, the following day. Sue had fixed up the guest room for Mooch. She was not naïve; she realized that Casey and Mooch probably slept together, but it was one of those situations that did not get discussed. The mother-daughter version of the "Don’t ask; don’t tell’ approach. Casey, out of respect for her mother, didn’t press the issue, and Mooch, as usual, went along with whatever Casey wanted.

After saying goodnight, Mooch made his way upstairs to his room, leaving Sue and Casey in the kitchen, where they were doing some light cleaning. As the two moved around each other, it was not hard to tell they were mother and daughter.

Sue Collins, the ex-high school sprint champion who passed her speed on to her daughter, at the age of forty-seven still moved with the grace of a natural athlete. Although her dark brown hair, which she wore short in a professional business style, now showed some signs of graying, and her figure was now a little rounder, her high cheekbones and upright posture made her look much younger than she was. A strong and independent woman, Sue had raised Casey since Rip Collins, a professional baseball player, had passed away from cancer when Casey was only thirteen years old.

Casey, now twenty-seven years old and the daughter of two athletes, had been given the benefit of her mother’s speed along with her father’s natural athletic ability, which had been good enough to get him a stint in the major leagues, playing briefly with the Cincinnati Fire.

Casey, at 5’10 1/2" inches tall, with sandy blond hair and brown eyes, had an athletic build that reflected her parentage, and she was a natural athlete in every sense of the word. Lean, athletic, and fast, she had been a three-sport star in high school – running track, playing basketball, and playing right field on the men’s baseball team.

As they continued their cleaning ritual, Sue could tell something was troubling Casey, but she waited for her daughter to speak. Eventually, she did.

So, Mom, can I ask you a question? Casey asked awkwardly, as she aimlessly wiped down the kitchen table, looking at it rather than her mother.

Sure, sweetheart, what’s on your mind?

Uh, it’s kind of weird. Casey fidgeted, not knowing exactly where to start.

What is it, dear? Sue said, as she stopped cleaning the counter and looked at her daughter.

"Well, this afternoon after I got the call, I was looking around the room at everyone. Anne was beaming; Mooch was jumping out of his shoes; Uncle Mike acted like he just got the call, and everyone else looked pretty excited."

Casey paused, then looked hesitantly at her mother before continuing. Except for you. It looked like you weren’t even fazed. Almost like you didn’t care. I know that’s weird, but that’s how it looked. She looked at her mother for clarification.

Sue’s blue eyes twinkled as she flashed her motherly smile, and gave Casey the answer she would remember for the rest of her life. That’s because the call didn’t surprise me.

It didn’t?

No, because I knew it would come, someday.

But how could you …

Sue walked over and took her daughter’s hand. "Casey, you’ve always been something special. Your father knew it from the very beginning. He wasn’t kidding when he used to tease you about making it to the major leagues. And I’ve watched you grow from that little girl wanting to please her father, into an amazing young woman. I may not have known exactly when the call was coming, but I knew it would come, someday.

If I looked like I didn’t care, maybe it was because it was the only way I could keep from bursting into tears. I’m so proud of you I can hardly stand it.

The tears did come from Sue, and from Casey as well, as they stood in the middle of the kitchen, hugging each other. After a few moments, Sue took a step back and wiped away her tears. She smacked her daughter lightly on the butt and said, Now, leave me alone to finish my cleaning, will you?

Casey, still sniffling, made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, where, except for the last few months she spent in Portland, she had lived her entire life. Plopping down on the side of the bed, she looked around the room. The posters of the baseball players, both men and women, who had served as her bedroom companions over the years, were still on the walls. They seemed to form their own welcome home committee, saying, We’re still here for you, just like we were when you were growing up.

The poster of her father, dressed in his baseball uniform, provided extra comfort, saying, I’m proud of you, kid, even though I’m no longer around. Keep up the good work; I’m still watching.

Casey caught sight of herself in the mirror of her vanity nightstand. Puffy eyes notwithstanding, she looked good. She was in fact already a professional athlete, getting paid to play baseball in the minor leagues. Currently she was the only woman in the minors, having spent seven years there, thinking that was as far as she could go. Now, suddenly with today’s call, it could all change.

She was still flabbergasted by Sue’s comments. What an ultimate affirmation of Casey’s life, to receive such a vote of confidence from her mother. Of course she knew Sue loved her; she had demonstrated it in so many ways. The years of encouragement throughout her career, working long hours at the restaurant to support them both, occasionally closing early so she could catch a couple of innings of Casey’s games.

But to receive such an emphatic vote of confidence from the person she admired most in the world; to hear that the reason her mother didn’t seem affected was because she simply expected her daughter to make it, put her over the top.

For the first time ever, Casey finally believed –truly believed – she might have what it takes to play in the major leagues. She knew it wasn’t as easy as simply getting a phone call. There would be negotiations, possibly another need to re-locate, and the biggest challenge of all – she had to actually make a roster. But all that aside, Casey felt the most optimistic she had felt in a long time.

Three

The set of circumstances that brought Casey Collins to this point in her career had not followed a normal course of events, if indeed there was such a thing when talking about the route to the major leagues. Although her story was unique in that she was the first female to be courted by a major league franchise, it was not all that different from a lot of other players who had taken a circuitous route to get to the major leagues.

Typically, a high school or college baseball player would be drafted by a major league organization, which would then assign the player to one of its minor league affiliate teams. It could be Single A, Double A or Triple A, depending on the skill level and maturity of the particular player. The player would spend an amount of time working his (and now her) way up through the minor league ranks until such time the organization decided he or she was ready to move up. Eventually, a major league contract would be signed.

Unless traded to another organization, players were obligated by contract to the original organization with which they signed. After seven years in the league, they became eligible for Free Agency, which gave them the ability to market their services to any team that was willing to bid for them.

In Casey’s case, however, she was never signed by a major league organization. Instead, the owner of a local independent minor league team named the Richmond (WA) Tigers had signed Casey after she graduated from high school. The owner admitted at the time that although he respected her baseball skills, he needed her local celebrity status to help sell tickets and keep his fledgling team afloat.

For Casey, it was an opportunity to play professional baseball and remain close to home. Once she signed, she became the only woman baseball player in the entire minor leagues, which consisted of hundreds of teams and thousands of players.

When Bud Harley, the owner of the Portland Power, a Triple A team in Portland, Oregon, began looking for a way to replace several players lost to injuries, he noticed an article on Casey in a local newspaper. It also happened that Bud had been lobbying the league heavily to bring a major league franchise to Portland. Part of the ammunition he needed to convince them was to show them his team could be profitable. That meant selling tickets, which at the time the Portland Power had been struggling to do.

Seeing a way to replace one of his injured players, and perhaps more important, sell tickets by hiring the minor league’s only female player, Bud Harley got the idea to offer Casey a contract to play with his Portland Power.

The only problem was the Texas organization that the Power was affiliated with did not want to hire a player who had not been found and approved by their own scouting organization. A consummate salesperson, Bud Harley, after much haggling, had convinced the organization to allow him to sign a ninety-day contract directly between the Portland Power and Casey Collins. After ninety days, the season would be over and the contract would expire. Therefore the Texas organization would have no exposure to a possibly unwanted player.

At the time, Bud Harley did not know, nor did he necessarily care, whether or not Casey could actually play at the Triple A level. To him it seemed like a win-win situation. If Casey was not up to the task, he reasoned, the season would be over by the time it was known. The contract would expire, and he could worry about replenishing his team the following year. Meanwhile he could generate a lot of publicity, and revenue, around having a woman on his roster.

If it turned out that Casey could play and help his team, all the better. He could turn her over to the Texas personnel organization and if they wanted to sign her to an official contract, fine. If not, no harm done. He did not believe she would have much of an impact on his team’s performance, or on the league in general.

He could not have foreseen, especially after Casey’s initial struggles to jump to the AAA level, that she would not only become a team leader on the Portland Power, but also lead them to their first ever West Coast League Championship, earning Most Valuable Player honors, and creating a national controversy over a woman crossing over the gender barrier and playing men’s professional baseball.

Nor did he realize the ninety-day contract he had signed with Casey put her over the seven-year period, allowing her to become an unrestricted free agent. The problem for Bud was, by the time he realized this, so had everyone else.

Four

Not long after the celebration of the West Coast League Championship, what would eventually become an intense period of publicity, speculation, and turmoil in the life of Casey Collins began as