NEW TO THE GAME

By Mark Schoedl

There appears to be a distance between the person one presents and the real person hidden beneath the veneer.

Many more people from all walks of life have surrendered to their image to achieve recognition, to make ends meet, or to live the quiet life away from all the hullabaloo.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Best Books Media
• Release date: Nov 5, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956095227

Mark Schoedl

The Sherman Park Community was once home for Mark Schoedl. He now makes southeast Los Angeles County his residence. He now explores Los Angeles County, the Cali-Cool where everything seems possible. The surfing and skateboarding culture has taken over America's youth. There still is plenty to do anywhere you go. Nonetheless, he muses, "you must have the initiative to do it." Then, California is everywhere; and, not just a place where Hollywood dances and travelers kick off their shoes on the sandy beaches alongside the Ominous Pacific Ocean. This is his first novel.

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New To The Game

Mark A. Schoedl

Copyright © 2021 Mark A. Schoedl.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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.

ISBN: 978-1-956095-21-0 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-956095-20-3 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN: 978-1-956095-22-7 (E-book Edition)

Some characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Book Ordering Information

Best Books Media

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Printed in the United States of America

Contents

Strangers among Friends

1 New Kid In Town

2 Go Out and Get It

3 Fancy Meeting You Here

Nothing New under the Sun

Black and White

Get Your Ass Out of Bed

A Change of Seasons

It’s Only a Dream

Homecoming

1 Thursday at the Commons

2 Homeward Bound

The Horn of Plenty

A Different Shade of Blue

1

2

Wandering Around The Neighborhood

1

2

It Couldn’t Be Soon Enough

The Falls

Let’s Do Green Bay

Merry Christmas

That Ain’t It

Haven’t We Been Over This Before?

1 Where Are You Coming From?

2 The Single Life Ain’t So Easy

3 Silence Is Golden

4 Winter Tames the Savage

About the Author

Back Cover Summary

Strangers among Friends

1

New Kid In Town

Oh, that’s the front door. You stay right there. I’ll get it. I need my kitchen sink ready to go so I can get the linguine and marinara sauce ready for our guests later this evening.

It’s not like the Di Costanza residence has the city water department over for a briefing every day of the week. I have no idea why our hotshot department head decided that measly little foreman Joe Di Costanza cares one farthing about strategies to save costs and long-term business strategies to keep El Monte coming back for more.

So your job is not glamorous?

Whose is? The only thing I care to get worked up over is the simmered mushrooms and peppers in your mother’s olive oil.

Well, Mother had to cook everything just right. Dad was not the touchy feely sort of guy Josh is.

He put you through college, didn’t he?

And after he retired from Masami Brothers, his life was already over. Not even little ole Boots the Chihuahua could stand him.

Don’t you think you’re ganging up on a ghost?

Na, that’s the way Dad was. After he put in for retirement, his fate was already sealed. But hey, we don’t want to keep our company waiting. Don’t worry. Your sink works fine. After I put on the new center faucet set, you’re good to go.

It’s for you, sweetheart. It’s a boy called Jimmy De Lorenzo.

Oh yes, our future center fielder for El Monte High School. He’s a new kid in town, and I came across him while at a jobsite a few weeks back. I told him I used to coach JV at the high school and could help him get acclimated to the El Monte ways of doing things.

He’s not from around here?

No, I believe he’s from Amarillo, Texas, if I am not mistaken.

Whatever made his folks decide to trek all the way out here?

Jimmy said his dad drives the bus, and he decided this is the place where his family would want to settle down. He told me that he couldn’t handle the blowing snows and winds anymore. You know how much I hated those Milwaukee winters all those years ago, and when dad’s health was winding down, us snowbirds never looked back.

Should I let him in?

Why not? All I have to do is to tighten up a few bolts and check the water for any leakage.

Say, so how’s it going, Jimmy?

Great, Mr. Di Costanza. I told my dad about you, and he said that us Italians gotta hang tough or else be left out in the cold.

Well, after my father from Wisconsin passed away way back when, my wife and I brought along my mother to sunny California, and the rest is history. My son is so California that you can really tell the difference between him and us folk.

So your mother lives with you guys?

Nah, she spread her wings the minute we settled down. She’s always doing something, running errands or playing bridge. Me? Well, I fix things around the house and cut the grass.

While I make supper and do the dishes. So how are you?

I’m all right. I started school here last year and have found it a little hard to fit in. You know how things can get being new people and all.

I’m Sally Di Costanza, and you’re?

Jimmy, Jimmy Di Lorenzo.

A freshman, huh? You know Mr. Di Costanza here used to coach junior varsity at El Monte.

And more importantly, I was able to watch Fred Lynn play center field all four years over at El Monte. He helped take USC to three consecutive national championships. What’s more important is the pleasure he had gotten from helping the Trojans to continue their dominance in the sport. Look, I just have to do a little cleaning up here. Why don’t you head over to that door halfway down the hall known as my library room where I hold onto some of my baseball memorabilia? Oh, and one more thing, you know that Fred Lynn and his Boston Red Sox face the Big Red Machine starting next week?

Oh yeah. But that Reds lineup is tough, especially with Perez to knock in Rose and Griffey, and, of course, Bench is el maestro behind the plate.

And Concepcion and Geronimo shoring up the middle portion of the defense. It looks like they’re pretty unstoppable.

With Nolan and Billingham leading the starters along with Eastwick and Borbon to finish up games, I don’t see much chance for the Red Sox to stage such a major upset. It would be great, but I just don’t see it happening.

They all have decent pitching records, but other than Don Gullet, their pitching ERAs don’t wow me. In the World Series, you need solid bull pen work, and Cincinnati delivers that in spades.

Well, that’s still why they gotta play the game. Nobody walks scot-free.

Yaz and Petrocelli, Lynn and Evans manning the outfield with el Capitan Fisk handling that array of theatrical starters from Tiant to Lee, maybe, just maybe, some magic will wipe clean the ‘curse of the Bambino’. The professor Rick Wise better perform perfectly or the elusive Darren Johnson and company will have to take a bow to the tactician Sparky Anderson.

It would be a major thorn in the side of the major leagues if Boston would take home the crown.

But for bean town and Yastrzemski, that would validate that 1967 wasn’t a fluke and that anyone can beat anyone no matter how talented those Greats may be, even in a seven-game series.

Rice is gone the entire series. I just don’t think it’s possible.

The Bosox bring Beniquez and Carbo off the bench.

But they’ve got Foster and Rettenmund.

You’re right. It doesn’t look good for the Red Sox. Like I said, why don’t you go on, and I’ll see you in a minute.

Jimmy softly opens the room door and peeks in. The first thing he sees is a portrait photo of Ty Cobb and next to it him sliding into home with his spikes, brutally kicking out the ball from the catcher’s mitt.

So what do you think of my den? I’ll bet you haven’t seen any pictures like this before, have you?

They’re so clean and crisp. It’s like I could just climb into the picture and go back in time.

I agree. You know aside from hitting .367 and stealing 892 bases, he’s second all-time in triples with 295. His old speed demon teammate Sam Crawford outdid him in less games, punching in 305 three-baggers. They say old Ty was a mean cuss. I think it’s just the nature of the beast. Things get ugly when the lines are drawn, and nobody comes out smelling like a rose no matter how well you try to hide it. Will anyone catch his all-time hit list of 4,191?

See this player over here?

Yeah, it’s labeled Tris Speaker. What was so special about him?

Oh, he took home a couple rings with the Bosox and one with the Cleveland Indians, something old Ty never attained, and he put the Georgia Peach to shame as a defender in center field. To this day, he holds the records for most double plays by an outfielder. And before there was Cool Papa Bell and Paul Blair playing a shallow center field, there was the charismatic and dashing Tris Speaker beginning the trend. And he could put the ball in play whose lifetime batting average was .345. Not too shabby, eh? See the Babe over there? I think his greatest all-around year was in 1923 when he not only almost single-handedly ended the dead-ball era with fortyone homers but also harbored a .996 fielding percentage while throwing out twenty base runners. Only Tris could match those defensive numbers. Ty learned as much as he could from Crawford, but Tris was the all-around man to beat in center field.

Who’s that?

Josh Gibson. Aside from Johnny Bench, I don’t think anyone can match his offensive numbers from the game’s most thankless position, a home-run king to go toe-o-toe with the Babe. You know the Negro League AllStars handed the perennial Major League All-Stars more defeats than victories. They took pride in beating those whities. Cool Papa Bell who was known for his clean living once said about his white counterparts that they ‘just played the game by the rules whereas us blacks would use every trick in the book to come out on top’.

Cool Papa Bell?

Yeah, Cool Papa Bell was the center fielder for the St. Louis Stars. Cool and company often played two games a day at two different Parks, so there was lots of driving around in the rural south to shuffle from one game to the next. Many of their records have been erased by poor management efforts at times. However, he was probably faster than Cobb. He often swung away with the opposition drawn in, thinking he was going to bunt to get something started. Like I said earlier about ole Tris, James Cool Papa Bell played a shallow center field and often turned a base hit into center field to a force out at second. The man could chase down anything hit over his head. They deserved a lot better than they got. Even Ty Cobb admitted as much."

You see this picture here?

Sure do.

It’s Al Simons when he played for the Philadelphia Athletics. He’s the only nonpitcher from Wisconsin who’s in the Hall of Fame. My dad saw him play in the ’29 Series against the Cubs. Al made my old man’s day, taking out the lovable losers in five games. I took my dad to Borchert Field just before they tore it down to get an autograph with the old Polish Cannon, Al. He drove in over 1,800 RBI’s but didn’t quite get to 3,000 hits over an eighteen-year career. He would have come up with more hits if old bucket foot Al would have kept his foot in the box. His powerful stride pulled the right-handed hitter toward third, making him an easy out after he finally turned toward first to attempt beating out the infielder’s throw.

Dad said there were a lot of thugs in the league back then.

Well, yeah, but what are you going to do if nobody wants to give you a chance after you’ve served your time?

I think everybody’s scared.

You got that right. The only thing fair about the game is the time you put into honing your fielding and hitting skills.

And getting along with your teammates.

You can say that again. I never was much of a pitcher. There was no way I was athletic enough to play short stop. A guy named Jeff Robbins made sure nobody stepped on his turf. He really put in the time at short. However, like most, he always dumped dirt on others when his manhood felt threatened.

How do you know?

Because my drafting class was right across from the coach’s, and all the starters tended to make their journey there at one time or another.

What about you?

I never talked to him. I was too scared. I mean how could a sniveling idiot such as me tell on these dudes who could probably kick my ass without breaking a sweat?

My dad says you gotta face up to them. Otherwise, they’re never going to leave you alone.

Forgive me for saying this about your father, but I think that’s a bit oversimplified.

What do you mean by that?

Isn’t it obvious? What punch did your dad have to take?

I have to take them, not your dear old friend dad. Now don’t get me wrong. I used to think like your dad. You know, somehow I am now the adult, and it’s my turn to become the passive tyrant.

What’s that supposed to mean?

I was following along the sentiments of my father when my son came home with a horrific broken and bleeding nose, and that shiner was black as coal. I’m not kidding, Jimmy… First thing’s first, I rushed him to the emergency room and got him fixed up. Then the trip back was one quiet ride. Finally, I broke the ice and asked him what happened? He looked at me plain as day and stated matter-of-factly, ‘Dad, you have no idea how TP gets when he loses his cool. Everybody thinks the world him bein’ our best pitcher. He’s also built like a truck, and he just drilled me with a quick right’.

"That’s when I came up with that lame, ‘Now, what did you do to provoke him?’ And he just added, ‘I did like you said. I told him that I thought his hitting was great, but he wasn’t so hot at the fielding end of things’. To make a long story short, I knew the old man’s way of handling things would not work with Nate. And don’t get me wrong, what he said to TP seems a bit eccentric, but that’s not all of it. My son finally broke into the starting lineup and made some lame plays at second. Most of us benchwarmers secretly want our competition to fail miserably, and then we go out there and shoot blanks. You see, we need to perform when we get the chance. Otherwise, we’re just spittin’ in the wind."

What?

Like I said, we gotta prove ourselves. He admitted that much to me. And if we win the position outright, we too will have to perform consistently, or we will eventually ride the pines ’til the cows come home. You’re moving into a much more competitive game, son. You may have been the darling of Amarillo’s world, but now you are dealing with some players that may go to ASU or USC. Some kids can get pretty rough when they feel they’re about to lose their starting job to a scrub.

I finished up my last year of Little League here, and they stuck me out in right field. You think I don’t know what that means? Back in ’Rillo I carried the team, filling out between short stop and center field, making the plays that brought us home the league title. And we were only okay at producing runs. Our nemesis, the Tigers, could smash the ball around at will. Nevertheless, when it came right down to it, our pitching and defense sealed the deal. That’s why I need help Mr. Di Costanzo. Dad tells me us Italians gotta hang tough ’cause for some reason most people think we’re bums.

If only my father was alive, he’d give you the biggest hug. Yes, you could say that, but hey, look at Pacino and De Niro bringing their passion to the box office, and Fellini and Coppola showing the world we ain’t playing second fiddle anymore lad. You can’t throw us curveballs anymore without us lettin’ you know about it. And, my son, he showed me somethin’. But you gotta stand tough when the chips are down because your counterparts just care about getting their way. They could care less about who’s right or who’s wrong. They’re just there to get their own treasure they made up in their little minds.

Some treasure. You couldn’t give me that pile of crap if you paid me all the tea in China.

I agree. But are you ready to bleed red for the Almighty Lions?

Just give me a chance.

"Oh, and about my son and his tiff with his teammate. Before that one-sided fight, TP drilled him with the ball as he zoned in on our gimpy goalie Nate attempting to score a goal on my son in a gym class game of speedball, and on his breakaway from just inches away, he railed Nate’s face with the ball front and center, using all his might. Nate said he saw stars for a while, telling him, ‘You didn’t score on me big guy’. Needless to say, the two were never on speaking terms. Nate would make some game appearances and catch