A Minor (League) Tale

By S.C. Sobotka

Baseball is only a game.

True on its face, but a description that falls short of encapsulating the countless slice-of-life stories that originate within the game, whether playing, coaching, cheering, or just watching.

This is one of those stories, and it's simple; It begins and ends with a baseball bat.

Settle in for an enjoyably quick read and view the experiences, memories, relationships, and missed opportunities through your own lens, as an old baseball bat travels through several decades before ending up in its rightful place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steven Sobotka
• Release date: Jun 16, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223378891

Book preview

A Minor (League) Tale

S.C. Sobotka

image-placeholder

Copyright © 2023 by S.C. Sobotka

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact author at [e-mail]

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book Cover by S.C. Sobotka

Contents

1.A Package Received

2.Humble Beginnings

3.Stuck On the Farm

4.Showdown

5.The Final Slump

6.Flash In the Pan

7.Time To Move On

8.Everyday Grind

9.Swing For the Fence

10.Inside Pitch

11.A Package Delivered

12.Spring Training

13.THE LETTERS

14.A Journey Begins

15.Thanking a Mentor

16.Burying the Hatchet

17.Bridging The Gap

18.The Final Out

About

Also By

A Package Received

The old-timer leaning on the fence along the first base line had no idea that neurons in the upper part of his nose generated an impulse that passed along the olfactory nerve to his brain, but he could talk incessantly about the smell of fresh cut grass and how it instantly transported him back in time almost fifty-plus years, back to his first little league game.

He stood alone, eyes closed, as he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, recalling a lifetime of memories at the familiar scent of the grass. When he eventually heard the heavy thump against the catcher’s mitt, he immediately opened his eyes to see who was putting that kind of spin on the ball. He didn’t know the pitcher, or any of the other kids, but that didn’t matter. Just hearing the sounds of the game felt like donning a favorite old sweater, and when the game was played right it sounded like a symphony.

When the old-timer bent down to reach for the package he’d rested against the chain link fence, the first baseman happened to look in his general direction. Their eyes met for an instant and the kid nodded and smiled. The old man tipped his cap and smiled back, satisfied that the best game on earth was in good hands.

image-placeholder

It was almost like every other afternoon of recent memory for Grace Alexander. A morning push of the stroller down to the neighborhood park. A few minutes vicariously experiencing the freedom of children who’d just been allowed to ride the swings by themselves, a push of the stroller back home, some play time on the rug, then an early afternoon feeding before rocking her infant son to sleep.

She watched his tiny chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly with each breath, envious of his ability to achieve instant sleep and a complete absence of concern for the world. As she placed a kiss to her fingertips and gently touched his forehead, the doorbell rang. Until that moment it had been almost like every other afternoon of recent memory.

Not expecting anyone, she tip-toed out of her son’s room and quietly pulled the door closed. Downstairs, she approached vigilantly, placing an eye to the peephole. On the porch, an elderly gentleman stood facing sideways, holding a long, thin square box, as he surveyed the neighborhood.

She opened the door slightly and the man pivoted around slowly, one hand resting on his box. He offered a disarming smile. Hi…my name’s Jack Alexander. I’m Matt’s fath-

Yes. I know who you are.

The brief silence that followed seemed longer than it was. I’m sorry for the intrusion. I really don’t want to cause any trouble.

Considering him for a moment before opening the door and smiling softly, she extended her hand. I’m Grace, Matt’s wife.

The man had no idea how he’d be received. He felt like he had a pretty good idea, so he was surprised by the outstretched hand of his son’s wife. He cleared his throat and stood a little straighter as he took her hand in both of his.

Grace, he said, almost to himself. Pleasure to meet you.

She smiled again. What brings you by today, Mr. Alexander?

Embarrassed, he waved her off. Please, it’s just Jack.

Okay, sure. What brings you by, Jack?

I…I heard through the grapevine that you and Matt recently had a baby. Is it true? Do I really have a grandson? he asked nervously, as if her answer either way might cause his knees to buckle.

Why don’t you come in, Grace offered as she stepped aside. Yes, it’s true. You have a grandson, and his name is Bart. Please, come in, she motioned, have a seat. He just went down for a nap. Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda?

Jack took a seat on the edge of a nearby ottoman, still holding the box he’d arrived with. Listen, Grace, you’ve already been nicer to me than I have a right to. I’d love some coffee, but I need to ask…is Matt here? I can’t imagine he’d be thrilled to know I just showed up unannounced.

What makes you say that?

Jack laughed to himself. Obviously, I wasn’t around much for Matt. Wasn’t? he laughed again. I’m not around at all. Wasn’t, haven’t been, nothing. Matt’s probably told you what a bad father I was and if I had to guess, I’d say he wouldn’t care much if I was dead or alive.

Grace Alexander considered him quietly then issued a random declaration. You’re my father-in-law. I’ve never thought about it because I never knew you, either. Matt doesn’t speak ill of you. He never has. I think he’d probably prefer it that you’re alive and not dead, but I also think you owe it to him to find out for yourself.

Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to upset him.

Him? Are you sure it’s him you’re worried about?

Jack forced a smile. Point taken.

You know, Jack. You only told me you wanted to confirm whether you have a grandson. Is that really all you wanted to know? Grace’s voice trailed off as she moved to the kitchen. How do you like your coffee?

Jack bit his lip nervously. "Umm, a little cream