Alec had discussed how his day would go during the ride in that morning with his dad. His ride home would be when his dad left. The Otters’ night games began at 7:30, and Hubbard attended most of them, sitting in the owner’s and team president’s private box. Whenever Alec had wanted to go to a game, he’d sat in that box as well, feeling very special indeed. The team president was frequently there, too, the owner much less regularly. He had many other interests and was, Hubbard had told Alec, one of the good kinds of owners: he allowed his baseball people to run the team with minimal interference.
The owner liked owning a club, liked being part of baseball, but the club was an investment and a hobby as much as anything. He knew trying to help with decision making would be a mistake, and he had enough other irons in various fires to spend much time at games.
But Hubbard usually drove home in the late afternoon, leaving the stadium and his office around 4:30 or 5. He’d have dinner with Alec, then drive back for the game, sometimes with Alec, usually without. Alec had his own life, which included a small group of casual friends. Baseball and Alec were Hubbard’s life, and Alec often wondered which was more important to him. Not that he really wondered that—only when he was pissed about something his dad had said or done.
But Hubbard was Alec’s ride to and from his clubhouse boy job, meaning Alec would have time on his hands when his job was done for the day, which was often before lunch. That was how it was on his first day. He had no problem waiting. Alec was very comfortable being alone. He’d become more reclusive when his mother had died. He still had friends, but grief had changed Alec; his friends seemed unaware of the realities of life, realities that Alec was now so aware of himself. Her death had matured him, and the result of that was he didn’t feel as close to his friends as he once had.
Now, with nothing but time on his hands, he decided to wander around the stadium, checking out the many places he hadn’t visited before. There were many of those. It was a huge place. First off, he wanted to go down onto the playing field. He’d never been there before and had always wanted to.
There were a few people in the ballpark, and he passed some of them while making his way down to the field. No one paid him any attention, and he wondered if that was because of the ID lanyard his dad had given him to wear around his neck or the fact no one was allowed in unless they were authorized to be there. Probably a little of both, he thought.
He reached the first row of seats before the low wall that separated the seats from the field and saw he couldn’t get onto the field that way. There was a large mesh screen between the seats and the field, and he remembered his dad telling him about a rule that had been implemented that had required screens to be erected in every major league stadium to prevent fans from being hit by line drive foul balls.
Alec walked back up to the lower deck concourse, then wandered around looking for an access point to the areas below the stands. He found a door with a sign reading No Admittance, Authorized Personnel Only. He tried the knob and found it unlocked. That probably only occurred during the day, he thought. He walked through it. There, he found some stairs leading down and took them. A lower hallway led around the stadium, following the curve of the concourses above. He saw signs, and then the one he wanted, one that read Dugout Access. He went down that corridor and ended up at another hallway, a narrower one going in both directions. He followed the arrow that pointed to the home dugout and soon was standing in the dugout looking out onto the field.
He checked out the dugout first and saw boxes of bottled water, large plastic bins of bubble gum, storage shelves for batting helmets, stacks of batting gloves, the bat racks, two phones—one to the bullpen, one to Hubbard’s office—a TV screen that showed what was happening in the bullpen, and the spot where the manager always stood during games.
He walked up three steps and out onto the field, feeling excited. This was where all the action happened, and for someone who’d grown up playing kid baseball and living the big-league dream vicariously through his father, this was special. He stood in the batter’s box, realizing he was standing where so many famous players, all the big names that were part of the history of the game, had once stood. The fences looked to be miles away. After taking a couple of practice swings without a bat but pretending, even pointing to the outfield fence à la Babe Ruth before taking a mighty cut at an imaginary pitch, he walked to the pitcher’s mound and pretended to wind up and throw a pitch.
“Ball one,” he heard shouted, and he looked quickly toward where the sound had come, feeling embarrassed. He’d thought he’d been alone! Alec wasn’t one who liked his thoughts and emotions to be on display to anyone; embarrassment was something he hated with a passion.
The voice had come from the visitors’ dugout. Looking there after scanning the empty stands, he saw a single figure standing on the steps leading to the field from the sunken dugout. As Alec watched, whoever it was climbed the last step and walked out onto the field, headed his way.
As he neared, Alec saw a young man, only a few years older than he was himself, and he realized he knew who it was. Watching him approach, Alec remembered how he’d had a crush on him when he saw him as a high school pitcher a couple of years earlier. The kid was damn cute then and still looked like a young teenager when he was a senior. Now, with a more mature face, he was beyond cute. He was a handsome young man.
“Hey, you’re Tanner Simmons!” Alec gushed. “I was in middle school, 8th grade, when you were a senior at Grant High. That’s where I went last year. You were their star pitcher back then. Didn’t lose a game! Then a first-round draft pick of the Atlanta Braves. I watched you pitch all your games your last year in high school here. You were amazing!”
Tanner grinned. “I’m with the Angels now. Got traded by the Braves. I was deep down on their 40-man roster, and the Angels needed pitching. The Angels always seem to need pitching. But picking me up . . . you know about the Rule 5 draft?”
Alec shook his head.
“It lists the rules governing how teams must handle their draft choices. Well, by rule, the Angels have to keep me on their major league roster for at least a year, so here I am. We’re playing the Sea Otters this week.”
Tanner had joined him on the mound by then. Alec wasn’t generally loquacious and realized he’d been very effusive, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Tanner had been an idol in high school due to his looks, talent and outgoing personality, and Alec had crushed on him hard. Now he could actually talk to him, and he didn’t seem to be able to control himself.
“What’s it like,” he asked, “breaking in with a team of guys all older than you and all playing, while you just take up a place on the bench? You have to be the youngest player on the team. That has to be really uncomfortable.”
Tanner laughed. “I think that depends on who you are, your personality, you know? I’ve got enough self-confidence to handle it, although this game has a way of cutting you down to size. Pitches that got swung at and missed by a mile in high school end up in the bleachers here. I’m having to learn a whole new way of pitching, but the coaches at this level really know what they’re talking about, and I listen. That’s the trick: don’t let your ego get in the way of learning.”
Tanner looked around, quiet for a moment. Alec gave him a silent moment which Tanner seemed to appreciate.
“I’m not entirely separate from the team,” he finally said. “Some of the younger players talk to me occasionally, and that helps. The age and frequent language gap makes becoming great friends difficult, though.”
“So, what’re you doing? Working out of the bullpen?”
Shaking his head, Tanner said, “They want me as a starter. I’m supposed to pitch when they don’t have anyone else, which happens due to injuries or double headers or whatever. I’m even going to start against you guys tonight; we’re short a starter, and they pointed to me. It was going to be a bullpen game—using all relief pitchers, an inning or two apiece—but the GM decided I should be given a chance. My first start in the major leagues.
“I guess you must have something to do with the Otters. I see your ID tag. What’re you, a batboy? Foul-line jockey?”
Alec grinned. He was really liking this, speaking to a bigger-than-life guy he’d admired from afar. Now a major leaguer! But Tanner had had a rep at Grant; he hadn’t been the typical high school star jock. He was the school’s hero, being an outstanding baseball pitcher and playing linebacker on the football team, yet he still had been approachable and friendly with his classmates. And of course, his teen-idol looks hadn’t hurt. Alec had simply watched his games and never spoken to him before, being shy and younger, but now he was finding him very easy to talk to. The guy was down to earth instead of aloof like many young athletes were.
“No, this is my first day on the job. I’m the Otters’ clubhouse boy. You know, a fancy name for a janitor? My name is Alec, and there are two of us clubhouse boys. After getting done for the day inside, I just had an opportunity to come out on the field. I’ve always wanted to do that. But why are you here? Awfully early for you, isn’t it? I thought major leaguers all slept into the afternoon before night games.”
“The ones playing often do. I don’t play much, only when they are in desperate need of a starter, and so far that hasn’t happened. I live a more normal life, more normal hours. But I wanted to see the field, be out here. I’ve never been on the field in this stadium before. Watched a lot of games here but never got on the field.”
“They let you in?”
“I sweet-talked the old guy at the gate. And I had my stuff with me; told him I wanted to put it in my locker. But, hey, you’re here, and I’d love to loosen up. You up to playing some catch? I’ve got a spare mitt and balls.”
“You want to play catch with me? You’re like twenty times the player I’d ever hope to be!”
“It’s catch, not the World Series,” Tanner said, laughing.
“I’d love to!” Alec said gleefully. How exciting was this?!
Tanner went to get two gloves and a ball, and soon they were standing in the outfield tossing the ball back and forth. After a few throws, Tanner moved backwards about ten feet. Alec knew Tanner had a great arm. He also knew he himself had a more-than-decent one. He’d pitched for his Little League team, then played outfield for a Babe Ruth team. He hadn’t gone out for the baseball team at Grant High; he’d tried out for the swimming team instead and made it, and he’d decided against playing two sports. His dad wanted him to do well academically, and he wanted that, too.
Tanner moved back again a few minutes later, wearing a big grin. Alec laughed and threw him a high flyball that was over his head; Tanner had to jog back and catch it with his back turned to Alec.
When they were done and sitting in the dugout, resting, Tanner said, “You have a great arm.”
“Thanks. I haven’t played in a year. I loved the game. But school takes a lot of time, and two sports would be too much; I opted for swimming. My dad wants me to get all A’s, and I like to make him happy. He got me the summer job here, and so far I’m loving it.”
Tanner stood up. “I think I’ll hit the showers and then get busy. Now that I’m back home, here to play the Otters, my mom has me running all sorts of errands for her. That’s her way; she’s kinda a control freak. Here I am a big leaguer, but to her, I’m still just her son to boss around.”
He tried to grin, but it was weak, and then he said, “I just wanted to come here, drop things in my locker and step out onto the field. The guy at the gate showed me the visitors’ locker room. You want a shower, you can come with me; maybe you’d just like to make sure I don’t leave the place in a mess!”
Alec wasn’t sure how to handle his face to keep it neutral. Shower with Tanner? Naked with Tanner? Just the two of them? Naked?! He felt some tingling, but it was mixed in with uncertainty, maybe even a little fear. The idea was beguiling. The realization that all he had to do was say yes and he could be naked with one of his early idols was intriguing but also scary as hell. What if he did get hard, and Tanner saw? It would probably happen. No, he couldn’t do it. At least half of him wished he could, though.
“I’d love to, Tanner, but I don’t have any clean clothes to put back on, and I didn’t get all sweaty anyway. Thanks so much for playing catch with me. Hope to see you around. Good luck tonight. I’ll certainly be here for your game.”
Tanner took off, and Alec thought about lunch. His dad had told him there was a cafeteria up near the admin offices where all the baseball staff worked, and he could eat there as long as he had his ID with him. That was where he decided to go next.
««« »»»
The cafeteria was on the same floor as Alec’s dad’s office. It was about half filled with people, all adults. Alec looked for Leo but didn’t see him. He did see his dad, who was sitting with two older men. Hubbard waved at Alec, pointed at the food service line, nodded, then pulled his head back in a gesture that was easy to read: come join us. Alec saw the food that was available from the containers on the steam table. It was nothing like what they had in the school cafeteria. This was just another reminder that he was a part of a big-time operation where very wealthy men along with a large assortment of other men and women with various roles with the Otters ate meals. From assistant trainers to coaches, medical staff and team execs—including secretaries and errand runners and drivers—the room was full of people, yet unlike where he had lunch at school, the noise level was very subdued. Adults, Alec thought with a grin. Looking around, he decided he was the only teenager in the room.
He filled his tray and went to his father’s table. “Alec, this is Mr. Ruggles and Mr. Henry, the team’s owner and our president and CEO. Gentlemen, this is my son Alec. He began today as a clubhouse attendant.”
Both men had stood when Alec had come to the table. Alec had been well versed from a young age on how to meet adult men. He first set his tray on the table, then shook each man’s hand, meeting their eyes. As they were sitting again, Mr. Ruggles asked, “How’s your first day going?”
“It’s been fantastic,” Alec enthused. “Leo and I got our two areas cleaned, and then I walked around a bit and investigated the stadium. I went out onto the field. That gave me goose bumps! Oh, and I met Tanner Simmons. We played catch!”
“Do you know him?” Mr. Henry asked. “He’s a local kid, isn’t he?”
“He was a few years ahead of me at my high school. I knew who he was, of course. Big man on campus. Biggest, actually. But I’d never spoken to him before today. He’s really friendly.”
His dad jumped in. “I think he’ll be pitching against us tonight. They need a starter and there’s a gap in their rotation tonight due to a suspension. Their guy whose turn it was to pitch, Johnny Gabb, got suspended for arguing a ball call with the plate umpire. It was an egregious call, but Gabb should have known to let it go. He’s a hothead, and he didn’t. Cost him a start. Rather than bring up someone from the minors, they want to see what Simmons can do.”
After that, Henry and his dad spoke about some business matters, and Alec had the opportunity to eat his lunch.
««« »»»
Alec walked around the stadium after lunch, familiarizing himself with the nooks and crannies of the place. He eventually ended up back in the corridor that led to the two clubhouses. He looked into the Sea Otters’ room just to see it was still ready for the team. Then he thought he’d do the same with the other one and was walking toward it when that door opened, and Tanner stepped out. “Alec!” he said, a huge grin on his face.
Alec couldn’t help but smile in response. “Tanner!” he said, trying to match the guy’s enthusiasm.
“I’m glad you’re still here. I’m so nervous; jumping out of my skin. I need to do something. My first major league start tonight, and I can’t sit still. I need to work off some excess energy. I don’t suppose I could throw some pitches to you? No one else is around; it’s way too early. But I’d like to throw off the mound, get the feel of it. You’ll need some catching gear, but I can see to that. Our equipment guys have already brought everything in. I can find the catchers’ equipment.”
“Sure,” Alec said. “But I’ve never caught a major league fastball. Or curve. I’ll probably suck.”
“I won’t throw my hardest. I just want to loosen up.”
“Okay, let’s do it. How many guys at school will be able to say they warmed up Tanner Simmons before his first major league start?”
The catcher’s gear was too big for Alec but was adjustable, and he fitted it on the best he could. Catching Tanner was a thrill. Even not throwing his fastest, Tanner was Tanner, and it was a little scary. Luckily, none of the pitches bounced in front of the plate. For Alec it was just a case of getting his mitt in the right place.
That was easy with fast balls that were only half-speed and didn’t move much. With curves and change ups, something he’d never seen before and certainly never caught, it was a learning experience. Tanner told him what was coming, and after missing the first few before getting used to the break on the off-speed throws, Alec found he was able to adjust to those pitches and usually catch them. He could see why hitters had a problem hitting a major league pitcher. The breaking balls didn’t break till they were near the plate, and then they broke sharply. If he didn’t know they were coming, he’d never have been able to catch any of them.
He was working hard, trying not to miss a thing. Even knowing they were coming, the off-speed pitches still were giving him problems, and that was pissing him off. He didn’t want to look incompetent to Tanner. After missing a couple of curves in a row, he started concentrating more.
After Alec had learned to catch the breaking pitches, Tanner stopped telling him the curve was coming. He looked different somehow, his posture and poise on the mound more focused then. He was concentrating harder, and it showed. It was like he had found his groove. He threw two straight pitches, fastballs, and Alec figured maybe a curve was next. It looked to him like Tanner was thinking about how he would sequence pitches to a batter.
He was right. The next pitch was a curve, and Alec, concentrating hard on Tanner as he was, saw something that made him curious. When Tanner was throwing a fastball, the foot he was landing on when releasing the ball was pointed straight at the plate. For his curve, that foot was turned slightly off center. Not much, not so it was very noticeable and maybe not noticeable at all to anyone not looking directly at him, but Alec, crouching directly behind the plate looking at Tanner, could see it.
Posted 1 March 2025