September 2002

University of Michigan

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK

Gord, hands folded behind his head, was in bed staring up at the dorm room ceiling. He was in a terrible mood. The knock at the door jarred him from a deep, contemplative state. He looked in the direction of the sound.

“Yeah?” he answered, annoyed.

It was ten o’clock on Sunday night, and he had just returned from a gruelling bus trip.

“It’s Kim.”

“Come in,” he replied in a monotone. Even Kim’s voice did little to raise his spirits.

Kim stepped into Gord’s room, looking as beautiful as ever. She wore a form-fitting knitted sweater and a pair of charcoal-black yoga pants.

The pants were the most deceiving garment in clothing history since the advent of the padded bra. They made any ass look fantastic. A girl who had no business wearing tight jeans or dress pants would automatically have her lower half transformed into that of a fitness model. Kim already had a terrific body, so she literally turned heads when walking on campus in her yoga pants. It was as if Michelangelo himself had handcrafted her butt and thighs.

“How’d the game go?” she inquired.

“It was shit. I got crushed again.” Gord sat up on the edge of the bed as Kim took a seat on his desk chair. “Coach is pulling me out of the rotation.”

The University of Michigan baseball team was in the middle of their fall exhibition schedule against a selection of conference rivals. The exhibition games allowed the team to jell cohesively as a unit and gave the coaches a chance to watch the rookies cut their teeth in college ball. Plus, it gave everyone another six weeks of baseball to enjoy before the gloves were put away for the winter.

The Wolverines had just finished up a weekend series on the road against Purdue. Gord had thrown the third and final game of the series and was taken out to the woodshed. He didn’t make it past the third inning, giving up five runs, six hits, and four walks.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Kim replied. “You threw so well in tryouts — what’s changed?”

Since he was a kid, Gord had kept his personal problems with the game to himself. However, Kim was so easy to talk to that he was often surprised with how candid he was with her.

“I have no idea what the problem is,” Gord answered honestly. “My arm feels great. These guys are just teeing off on my fastball. Plus, I can’t throw my off-speed stuff for strikes and I’m always behind in the count.”

The seeds of Gord’s struggles were sown during his senior year of high school. His devotion to throwing hard and his love affair with strikeouts were now coming back to haunt him. Whereas high school hitters were more than willing to chase pitches off the plate, college hitters were too smart and disciplined to make the same mistake.

If Gord didn’t give them a pitch to hit, they just waited for a walk. Eventually, he was forced to give in and throw “get me over” fastballs just to hit the zone. College hitters sprayed these pitches all over the park. The Purdue batters looked solely for fastballs during Gord’s entire appearance, as his few attempts at a curve were looping efforts that sailed high.

Furthermore, Gord’s delivery was an absolute mess. His desire to throw as hard as he could caused him to rush his mechanics. More often than not, he ended up falling off the mound toward the dugouts instead of finishing square to the plate.

“The way I’m throwing now, I’ll be stuck to the bench well before the spring season begins in March. Coach isn’t going to give me many more opportunities to start.”

It was uncanny just how close Gord’s prediction came to fruition. The winter layoff did nothing to cure his pitching woes. The more he struggled, the harder he tried to throw, and the wilder he became. It was a vicious cycle that would only be cured once he learned to be a pitcher and not a thrower.

He was relegated to the bullpen by the start of the regular season. Gord’s stats for the year were unimpressive, even by freshman standards: 23IP, 15BB, 25H, 15K, 5.60 ERA. The Wolverines lost in the conference final at the end of May. Coach Picard lost so much confidence in his young rookie that Gord’s last outing of the year was in mid-April versus their cross-state rivals from East Lansing. He went over six weeks without an appearance.

Back in his room, neither Kim nor Gord had any idea what was in store for Gord’s first year in college baseball.

“Look,” Kim began. She got up from the chair and sat down beside him, her hand resting on his knee. “I’m sure you’ll turn this around; it’s still early in the year.”

“I hope so. After I gave up a double to my last batter, a Purdue fan stood up and yelled, ‘Hey, Mattis, next outing just save yourself some time and throw it in the gap!’ ”

Kim couldn’t help but laugh at the wit of the comment.

“Come on,” she teased. “You have to admit that is pretty good.”

Gord found himself smiling, despite his crummy mood. As always, Kim’s laugh instantly made him feel better. His infatuation with her had not waned since the first day they had met. Although she had a boyfriend, they were each other’s closest friend on the dorm floor.

Their friendship generated lots of gossip. Mutual friends thought a romance was blossoming, but, unfortunately for Gord, their relationship was completely platonic.

Sitting with her now, he could smell the citrus fragrance of her perfume. She smelled so good. The scent tickled his nostrils. Gord wanted nothing more than to tell her how he really felt but he didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship.

“You’re right. Thanks, Kim.” Gord appreciated her efforts to cheer him up.

Kim stood up. “I’m going to bed. You’re walking with me to Sociology tomorrow morning, right?”

“You bet.”

“Okay, see you tomorrow. ’Night, Gord.”

“ ’Night, Kim.”

She closed the door behind her, and Gord climbed into bed with a smile on his face. His disastrous outing that afternoon was wiped from his memory. Only Kim’s perfume lingered on in his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

Gord didn’t pine for Kim or retreat into a shell of loneliness and heartbreak like the male lead in a second-rate 1980s chick flick. Instead, he thrust himself into the social fabric of university life. His status as a member of a varsity sports team made him an attractive commodity on the undergraduate dating landscape. Gord seemed to date a never-ending cavalcade of coeds, but he kept the relationships strictly casual. He had waited most of his adolescence to be popular with the opposite sex, so he saw no reason to commit himself to just one girl.

One story from his freshman year solidified Gord’s reputation as a proficient dater among his baseball brethren and garnered him somewhat legendary status in his residence hall.

In late October, Brent McPhee and his housemates threw a kegger to celebrate the end of mid-term exams. It was a party for primarily senior students. Returning to the scene of his infamous rookie night, Gord was one of a few underclassmen in attendance. He was in the kitchen, talking shop with Matt Carbone and John Sukrage, when he heard a female voice call out his name from across the room.

“Gord? What are you doing here?” A tall, slim brunette led three girls back toward the guys.

“Hey, Alex, what’s up?” Gord was surprised to see her. “I play ball with one of the guys who lives here.”

Alexandra Opal was the resident adviser on Gord’s floor. It was rare that they saw each other outside of the confines of their hall. Being at the same party was just plain weird. They were both a tad wary of hanging out in the same social circle.

Alexandra, being in a position of authority, didn’t want one of her charges to see her engage in behaviour that she had decried in one of many RA lectures. Likewise, Gord didn’t want to do anything stupid in the vicinity of his resident adviser.

“Cool,” Alexandra replied. “These are my friends Rachel, Elle, and Darci. Gord’s one of the guys on my floor.”

Gord introduced Carbone and Sukrage to Alexandra and her friends. The group shared some similar classes and mutual friends, so the conversation was smooth and free-flowing. Eventually, they all headed to the living room, where games of Flip Cup were being held.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea,” Alexandra remarked as the guys organized the cups of beer. “I shouldn’t be drinking with you, Gord. You’re one of my kids.”

“Come on, Alex, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, I’m going to go do a lap.” She gave a look to her friends. “You guys stay and play.”

The three Wolverines challenged the three girls to a battle of the sexes Flip Cup challenge. They decided on a best of seven series. The guys’ aim was twofold: one, to show their Flip Cup dominance; two, to get the girls drunk enough so they’d be willing to make questionable decisions later on.

Unfortunately, they severely underestimated the prowess of girls with three plus years of college life under their belts. The ladies were Flip Cup dynamos. What they lacked in chugging ability, they made up for with masterful flipping. Also, the guys had Gord on their team who, as a freshman, lacked necessary skills — he got drunk way too fast and quickly became useless as a flipper.

Gord was matched against Rachel in the anchor position. She was extremely friendly and talkative. Even through his alcoholic haze, Gord could tell that Rachel had been eyeing him pretty voraciously between games.

However, Gord was unsure how to proceed. This was uncharted territory for him at this point in his college career. He had primarily dated freshman girls. A senior taking an interest in him was not something he expected.

The Wolverines pulled out a hard-fought victory in the seventh game, when Gord’s cup rested upside down on the table a fraction of a second before Rachel’s. After a wild celebration of fist bumps and man hugs, the guys shook the hands of their opponents.

Rachel pulled Gord away from the rest of the group and into one of the adjoining rooms. She gazed hungrily into his eyes as they sat together on a loveseat. Gord struggled to think of something to say to ease his nervousness.

“So, uh, how do you know Alexandra?”

“We’ve known each other since first year. I’m an RA in Wilshire, too. Up on five.”

“Cool. Where are you from?”

Rachel tousled Gord’s hair. “You’re really cute, you know that?”

Gord tried to think of something witty to retort, but his mind wasn’t working properly. “You’re not doing too bad yourself.”

She laughed. “You’re quite the sweet talker.” Rachel moved toward Gord and rested her hand on his upper thigh.

“I, uh, do what I can …”

Kicking himself internally, Gord realized that the less he said, the better. It was obvious Rachel liked being the aggressor, so he decided to keep his mouth shut and let her dictate the pace.

“Come here,” she purred.

Rachel clasped her hands around Gord’s neck and kissed him on the lips. Jackpot, Gord thought. After a few minutes, she stopped and pulled away from him. He looked at her quizzically.

“Want to get out of here?” She winked.

Gord was ecstatic but tried to play it cool. “Sure, let’s go.”

Rachel took him by the hand, and they left the kegger without a word to their friends. Back in his dorm room, Gord was given a crash course in sex with a dominant woman. He was used to demure, teenaged girls. Rachel was a twenty-two-year-old woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

Gord awoke to see Rachel getting dressed quietly at the foot of his bed.

“What time is it?” he asked sleepily.

“It’s ten. I’m going to take off. This was fun.” She crawled toward him and kissed him deeply, her tongue exploring Gord’s mouth.

“I’ll walk you out.” He threw on a pair of boxer shorts and escorted Rachel toward the door.

As they stood at the threshold of his room, a group of Gord’s floor mates, led by Alexandra, were returning from breakfast at the university cafeteria.

Alexandra stopped dead in her tracks and stared incredulously at the two of them. Gord and Rachel stared back, sheepish grins on their faces. An awkward silence hung in the air for what seemed like an eternity.

“What are you doing here, Rachel?” Alexandra demanded.

“Gord, apparently,” one of the students quipped.

Alexandra shot the smartass a hard look.

“It’s not a big deal, Alex,” Rachel nonchalantly replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It is a big deal, Rachel. He’s a student on my floor.”

Alexandra whirled her gaze to a visibly uncomfortable Gord. He had his arms folded across his bare chest and tried his best to avert his eyes from Alexandra’s probing stare. The students behind Alexandra looked excitedly at one another, in disbelief at the juicy gossip unfolding in front of them.

“I’ll talk to both of you later,” Alexandra continued through gritted teeth. She brushed past them and made a beeline for her room at the end of the hall.

“I should go, too.” Rachel stepped through the group of freshmen like Moses parting the Red Sea.

After she was out of earshot, two of the guys in the group excitedly approached Gord.

“Dude, isn’t she an RA in this building?” the first one asked.

Gord nodded.

“Nice job, Gordo!” said the other, slapping him a high-five.

Gord’s extracurricular activity with the RA spread like wildfire throughout the ball team as Carbone and Sukrage grilled him for details at the next team outing. Gord’s reputation as a player was cemented.

Kim, cognizant of his exploits, asked Gord why he engaged in such promiscuous behaviour. Wanting to mask his true feelings toward her, he compared college dating life to eating at a buffet. “You don’t go to the Golden Corral and eat only one dish. I want to try everything on the menu.”

However, the real reason why Gord’s first year “relationships” all fizzled out so quickly was that he found himself comparing every girl to Kim. As soon as Gord realized that the girl fell short of Kim in terms of intelligence, personality, sense of humour, et cetera, he automatically dumped her and looked for someone else. He tried to distance himself from his true feelings toward Kim by dating different girls, but he soon came to a disturbing conclusion. What if no woman would ever make him feel the way he did when he first laid eyes on Kim?