February 2004

Lubbock, Texas
Dan Law Field

“Dude, my arm is killing me.” Gord feverishly tried to shake off the dull ache that reverberated from his left shoulder down to his elbow.

“What do you want to do?” freshman catcher Jeremy McLeod asked. “Should we tell Coach?”

They were standing in the enclosed bullpen on the home field of Texas Tech University. The Wolverines had begun their spring season in the Texas Tech tournament to open the 2004 campaign. With two starters lost to graduation, Wolverine manager Perry Picard was giving his left-handed sophomore one final shot at the rotation. Gord hoped to rebound after a dismal rookie season.

“No, don’t say anything. This might be my last chance to be a starter. I can’t tell him how I hurt my arm.”

The night before, a group of Wolverines had gone to an adult arcade complex in downtown Lubbock. It had a pitching video simulation game that documented the speed of pitches. Gord, flush with liquid courage and his stubborn obsession with velocity, tried to set the arcade record for fastest pitch. With no warm-up, he began firing balls at the target with reckless abandon. His top speed was eighty-five. That set the machine record, although none of his teammates were dumb enough to follow suit.

The next morning, Gord’s left arm throbbed. He downed a few Tylenols, which initially seemed to help, but was forced to halt his bullpen session halfway through to rest his weary arm.

“Can you even pitch?” McLeod was skeptical. “You’re not throwing very hard at all. If you don’t keep the ball down, these guys will tee off on you. Then you really won’t be a starter.”

Gord shook his head. “I don’t care. If I say I’m hurting and someone else starts this game and throws a gem, I’m toast. I have to do this.”

McLeod contemplated his pitcher. A rookie from Des Moines, Iowa, he was only getting the start behind the plate because it was the last game of the exhibition tournament and Coach Picard wanted to rest Matt Carbone, the first-string catcher.

Though he was just a freshman, McLeod was supremely talented defensively. Plus, he was a throwback to a different era. McLeod was an old-school baseball player. He wasn’t flashy or consumed with personal success — he just wanted to help his team win ball games any way he could. It was cliché, but McLeod “played the game the right way.” Gord could tell, from just a few short bullpen sessions, that the rookie called a terrific game.

A great catcher could save a pitcher a few outs every game just from the way he conducted himself behind the dish. If a pitcher had supreme confidence in his battery mate, then he could focus all of his concentration on throwing strikes and not let any extraneous thoughts enter his mind.

“Okay, let’s do it.” McLeod pulled down his face mask. “Just hit my glove. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Gord nodded appreciatively and gritted his way through the rest of his warm-up.

Once the game began, Gord was a completely different pitcher from his rookie season. His velocity dropped significantly due to the pain in his arm, but all he cared about was throwing strikes and being economical in his pitch count. The fewer pitches he threw, the less his arm hurt.

No longer looking for strikeouts, Gord was now pitching to contact. He didn’t worry about trying to throw the ball through McLeod. Instead, he just played catch with him and focused on hitting the mitt. Gord didn’t rush his mechanics like he usually did when he tried to throw hard. Now, he just ensured that his delivery was sound and his timing was impeccable.

The smooth delivery, combined with the drop in velocity, was the main reason why Gord was able to tolerate the pain in his arm. If he maintained a consistent release point, then each pitch didn’t feel like someone had jammed a knife into the back of his shoulder and the inside of his elbow.

Michigan’s opponent was the Jacksonville State Gamecocks. The game was scoreless after three innings and maintained a breakneck pace of play — only forty minutes had elapsed since the first pitch. The Wolverines’ battery was primarily responsible for the quick pace, as Gord had yet to shake off a sign set down by Jeremy McLeod. They were completely in sync, and Gord was absolutely shredding through the Gamecocks’ lineup.

He was perfect through three innings, with a seven-to-two ground ball to fly ball ratio. Gord delivered a first pitch strike to eight of nine batters and did not have one three-ball count.

Bumping fists with his teammates in the dugout during the top of the fourth, Gord was amazed at his performance thus far. McLeod settled down beside him and lowered his voice.

“How’s the arm?”

“It hurts, but I’m managing.”

“You’re pitching great; just keep throwing strikes.”

“It’s incredible. I’ve never had command like this. It feels like I can throw it wherever I want.”

“Because you’re just trying to throw strikes.” McLeod slowed his words to emphasize his point. “You’re pitching instead of throwing.”

“Yeah. Who gives a shit about strikeouts? This is fun. I’m just going to let the defence do all the work.”

The Wolverines made the third out of their half inning. McLeod grabbed his mask and tapped Gord on the thigh. “Okay, let’s go.”

Gord mowed down the Jacksonville hitters in the bottom of the fourth and continued his dominance in the fifth. His transformation to a true pitcher was complete. Picard pulled him after five innings. Gord had thrown seventy pitches, which was the predetermined pitch count imposed on all pitchers during the month of February.

Gord went from a possible pitching staff footnote to weaving five perfect innings against one of the top twenty-five offences in the country.

The outing not only proved to the Wolverines’ coaching staff that Gord could handle a spot in the rotation, but it cemented McLeod’s position as Gord’s personal catcher. They were on the same page right from the first pitch. There was a comfort level between the two of them that sometimes took an entire season to develop.

When the Wolverines returned home from the southern leg of spring training, Gord was pencilled in as the number three starter. His college baseball career was beginning to show some promise, and that positive energy transferred over to his social and educational life as well.

Up to that point, the second year of Gord’s university experience had been excellent. He lived off campus with three other guys from the baseball team in housing designated solely for varsity athletes and maintained by the university.

Gord decided to declare his major in physical education. He had seen first-hand how the benefits of strength and physical conditioning had been a boon to his baseball career. Therefore, he wanted to stay on the cutting edge of new developments in exercise science, so he’d have an advantage over guys with greater talent.

University athletes received certain advantages when it came to academic expectations and course loads. Gord and his teammates had no concept of due dates. They could hand in assignments late and still have the opportunity to receive full credit. Free tutors were made available at all times, and a paper completed by an athlete was always marked with a more lenient hand than one written by a member of the general student population.

Thus, for the entire first semester, Gord and his housemates focused primarily on the following: off-season training, drinking and partying, and getting laid. Still, these extracurricular activities had no effect on Gord’s grades. His knack for kinesiology enabled him to pull a 3.5 grade-point average at the end of first term.

Gord’s friendship with Kim was still strong, and his infatuation with her had not waned at all in the year they had known each other. Their relationship had taken a slight detour from strictly platonic to a weird, grey area: an area where it was apparent that one of the parties involved was looking for something more than being “just friends.” Gord, not as nervous and anxious around Kim as he’d been as a freshman, made it quite obvious that he was physically attracted to her. He flirted with Kim suggestively, but still kept a respectful distance because he valued their friendship so highly.

Kim easily ascertained Gord’s interest level, but she, considering his dismal track record with relationships, didn’t read much into his flirtations. Kim misguidedly perceived Gord’s interest as just wanting another notch on his bedpost. Still dating her boyfriend, Kim didn’t look at Gord and see relationship material. To her, they were friends and that was all.

One night at the end of March, Gord walked Kim home after a party at Tap Tavern with some of their floor mates from first year. Gord was riding high from his scoreless innings streak to start the season. Since that first outing in Lubbock, when Gord was forced to concentrate on throwing strikes and pitching to contact, he had not given up a run. Throughout the Wolverines’ entire spring training trip, he had spun twenty-five consecutive scoreless innings, five off the team record.

Looking up at the night sky, illuminated by the full moon, Gord figured this was his chance to find out where he stood with Kim. He glanced over at her as they walked. Kim’s face shone in the moonlight. She was so beautiful. Needing some time to organize his thoughts, Gord stopped in front of Joe’s Pita.

“Do you want to grab a pita? My treat.”

“Sure!” Kim exclaimed. “Sounds good.”

The place was packed. Joe’s Pita was full of partiers looking to sop up the excess alcohol flooding their systems with some post-bar food. Amid the boisterous chatter, Gord and Kim ordered their pitas.

“Should we eat and walk?” Kim asked, as she took her pita from the stressed employee manning the grill.

“Let’s grab a table. I think I saw an open one at the back.”

They traversed the narrow passageway and moved through the throng of like-minded students. Their table was set back from the crowd and provided a respite from the noise. As they ate, Gord suddenly clammed up. He was unsure of what to say or how to begin. He wanted to find out if there could ever be a romantic future between them, but he couldn’t find the words.

Luckily, Kim talked enough for both of them. She was a chatterbox when completely sober. After a few drinks, Kim’s speech resembled the rat-tat-tat of a machine gun. She talked continually, about anything and everything.

Gord found himself goofily grinning at Kim. This was the feeling he had searched for with his assembly line of one-night stands and meaningless hookups.

Kim noticed the absent-minded grin on his face. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”

“What? Oh well, I — uh …”

“Just tell me.” She smiled back. “You can tell me anything.”

“Well,” Gord began, placing his pita down on the wooden tabletop, “I was just wondering if, uh, there was, uh, a chance that you and I would, you know, ever get together.”

Kim was silent for the first time since they sat down. She considered Gord to be one of her closest friends at school. In fact, he was probably the best male friend she had in the entire state of Michigan.

After what seemed like an eternity, Kim finally responded. “I’m not sleeping with you, Gord.” She broke out into a broad smile. “Call one of your little pop tart baseball groupies for that. Nice try, though; you had me going for a second there.”

“What?” Gord was perturbed. “No, I’m serious.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not just saying this because you’re drunk and you didn’t pick up tonight and I just happen to be here with you now?”

“No, I mean it.” Gord was uncharacteristically serious. “Could something ever happen between us?”

Kim didn’t know how to answer. Periodically, she had wondered the same thing. Why couldn’t she tell Gord that? They got along so well and they laughed at the same silly jokes. Could they make that transition from friends to something more? Kim tried to skirt the issue.

“Gord, I’m still with James. We’re happy together.”

“I know you are. It’s just — it felt like something I needed to ask.”

“You’re one of my best friends here. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize that, even if I was single.”

“Okay,” Gord mumbled, crushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Gord realized the conversation had taken a heavy turn. He needed to keep things light so that Kim couldn’t tell how much her rejection hurt him. He decided to deflect the inner turmoil churning around in his gut and lighten the mood with an infusion of humour. He flashed Kim a cocksure grin. “So, I guess things are going to be really awkward between us?”

She welcomed the deflection. “Oh, absolutely. I’m definitely going to be weird around you now.”

“Sweet. Actually, maybe we should just sleep together. We have nothing to lose.”

“You’re an idiot.” Kim laughed that infectious chuckle Gord found so irresistible. “Walk me home, Romeo.”

They both stood up. Gord offered his arm to Kim in an overly dramatic, cheesy gesture. Still laughing, she pushed him away and started out the door.

“You’re such a dork!”

He followed her outside. He shrugged his shoulders. Well, you gave it a shot. A valiant effort, Gordo, he told himself.