CHAPTER 5

After the Father’s Day game where Dad lost it and got escorted off the field, Coach Harris asked me into the room he called his office. It was really just a big closet at the training facility with a desk and a couple of chairs. I was still feeling physically sick from adrenaline after the run-in with Dad. I didn’t want to talk. To be completely honest, I was afraid if I did I might start crying.

Coach started, “Hey, Trip, I’m sorry about that. Is everything going to be okay at home tonight?”

“Sure, Coach. No worries,” I said. Although I didn’t really know what “okay,” meant at that point.

“You know, I was talking to Wash,” Coach continued. “There was a kid on the Phoenix Sand Demons. Really good. But last year he just . . . I don’t know, he just started spacing out during games. He wasn’t all there. We actually took advantage, started hitting it at him.”

I knew who he was talking about, and my face started to burn. “Coach, you think I’m doing drugs?” Because that had been the case with the Sand Demons’ player.

Coach was looking hard into my eyes. Then he looked away. “No,” he said. “But Trip, you haven’t been yourself this year. Is something going on?”

I wondered what would happen if I told him.

“I know your dad is . . . enthusiastic. Heck, he can push. Is that—?”

I decided to open up. “Coach, it’s not my dad. He is who he is. It’s me. I’m the problem. You say I haven’t been myself. The fact is, I’m wanting so much to be myself. And right now baseball doesn’t feel like part of that. It feels like a job.”

Coach digested that. I expected him to say something like, “Relax. Just go out there and have fun.” Instead, he said, “That happened to me. Except I was in my twenties, on track for the majors. And one day I just . . . didn’t feel it.”

“What did you do?”

“I tried to ignore it. I was good. There was a lot of pressure to perform, to move on to the next level. But I knew I needed some distance. So I asked my coach for a rest.”

“What did he say?”

“Let’s just say he didn’t embrace it. I was valuable. But he was a good coach and an understanding man. I knew I mattered to him as a person more than a player. So he took me out of the lineup for a while.”

“And . . . ?”

“After a few weeks I started caring about the game again. But in a different way. It’s hard to explain.”

“If you benched me, my dad would freak out completely.”

“At me, not you.”

“Let me think about it, Coach, okay?”

 

. . .

When I got home that night, Dad didn’t seem to be around. I should explain our house. I guess it’s called a villa, but it’s big enough that people can be living there and you won’t necessarily run into them. And we always had guests. I looked for Dad in the usual places—his office, the studio, the theater, the pool—but he wasn’t there. So I went to my room, took a shower, and lay down with the TV on. Sunday Night Baseball. Shoot! In one of the breaks they reported on Dad’s freak-out, complete with amateur video from someone in the seats. If Dad wasn’t a celeb it wouldn’t be news, but he was, and it was.

At eight o’clock I got a call from Coach Harris. A few minutes later there was a knock on my bedroom door. It was Dad.

“Come in, Dad.”

“Trip, I’m sorry. I just . . .”

“Don’t worry, Dad. You were right about the play.”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

I looked at him for a moment. “You didn’t, Dad. I love you. Don’t worry.”

“I’m too hard on you, you know? I’ll back off. Just play, okay?”

“I won’t be playing for a while, Dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just got off the phone with Coach. He’s benching me for a little while. He thinks I need a rest.”

Dad’s face and his tone of voice suddenly changed. “He what? Trip, the team needs you! That’s crazy!”

“It’s all right, Dad.”

“Heck no it’s not all right! I bankroll this team, and I don’t back a loser! We’ll see about Coach Harris.”

“Dad, I want. . .”

But he was gone. I started to think about what he might do, what Coach would say, and it was just too much. I got my iPod going and filled my head with music. After a half hour or so I called Lisa.