Phillip Cunningham

The Pitch

     The sugary sweet smell of fresh-cut grass filled his widened nostrils. It used to remind him of the things he enjoyed most in life--the coming of baseball season, the end of the school until the fall. But what was once one of his favorite smells had begun to turn his stomach and remind him of how far he was from where he wanted to be.

     Ronnie wheeled the riding mower near the edge of the hill overlooking the baseball practice diamonds. The mower stalled to ahalt as Ronnie removed his navy blue Southern Ohio Junior CollegeGrays baseball hat and wiped the beads of sweat gathered just above the lines in his dark brown forehead. He reclined deep into the cushioned seat, put his feet up on the engine and looked down at the field below.

     Tim Kozlowski was at the home plate, aluminum bat in hand.Ronnie could tell it was Kozlowski from his stance. It was all wrong--knees bent, head lowered, shoulders slouched. Small wonder the idiot can’t ever hit a fuckin’ homer, Ronnie thought, he has no form. The pitch, a relatively slow fast-ball straight up the middle, blew right past him as he swung himself out of position. Ronnie huffed, a slight smirk spreading across his face.

     If I was down there, I would a taken that out the park, he thought.

     But he wasn’t down there. The only times he was allowed to step on the diamond were to sweep off the bases, re-draw the diamond or mow the green. Sometimes, during lunch break, he and Jimmy Knox, one of his coworkers, would slip down there and whack a few of the balls the team left behind. Every once and awhile he could crank one over the aluminum bleachers on the other end of the field, but he was rusty. He hadn’t played organized ball in two years, since high school. And his last season got cut short as he ended up going to jail just before graduation.

     He remembered Tim Kozlowski. He was the golden boy centerfielder on Chilton Catholic High School’s baseball team and he had taken the same role for the Grays. The last time he was on the field with Kozlowski, he sent the ball over his head and out of the park for a grand slam giving Chilton High School the three point win over their uptown rivals. As far as he was concerned, Kozlowski was no good then and he hadn’t got any better. But he was playing and Ronnie wasn’t. He had to give Kozlowski that much.

     I should be down there. I should be down there showin’ him how to play some real baseball, Ronnie thought. Damn.

     A loud whistle caught Ronnie's attention. Ronnie immediately slid his legs off the mower's engine, put on his cap and sat up straight. In the distance, near the garage door entrance to the maintenance room, he saw Jimmy waving his hat, fingers in his mouth for another whistle.

     "Phone for ya, Ronnie!" Jimmy yelled once he had Ronnie’s attention.

     Ronnie started up the engine and backed away from the cliff. He was in no hurry to get back inside of the building and he definitely didn't want to be on the other end of the phone call. If someone had called him at work, it was usually never for a good reason.

     Jimmy stood in the garage doorway, a broom in hand. Jimmy was also on the maintenance crew at Southern Ohio Junior Collegeand the only member of the crew near Ronnie’s age. He liked Jimmy because he was a fuck-up like himself. Jimmy was the oldest son of Charlie Knox, the president of Ohio Valley Steelworks, and in his twenty-six years had already managed to drop out of a majorcollege, become a recovering heroin addict and do repeated stints in jail for forging his father's name on a couple of checks. But he was slowly getting his life back in order and Ronnie admired him for that.

     Ronnie grinned at Jimmy as he pulled the mower into the garage. As he hopped off, he pulled his cap down further on his head and shot a playful jab at the slight, light pink gut that peeked out between the last two unfastened buttons on Jimmy’s grease stained shirt.

     "Uh oh, Jimmy. You better watch out now. You’re startin’ to look a little bit like the Pillsbury Dough Boy there."

     Jimmy smiled as he took a defensive stance. "Well, yeah. You tend to pick up a little weight when you start eatin' instead of shootin' up all the damn time."

     "Who wants me on the phone?" Ronnie asked as Jimmy fended off another one of his light jabs and caught Ronnie with a light slap on the side of the face.

     "Don't know. June answered the phone."

     Ronnie immediately stopped playing. He rolled his eyes and sighed as he headed towards the entrance to the maintenance room.The rest of the crew were sitting inside smoking cigarettes or drinking sodas. June, a lanky, gray-haired woman with sagging everything, leaned against the wall with the receiver dangling out of one hand and a burning cigarette in the other. He hated June who, in his opinion, never did much of anything around campus. Plus she gave him attitude from day one.

     "Who is it?" he said as June glared at him.

     "It's the wife," she responded after taking a long drag from her cigarette.

     The rest of the crew laughed as Ronnie snatched the receiver from her hand.

     "She ain't my wife."

     Ronnie followed the cord into the front office and slammed the door behind him. He took a seat at the desk and leaned back into the chair. He sighed, taking a moment to mentally prepare himself for the person on the phone. He lifted the receiver to his ear as if it were a Herculean labor.

     "So I ain't your wife, huh?" came a bitter female voice on the other end.

     Ronnie sighed again. "Don't start this shit, Sarah, okay? I'm not in the mood."

     "Well, I'm not in the mood, either. Ashley has a fever of a hundred and one and your mother still hasn't come over to take her to the doctor's like she said she would. I'm already late for work, Ronnie. Have you talked to her?"

     "How am I gonna talk to her when your dad has me out in the field workin' like I'm some sort of damn slave, Sarah? Huh?"

      Sarah sighed. "What's the matter with you, Ronnie? Seriously, what's the problem?"

     Ronnie slid down into the chair and rested the side of his face on his balled fist. "I don't have a problem. I just have a job where the fuckin' boss can't stand the ground I walk on and thinks that I'm Kunta Kinte."

     "You know, there are plenty of people out there who'd likea good job like the one you've got. You don't appreciate anything, Ronnie. I swear."

     "You show me one person who wants this job and I'll give it to 'em in a heartbeat! A heartbeat, you hear me?"

     "And then what would you do, Ronnie? Nobody's going to hire you with a criminal record."

     Ronnie bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. "Quit throwin' that in my damn face! It's not like I'm a fuckin' serial killer! I made one mistake and y'all keep bringin' it up everyday!"

     "Don't get upset with me! Nobody told you to beat up that poor girl like that."

     Ronnie closed his eyes. The painful scene of him losing control and whaling away on Yvette Barnes began to materialize inhis head, her light brown face covered with blood, her hair matted with it. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back the oncoming rush of tears.

     "That was fucked up, Sarah. There was no reason to say that."

     He somehow managed not to sound choked up. But his throat felt tight, his mouth dry. He lightly pounded on the desk with his tightly clutched left hand.

     "I'm sorry. But you really need to do some growing up,Ronnie. Seriously. You can't keep walking around with this attitude. It's not good for you."

     "Bye, Sarah."

     "What do you mean, 'bye'? I'm not done talking to you!"

     "I said bye, Sarah."

     "Grow up, Ronnie. You need to really just-"

     Ronnie slammed the receiver down, cutting Sarah off in mid-sentence. He then took the phone off the hook, knowing that Sarah wasn't one to back off from a fight. He leaned back into theseat and stared at the door.

     "I should just run out of that mother fucker and get the hell out of here," he muttered to himself. "Just get up and go."

     He heard the recorded "Please hang up and try again" message begin to play on the phone. Ronnie snickered, knowing at that very moment, Sarah was trying to get through. He looked up to see the door knob turning. He quickly hung up the phone and walked from behind the desk as Larry Kurtz stepped inside.

     "I see you're busy as usual," Larry said as he walked towards his desk. The space between the door and his desk was narrow, but he forced himself through the tiny space, bogarding Ronnie out of the way.

     For a second, Ronnie considered pounding in Larry's face. He wanted to just mash in his bulbous white nose. But Larry was nobody's pushover. A large, heavyset man with sparse gray hair,Larry was still, at sixty-two, a force to be reckoned with. Even past his prime, Ronnie knew Larry would give him a run for his money. But Larry held all the cards in his hand--Ronnie's job, Ronnie's child. Ronnie knew that the moment Larry decided he wanted to, he could take it all away from him. Larry occasionally liked to remind him.

     Ronnie squeezed to the front of the desk as Larry lowered his bulk into the chair. "It was Sarah on the phone. She's looking for my mom."

     "So she called here?" Larry asked, firing up a cigar, his gray eyes staring coldly at Ronnie.

     Ronnie frowned. "Yeah. I guess she figured I'd know where she was."

     "Well, the kid is sick. Your mother knew that yesterday," Larry said. "Well, they'll get that settled. Anyway, after lunch, I want you to go over there and clean up the west wing. They'll be starting summer classes soon and nobody's cleaned up over there in awhile."

     "But I thought June was supposed to . . ."

     "Never mind what June was supposed to do. I'm telling you todo it."

     An uncomfortable silence filled the room. The two exchanged stares for a moment before Ronnie finally submitted. He looked away and sighed.

     "Fine."

     The phone rang. Ronnie flung open the door and slammed it on his way out. He'd let Larry deal with Sarah this time.

     A loud crack resounded in the air. From the pitcher’smound, Jimmy shaded his eyes from the bright, noonday sun and looked overhead. The small white ball hurtled over the aluminum benches and stopped just short of the highway guardrail, a good five hundred feet away.

     "Shi-i-i-i-t! Woo-hoo!" Jimmy yelled, cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Boy, you took that one out!"

     Ronnie stood at home base, cap shading his face. His eyesburned with intensity as he choked up on his bat again. He swayed lightly in his picture perfect batter’s stance.

     "Throw me another one," he growled.

     Jimmy looked around. There were no more leftover balls. The other two he had pitched to Ronnie were now some four to five hundred feet away. "That was the last one."

     "Fuck!"

     Ronnie slammed down the bat, causing a cloud of dirt to rise. Jimmy jogged over towards him.

     "Something wrong?"

     Ronnie stood, looking down at the ground, hands in his pockets. "What ain’t wrong, man?"

     "Well, talk to me, Ronnie," Jimmy said as he leaned against the batting cage.

     "I don't know, man," Ronnie remained motionless. "I’m just tired of this shit, man. Larry ridin’ me, Sarah doggin’ me. She keeps bringin' up this mess from the past."

     Jimmy exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Yvette?"

     Ronnie sighed. "Yeah, Yvette. I've been tryin' to get that whole situation out of my mind since I got out of jail a couple of months back. But, man, everywhere I go, people just keep remindin’me of what I did."

     "You know what that is?" Jimmy said, a slight grimace on hisface. "Guilt. That's all that is. And you have to lay that shit down or it'll eat you up. Trust me, I know."

     Ronnie nudged home base with his foot. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. But it's like when I try to do the right thing, it still don't work. I mean, I cheated on Yvette with Sarah and got Sarah pregnant. I tried to do right and stick with Sarah and look what it got me--hard time at Southern Ohio."

     Jimmy snickered. "Well, nobody said it was gonna be easy. Lord knows people weren't rushing to forgive me for the things I did while I was shootin' up that poison. Hell, my father still doesn’t speak to me to this day. But the important thing is that I forgive me."

     "You know what it really is, man?" Ronnie said as he looked out towards the highway. "I was sittin' here earlier, watchin' the Grays practice and it hurts 'cause I know I should be out there, somewhere, playin’. I bet you didn't know that Ohio State wanted me to come play some ball for them?"

     "Yeah, I heard about that."

     "Yeah," a faint smile spread across his lips. "Dude came all the way from Columbus to talk to me and everything. But once the guy from Florida State heard he was comin', he told me not to sign anything until he had a chance to talk to me. But then that whole thing with Yvette went down and messed it all up."

     Jimmy rubbed out his cigarette on the steel post and let it drop to the ground. "You never did tell me what happened exactly."

     Ronnie shook his head. "I don't even know myself. All I remember is that Yvette found out I was messin' with Sarah on the side and got all up in my face. She kept hollerin', 'How could you sleep with that stupid white girl after all we been through?' Then she hit me, man, and I just lost it. Her dad didn't like me no how, so it was more than his pleasure to have me locked up. It was two weeks before graduation, man."

     Ronnie lowered his head again.

     "After the recruiters heard about that, they stopped callin'. The judge went easy on me 'cause he remembered me from the baseball team, gave me a suspended sentence and parole. But I pissed that all away when I got hit with a DUI. They shipped me down the river to Moundsville practically the next day."

      "I'm sorry to hear 'bout that, Ronnie," Jimmy said. "Well, the only thing you can do is learn from what happened and move on. Let go of the past, you know what I mean?"

     "Yeah," Ronnie replied, looking down at the bat resting inthe dirt. "I know what you mean."

     Ronnie leaned back onto the marble walls of the west wing and took a swig of the Coke he held in his right hand. The west wing was the newest addition to Southern Ohio Junior College and housed the Computer Science department. The west wing dwarfed the other wings of the main building which was one of the reasons Ronnie resented being sent to clean it by himself.

     He crumpled up the empty can of Coke and shot it towards the steel garbage can a few feet across the hall from him. The can hit the side and fell next to the can with a loud clanging echo that resounded throughout the empty hallway. Ronnie laughed and went to scoop up the can to try again. He walked back to the wall and shot again with the same results.

     "Looks like basketball isn't your game."

     Ronnie looked up to see a man in a navy blue polo shirt and khakis standing behind him. He had a youthful appearance, the only indication of any advanced age were the graying hairs at histemples. Ronnie's face grew flush with embarrassment.

     "No, it isn't," Ronnie replied nervously. "You lost?"

     "Yeah, actually. This building has under gone some changes since the last time I was here."

     Ronnie scratched his head, another nervous reaction. "They just added this part last year. It confuses people all the time. But who are you looking for?"

     "I'm trying to find Coach MacGregor's office. Know where that is?"

     "Yeah, sure. It's just down the hall there. Hang a right, go down the stairs. You can't miss it."

     "Thanks," the man replied. He stood looking at Ronnie's uniform for a moment. "Watters, eh? Hey, you wouldn't happen to be related to Ronnie Watters, would you?"

     A confused look rose across Ronnie’s face. It sounded weird to have someone say his name as if he were some sort of celebrity.A smile began to spread across his face.

     "Uh . . . sir, I am Ronnie Watters."

     The man's bright blue eyes widened. "Get the hell out ofhere! You're Ronnie Watters? The same Ronnie Watters who batted .428 with 30 dingers for Chilton High back in '86? You're kidding me, right?"

     "No, sir. That's me."

     The man stuck out his hand. "Well, let me say it is a pleasure to finally meet you face to face. My name is Ted Worley. Man, I always wondered where you ran off to!"

     Ronnie's smile slowly began to disappear. How was he to explain that the great Ronnie Watters he knew was now just a janitor at a community college? He couldn't come up with anything to say.

     "I was sure we lost you to O-State," Ted said, continuing to stare at Ronnie in awe.

     "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about . . ."

     Ted laughed. "Of course you wouldn't. You didn't even pay us any attention at all."

     The confused look returned to Ronnie’s face. "Didn't pay you any attention? What do you mean?"

     "Well, you might not remember my name, but I sure remember yours. I was one of the assistant coaches up at Akron your senior year. We sent you more letters and scholarship offers than anybody else I know! I even offered to drive down to visit you, but your pops told me that you already had your choices narrowed down toO-State and FSU."

     "Really? I'm sorry, he never even told me . . ."

     Ted smiled and patted Ronnie on the shoulder. "Don't be! That year, we were awful! The worst in our conference."

     Ronnie laughed. "Yeah, you guys did stink."

     "Hey, watch it," Ted said with mock seriousness. "So, what,you here working for the summer?"

     Ronnie frowned and looked away. "No, sir. I . . . uh . . .work here full-time."

     It was painful having to say that. A lump began to rise in Ronnie's throat as he turned to see Ted's demeanor change. Thesmile eroded from his face and he began to rock in his sneakers.

     "Wow. Sorry about that," Ted said. "I was sure you had gone off somewhere to play. If you don't mind me asking, why didn't you? You just didn't want to play anymore?"

     "I wish it were that simple. I got in a little trouble my senior year. Recruiters stopped callin' and well, here I am."

     Ted nodded his head and frowned. He looked at Ronnie whostill couldn't manage to look directly at him.

     "So what's the word on this Kozlowski guy here?"

     Ronnie rolled his eyes, hoping that Ted didn't see his reaction to Kozlowski's name. "He's okay."

     Ted laughed. "No, he isn't. He doesn't have it."

     Ronnie finally looked at Ted again. That was the response hewas expecting.

     "They've been raving about this kid Kozlowski in all of thelittle scouting reports and magazines we get up at Akron. So, now that I'm going to be the head coach next season, I decided to come take a look at him, see if he improved some from high school. He's getting better, but he's still a little raw."

     "He keeps his head down too low when he swings."

     "Exactly!" Ted exclaimed. "God, I'm glad somebody else finally noticed that. But you know the one thing I'll always remember about Tim Kozlowski?"

     Ronnie shrugged his shoulders, a blank look etched on his face.

     "I'll always remember him looking over his head to see you slap that grand slam out of the park," Ted said with a smile."Yeah, I was at that game. Even in your junior season, we knew you were going to be something special."

     "Yeah, that's what a lot of people said."

     Ted smiled and nodded his head. "So, let me ask you something, Ronnie. Can you still hit?"

     "Excuse me?"

     "Can you still hit 'em like you used to? Wait," Tedshrugged. "You probably don't even play anymore."

     "I do, a little. Mostly pick-up games or just messin' around during my breaks."

     "Uh huh," Ted said. Ronnie looked at him. Ted seemed deep in thought. His head was lowered and he began to scratch his chin."And you did finish high school, right?"

     "Barely. I had to retake Civics that summer because I went. . ." He paused for a minute. "Because I got in trouble."

     "But you graduated, right?"

     "Yeah, eventually. Why?"

     Ted smiled and looked at Ronnie. "Look, a couple of yearsago, I came down here to Chilton with the intentions of bringing Ronnie Watters to the University of Akron. The first time, Ifailed. Usually, opportunity only knocks once, but here you are again. I'm not going to let you get away this time."

     "Wait, sir . . ."

     "Ted. Call me Ted."

     Ronnie sighed. "Okay, Ted. Listen, I ain't . . . I haven't played any real baseball in two years. I can still hit, but I'm nowhere near as good as I was back in high school."

     "I wouldn't expect you to be. But hey, that's what training camp is for. We could work you back into shape. Besides," Ted laughed, "if you're only half as good as you were in '86, you're still above average compared to most guys."

     Ronnie stepped away from Ted. This ain't real, he thought, it's all some sort of joke. He turned and looked at Ted. The thought of playing baseball again filled his head for a moment. Just an hour ago, he was telling Jimmy how he threw his one chance away. Now chance was presenting itself again. But he had to be realistic.

     "Listen, Ronnie. I'm not offering you any guarantees. In order to play, we're first going to have to get you enrolled. Damn near all of our scholarships are gone and our starters are pretty much in place. You'd definitely have to be a walk-on and you'd hav to wait a year before you could play. But you're talented, Ronnie.You should be in the game."

     "There's some things you don't know about me, Ted. Some pretty bad things."

     "Like what?"

     "Well, for starters, I have a baby girl now," Ronnie replied, lowering his head. "Plus, I did some time in jail."

     "Oh."

     An overwhelming silence filled the hall. Ronnie leaned against the wall, letting the back of his head rest against the cool marble. He was sure opportunity was about to walk out of his life again. He suddenly regretted telling Ted anything, even his name.

     "Well, that's even more of a reason for you to consider what I'm saying. I'm sure you want to be able to take care of your child, right? Give her a dad she can be proud of, right?"

     "Of course."

     "Don't get me wrong, Ronnie. I'm sure you're a good father. But there is so much more you could be doing with yourself instead of mopping floors and taking out trash. Hey, that's fine. Work is work. But you have a gift, Ronnie. And that gift could provide you with opportunities most people only dream of."

     Ronnie frowned. "Yeah, but I can't leave her behind. I have to be here to provide for her."

     "I see," Ted said. "Let me ask you a question. What was your favorite subject in high school?"

     Ronnie laughed. A puzzled look rose on his face. "I don't know. Math, I guess. Yeah, I liked math."

     "Okay, math's good. What kind of grades did you get in math?"

     "Some As, couple of Bs."

     "So, all in all, you were good at it, right? With grades like that, I'd say you'd enjoyed it, right?"

     "Yeah, I guess so. That was one of the few things I actually liked about school."

     Ted smiled. "I can imagine. So, let me see now. You were good at math, so I bet a lot of people used to ask you for help in math, huh?"

     "Yeah, sometimes. But I don't understand . . ."

     "Well, let me tell you this. The University of Akron has a pretty decent math program. If you came up there, you could major in math, become a teacher or something. Now, since you're good at math, let me give you a simple problem. Who do you think could provide better for a child--a janitor who makes eleven, maybe twelve thousand a year or a math teacher who makes about twenty-five?"

     Ronnie laughed. "I see your point."

     "I thought you would," Ted laughed as he patted Ronnie on the shoulder.

     "Look, this all sounds good, Ted. But I haven't taken a class or cracked open a book in a long time."

     "We've got tutors, help centers, whatever you need. As a matter of fact, this kid Raheem Wilson from Elyria, fuckin' genius, just accepted a scholarship from us. He could help you out. It's all there for you, Ronnie. All you have to do is want it and work for it."

     Ronnie smiled. "So you're just not gonna take no for an answer, huh?"

     "No, what I'm not going to take is excuses. Plus, I want to be able to salvage this trip. I came down here prepared to offer Kozlowski one of the last scholarships we have available. But I saw him out there this morning, changed my mind. I think I'll give it to this other kid from Youngstown. But hey, this trip wasn't a total loss. I found you."

     Both of them smiled. Ted reached into his pocket and pulled out a card.

     "Tomorrow morning, I'm going to be at the office getting things situated. I want you to give me a call. If you're serious about all of this, I'll do my best to pull some strings to get you in. But you have to work for me, Ronnie. I don't want to be the only one working here."

     "I'll definitely give it some thought," Ronnie said, reading over the card.

     Ted extended his hand again. "Well, I better go tell MacGregor the bad news. I hope to hear from you tomorrow morning, Ronnie."

     Ronnie's tired body welcomed the softness of the mattress coupled with the coolness of a recently washed comforter. He stretched his thin, muscular body across the bed and stared at the ceiling fan as it slowly turned. Everything was finally calm, justthe way he liked it.

     How am I gonna tell Sarah about this? What is she going to think? How am I gonna pay for this? The thoughts all swarmed around in his head. However, the sweetest thought of them all was of playing baseball again, doing something with his life again. Everything else would have to fall into place.

     Ronnie reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out Ted's card. He read over it again, letting his thumb run over the raised blue letters. He leaned over and placed the card by the telephone before spreading himself across the bed again. All of the thoughts in his head would just have to wait until the next morning.

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Phillip Cunningham won the 1999 Zora Neale Hurston prize for fiction. He is a graduate of Temple’s Creative Writing program.

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