First Base

1. All characters are 18+

2. No characters resemble real people

3. Enjoy the fiction

Baseball Ch. 01: First Base

I arrived in Allentown a couple weeks before the season started, but spring training had just wrapped up. The other guys wouldn't be here for days. Most of them had girlfriends or wives to visit with before the long six-month season, but I had neither.

I was lucky enough to be sent to the Triple-A team in the Phillies' organization, the Lehigh Valley IronPigs. I guess I was valuable enough and had a decent bat. It was rare for someone just drafted out of college to be sent to this level, skipping the lower levels. I was proud, and was determined to make the best effort I could with this opportunity.

After a few days setting up my small apartment, I still had a couple days before I had to report to the stadium. It being a Saturday night, I decided that was a good time to find a bar and some fun. I ended up finding a place called Eddie's, a few blocks from the stadium. Not a dive bar, but not fancy, Eddie's had reasonable drink prices, decent food, and some pool tables. While eating, I spotted a couple of girls playing billiards at one of the tables.

The brunette rolled her eyes as she saw me walk over, and muttered something to her blonde friend. Both were cute in my opinion, but I have a thing for blondes. The blonde only smirked at her friend's comment, whatever it was.

"Ladies, anyone have winners?" I asked.

"Not interested, bud," said the brunette. "We're just here for fun, not to pick up guys."

I shrugged off her attitude. "That's not actually what I asked. I was just looking to play."

The blonde spoke up. "Ignore Lani," she said, "you want to play the winner, you got it." Then she masterfully sank a solid-colored ball, followed by the black 8. "Grab a cue, little boy."

Lani fumed a bit but handed over her cue to me. "Little boy?" I asked. I wasn't too tall - 5 foot 11 - but I certainly was taller than her. She also looked my age, possibly younger. "Okay then, let's go."

It seemed I was more competition than Lani had been, but she still beat me in the end. "Good game," I told her. "I'm Johnny. What's your name?"

She smirked cutely. "That's not part of the deal. You beat me, I'll tell you my name."

We played again, and I managed to eke out a win. As the 8-ball sank into the pocket, I asked, "And your name is?"

"Casey."

I eyed Casey up and down. In a pink tank top and tight jeans, her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, brushing her shoulder blades. She had a light sprinkling of freckles on her cheeks, the kind I guessed would be more evident after time in the sun. Her green eyes flashed with intelligence.

"What is it you do, Johnny?"

I grinned. "I'm playing with the Iron Pigs pretty soon. I'm a catcher."

"Ah. So you're a ballplayer." She said, slightly accusingly. It might have been my imagination, but I thought maybe she put emphasis on the word 'player'. "You must be new, then. I've never heard of you."

"Just got drafted, straight out of Cincinnati."

"College boy, and straight to Triple-A? You must be good." She smirked more, taking a step closer to me.

"I hope so," I told her. "You must be a fan of the team."

Behind her, Lani chuckled. Casey elbowed her lightly, and told me, "You could say that."

I was super attracted to this girl. Incredibly pretty, and a baseball fan? Hell yes. "In that case, maybe I can get your number? I'm new in town, I could use someone to show me around, and I'd love to talk about baseball with you."

I thought I was in, until Casey turned to walk away. "I don't think so, Johnny. No offense, you're cute, but I don't date ballplayers."

She left me, Lani right behind her, and I could only stand there in a disappointed shock.

--

That Monday, I met with the team manager, Chuck Pitts. He'd been around the IronPigs for twenty years, manager for ten. I was told he was a great manager and mentor to learn from.

"I want you to know why you're here. I'm sure you've gathered it's a little unusual for someone of your status to be here, and not at single or double A," he told me.

"I guess I impressed someone with my batting," I guessed.

"Your bat is fine, but that's not the big reason," he said. "I spotted something in your scouting report, before you were even drafted. I even sent a couple different scouts out to confirm it. Then I saw more of it this spring, and I knew I was right." He looked at me straight. "You are what I like to call a horse whisperer."

"A what?"

"You've got some way about you that helps pitchers. Every time a pitcher got in trouble while you were catching, you'd visit them on the mound, and suddenly they were fine," then added, "most of the time. A lot of the time."

"You like me because I can talk to pitchers? All catchers can do that."

He shook his head. "Not all of them. And whatever you've been telling them seems to work. So that's why you're here with me. I've got some pitchers here who should be almost ready for the majors. But they're blocked by something. I can use your help to get them to the next level."

I nodded. "Sure, whatever you need, I'm in."

"I'm glad you said that, because I have another favor." He cleared his throat, then said, "I might use you a little at first base."

That didn't make sense. "I'm a catcher, skip. I've never played first."

"I know," Chuck admitted, "but hear me out. You're my second string catcher. That makes you #4 in the organization. Three guys in your way to the top spot. But," he pointed out, "if you can play first..."

I finished his sentence, "I'm more flexible, more valuable to the team."

"You got it."

"I guess I can give it a try."

"That's the spirit. Go get yourself a first-baseman's mitt, and we'll get you some reps at fielding grounders."

--

That Tuesday, I was walking through the hallways under the stadium, heading for the weight room, when I saw a familiar face standing in the hall. She was wearing an IronPigs polo shirt and khaki pants, talking to Linda, one of the team's female trainers.

"Casey?" I asked, a little stunned to see her again.

"Hey college boy," she replied. She eyed me a little. I was wearing a tank top and shorts, ready for my workout. "Nice knees."

"What are you doing down here?"

"Don't worry, I'm allowed to be here." She held up a badge, indicating she was indeed authorized.

"Do you work here or something?"

Casey threw a smirk at Linda, then answered, "Yeah, or something." Linda only smirked back.

I didn't know either one of them well, but I knew something was up. "You're teasing me. What's really going on?"

"Nothing. Maybe I just came down to see the newest IronPig in his natural habitat." Then she quickly walked away.

Linda followed me into the weight room. "I've seen that look on guys' faces before, but don't get attached to Casey," she told me.

"What look?" I asked a little too defensively, as I started to stretch my arms.

"You think she's cute. And she is, but she's off-limits."

"Why's that?"

Linda stared at me. "You really don't know, do you?"

I stopped stretching. "Linda, I've been in town for all of 6 days, and I saw Casey at a bar for less than half an hour a few nights ago. It's safe to say I have no idea what the hell is going on."

Linda chuckled. "You're right. I'll stop messing with you. Casey is Casey Wentworth."

I stared at her, still not getting it.

"Mr. Wentworth's daughter," she added.

"James Wentworth?" Now it made sense. James J. Wentworth was the IronPigs team owner, as well as the CEO of Wentworth Industries. He was wealthy and powerful. And Casey was his daughter.

Linda nodded. "It's better that you know. She's down here a lot. Comes to most of the games, too. Most of the staff like me treats her like a little sister, since she basically grew up here."

"So she's off-limits. She did say she didn't date ballplayers."

Linda shrugged. "She's not allowed. Dad's orders." She turned to leave, but then came back with one more tidbit. "For what it's worth, she at least gave you the time of day. That's closer than most guys get."

My kind spun after she left. Casey was incredible, but out of reach. How was I supposed to keep my head in the game with this goddess around?

--

When the other guys started arriving in town, I got a better idea of what my teammates would be like. Most of them were twenty-two like me, maybe a few years older, but they'd all been drafted from high school or junior college, and worked their way up from the lower levels of the minors. A few were guys who'd been to the majors and came back - those guys were mostly older. As a college-educated younger guy, I was the outsider. I caught looks from some of the other guys my age. I knew they might resent me for getting assigned directly to Triple A. But most of them were friendly to me.

As talk among guys usually ends up eventually, the topic of girls came up. The older guys were married, mostly. The guys my age were mostly single, some with a girlfriend. One guy, Dirk Pence, bragged about having two girlfriends who didn't know about each other. I couldn't stand guys like that, so I made a mental note not to hang out with Dirk.

Then one guy brought up Casey. "Hey, any of you seen that cute little blonde who's been around here?"

That guy was quickly brought up to speed about Casey being off-limits. One of the veterans who had been here a few years, a pitcher named Mike Karnes, seemed very protective. "She's like the team's little sister," he told everyone, "so if you hurt her, I'll hurt you. Got it?" Mike was a big guy. Everyone got it.

On one of my days outside, working on my beginner first-base drills, I saw Casey again, watching from the front row of the seats. She watched me field grounders and catch throws from the other bases.

When I got a break, I went to say hi. "I thought you were a catcher," she said, amused at my performance.

"I am, but Chuck asked me to get some drills in at first, just in case. Come back tomorrow if you want to see me catch."

"That's good, because you're not a good fielder at first."

"Yes, haha, I know I sucked out there," I said, showing my humility. "Hey, how come you didn't tell me you were the owner's daughter the other night, down at Eddie's?"

She shrugged. "I don't walk around with a big sign saying 'My dad's rich'. I get hit on by enough morons without that."

I frowned a little, playfully. "I'm a moron?"

"You're a college boy," she said with a smile. "Besides, my father wouldn't let me date a guy from the team."

"Ah, but hypothetically speaking, if it weren't for your dad, I could be your type?" I flirted.

She shoved me in the shoulder. It was half-friendly, half-flirty. "You're not-not my type. Hypothetically, of course."

"Of course."

"Get back out in the field, Johnny college boy. Those grounders won't roll through their own legs," she said, turning to leave.

I was going to respond, but I heard Chuck's voice yelling at me from the dugout. "Hey Mills, get a move on, let's go!" I scampered back to first, ready to bobble more grounders and line drives.

--

By the time the season started, I was a little better. Good enough to be an emergency backup, maybe.

I also got plenty of reps at catcher, of course. I started building some rapport with the pitching staff, as Chuck had requested, so I'd be able to work them through a tough inning.

The best part of those workouts was that Casey came and saw me a few more times, and thankfully it was while I was doing something more impressive than my first base drills. I was actually catching, or hitting. She watched from the first base side of the seats, at least four more times that week. I wondered if she actually had a job here, or if she was just nosing around as the owner's daughter.

Opening day came, and I was not starting, though that wasn't a surprise. The starting catcher was Jose Garcia, and he'd been here with the IronPigs a couple years. He was experienced and a good guy. I bet he'd be called up to the majors soon, whenever a spot opened up for him.

I sat on the bench in the dugout, watching and cheering my teammates. Our home dugout was on the third base side. I looked across for Casey in her usual spot, but of course it was filled with normal fans instead.

I did finally spot her, late in the game. She was sitting up in a box, of course. On her right was an older man, who I assumed was her father. He was dressed in a nice shirt and tie - not normal wear for the ballpark, so he stood out as the owner.

On Casey's left was a younger guy, a few years older than me perhaps, like mid-20's. His hair was slicked back and he was also wearing a tie. He was glued to his cellphone. I knew Casey didn't have a brother. Who was that guy?

Casey wasn't glued to a phone. She was earnestly watching the game. She wore a jersey and her blonde hair fell around her shoulders. Her eyes were glued to the action in the field. A true fan, I realized.

--

I didn't get to play until my third game. I'd seen Casey in that same box for the second day, but today she was in the front row, first base side, just like at practice. My first at bat, I got a single to left field, and I saw her give a little wave as I stood there. I smiled back. I struck out my second at bat, but I hit an RBI double on my third, so I was 2 for 3, which made me happy.

In the top of the eighth inning, we were up by one run. I was trying to lead our pitcher, Ken Jackson, through a tough time. After he got the first out, he loaded the bases with walks, so I went out to the mound to chat with him.

"Hey, Kenny."

"Johnny, I don't know what happened."

"Well, your curveball isn't curving. The rest is just bad luck. We're going to get through it though. Just give me a few fastballs, low and inside on this guy."

"Just fastballs?"

"Trust me," I said. He didn't look convinced. "Do you trust me, Ken?"

He shook his head and shoulders, then looked at me. "Yeah. Okay. I trust you."

"Okay. Let's get him." I walked back to the plate. I was a little concerned, but this batter wasn't strong. I bet I could get him to hit a little dribbler on the infield, if Ken came through. His first fastball was a little outside, but the batter swung. Strike one. The next was more inside, and the batter made contact. It bounced to the second baseman, who flipped it to the shortstop for one out. Then they threw to first for the inning-ending double play. Ken was visibly relieved as we walked back to the dugout. "See?" I told him. "Nothing to worry about."

We ended up holding the lead, winning that game. We'd lost the second game, so we were at a respectable 2-1 record so far. What's more, I'd earned a friend in Ken, and the other pitchers took notice.

Ken and I went to Eddie's bar after the game to celebrate. A few other players showed up too, but only for one drink, then they left.

We were on our second beer when Casey came in and sat down with us. "Nice game, boys."

"Hey, thanks. Saw you in the seats with the commoners today."

Casey stuck out her tongue. "I only sit in the box when my father comes. I prefer to sit closer to the action."

She wore another jersey today, different from the one I'd seen before. The three of us chatted together for a bit. Casey had paid close attention to our mound visit, and wanted to hear about what was going through our heads. Finally, Ken bowed out, headed for bed.

"So what do you do, when you're not trolling around the stadium?" I asked.

"I'm in school, graduating this spring. Business major, of course."

"Of course, like your dad."

"Yeah, but I don't want to work in his company. I want the team." She smiled, and her eyes gleamed with joy as she said it.

"You really do love the game, don't you?" I asked.

"I do. It's my dream."

"Sounds like a great dream," I said, nodding.

"So tell me about College Boy," she said teasingly.

"I'm from Cincinnati. My dad was a huge Reds fan. That's why he called me Johnny, after Johnny Bench."

She smirked. "Really? I bet he's super proud of you."

"I'm sure he would be," I responded, then took another sip of Yuengling. "Cancer, a few years back."

"Sorry."

I shrugged. "It's okay. He instilled his love of baseball in me and my sister."

"Same. My mom, before she passed. She and Grandpa used to take me to Phillies games. And Mets games too, for special occasions."

"That's cool, that they got you into it."

"Yeah," she said, then smirked, "I'm actually named after a famous player too."

I scratched my head, trying to think of famous Phillies named Casey. "Stengel? Was he a Phillie?"

"He was, for a bit, but not him." She took another swig of her own beer, then said, "I'm the Mighty Casey."

My eyes widened. "Casey at the Bat?" She nodded. "I love that poem. 'No joy in Mudville tonight...', that's really cool."

"It was my mom's favorite poem. My full name is Cassandra, but the only one who ever calls me that is my father. To everyone else, I'm Casey."

"Well, Mighty Casey," I told her, "I'm glad to drink with you." I finished my beer. "But I'm afraid curfew is calling me to my bed."

"Good. You've got a big game tomorrow against the RailRiders." She finished her drink too. "Walk me out?"

We left the bar, out into the street. The stadium lights were still lit, as the maintenance crew was probably still cleaning up. It made the town look pretty at night. I looked down at Casey, and realized that, for the first time, we were alone.

Suddenly, she popped up on her toes, and gave me a peck on the cheek. Then she walked away, leaving me dazed. "Goodnight, Johnny."

--

Chuck had me sit in the fourth game of the season, then play in the fifth. It was the sixth game, a Sunday day game, that worried me the most, as I saw the lineup he had posted. Next to my name was the dreaded symbol, "1B". I was playing first base today.

He found me in the locker room as I suited up. "Okay, Mills?"

"Yeah, skip. I'll be alright out there."

"Sure you will. You were rusty at first, but you're better now. And it gives me a chance to give Frankie a day off occasionally." He pointed over his shoulder at Franklin Simons, our normal first baseman.

I had drastically improved in the position since my first day, but that wasn't saying much, since I was so horrible before. But I psyched myself up as I stretched, knowing I could do a decent job. Plus, it meant more playing time for me, which was always good.

I was in reasonably good spirits until I saw Casey out there, in her usual spot near first base, sitting with the guy from a few days ago. When I'd talked to Casey on Thursday at Eddie's, I had forgotten about that guy and he never came up in conversation. He was wearing a polo and khaki pants, not the team's colors. He was also holding her hand as they made their way to their seats.

Casey, as usual, was in her jersey and now sported a ball cap, with her ponytail sticking out the back. She looked as cute as usual. My mind reeled. If she was dating this guy, why did she kiss me? Was I reading too much into that kiss? I mean, it was on the cheek, not the lips, but I thought we had a good vibe going that night.

I tried not to let it mess with my head, but I failed. The first ball that was hit in my direction, I I bobbled it and couldn't come up with the out. Thankfully, we still got out of the inning unscathed. Chuck came over to talk to me in the dugout. "You okay, kid?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, skip. I'm fine."

He was unconvinced, but still replied, "Okay. No more bobbles."

The next inning, I went out to the base. Casey watched me and gave me a small, sympathetic smile. The guy next to her was once again glued to his phone, paying no attention to the game. As I regarded him, I guessed he could be considered handsome. He had black hair that was styled smoothly, and his clothes looked expensive. Maybe he was a friend, but I was guessing there was something more.