A little bit longer than usual story. A little bit sappy. Long on love and friendship, short on sex. There are sex scenes, but not as many as normal for me. Remember, this is a work of fiction. It's also a story that makes me smile, so...do as you wish.
Full count...
Baseball, hotdogs, apple pie and Chevrolet. I love them all.
You see, I play baseball for a living, and lived in the Midwest during my "AA" period. During that time, I ate more than my share of hot dogs and apple pie. As for Chevrolet, I guess they are in my blood because the brand-new Escalade that I drive is a part of a sponsorship deal.
It all sounds good, but like lots of good things, it came at a cost to me, and at times, to the others around me. You see, being drafted to Los Angeles was a dream come true. It was bright Lights, big City, for this small-town boy.
The old saying, "do what you love, and you'll never work a day in your life", couldn't have been more wrong for me in the beginning.
I started hot. Way too hot. I was the toast of the sports town and soon enough I was being invited to every party that wanted a young sports celebrity in attendance. I was hooking up with every hot girl in the city. Starlets. Singers. T.V. stars. Baseball groupies, you name it. Most were just like me, small towners that came to Glitter City looking for fame and fortune. The only problem is that unlike me, they didn't work almost every day and soon my game started to suffer, but I didn't care.
Many times, or should I say many mornings, I would leave the parties and head directly to the park for a game or to the airport so that I didn't miss a flight. Some of the younger players laughed about it, but the older players had seen bad things happen to more than one prospect.
The straw that broke the proverbial "camel's back", was my 21
st
birthday. I was "dating" a 32-year old movie star. She had a solid string of hits, making bank loads of money and was living the high life. She didn't love me, hell I don't even know if she liked me, but I was enamored with her. She was beautiful, sexy and graceful. It was something that I was not accustom to. We came from different worlds. I loved sports and she loved acting. The only thing that I knew for sure was that she liked to show me off.
I made it to her mansion after our game and the party was already in full swing. Like most of the parties that I had attended, I didn't know many people. My girlfriend on the other hand claimed that she knew every single person there. Booze and other party favorites flew around the house. It was loud and obnoxious, and I loved it.
My responsibilities to my team and myself took a backseat. At 2:00am it was less than 11 hours until my next game. With a fresh drink in one hand and my super rich and famous girlfriend in the other, I was pulled upstairs for my birthday present.
Her room was ready. It was like nothing that I'd ever seen. It was straight out of a design magazine. The huge master bed was made up with fine white linens and flower petals. The bed looked good but what looked better was standing beside it. There was my girlfriend's best-friend, she was European. A French actress that starred in many French films, including one where she played a lesbian. After tonight, I would always wonder if she was acting. She was just starting to make it onto the big screen in American movies, and there she was, naked and waiting. She had the sexy deep voice of a smoker, puffy lips, a cute gap in her teeth and an overall look that was hot as hell. Apparently, my present was to be her and the two of them, together and all at once. It was something very new to me, and I wasn't about to say no.
I had watched their movies. I had seen interviews with them. But having them standing naked beside me was far more appealing to me than seeing them on any screen.
The last words I remember hearing were, "Lay back baby and let us take care of you. Happy Birthday lover". From there it was a shit show. They took turns riding my face. They took turns riding each other's faces. Then they rode me like I was a prize bull at the rodeo.
It wasn't the first time that I'd had sex, but it was the first time with two women. I was amazed at having extra body parts at my command. It seemed like my dick would pop out of one hole just to be stuffed into another. I went from mouth to mouth, to pussy to pussy, pussy to mouth, to the fabled ass to mouth, more times than I can remember. You name it, it happened. When I needed a rest, the girls provided each other with attention. I had never watched two women 69 each other, only in a porn. It made me rock hard in an instant, but by the end of the night my cock was dead, and every inch of my body was covered in either saliva or juices of my lovers. We didn't use any condoms. Concern for health and parenthood never played a role in our in-house porno. The very last thing that I remembered of that night was my girlfriend passed out on a sofa near her bed, and our French lover's lips on my neck as her wet pussy pulled me deep inside her.
An alarm woke me, but I was already late. Stinky from the sex and alcohol I called an UBER and snuck out of her house. It was the worst day of my life. 0 - 4, with 3 strikeouts. It wasn't bad enough that I puked in a garbage pail in the dugout, what made it worse is that it still shows up every so often on a sports "highlight" or in my case "lowlight" reel. Me barfing during the middle of a game with a bright red mark on the side of my neck. The sportscasters from cities around the country had lots of fun with it. Welcome to the big leagues kid.
That was the end of my first season. After which, I was known as a partying womanizer and some say that my antics led to poor play, and that had cost my team a shot at a playoff spot.
My birthday was the last time that I saw her. Our break-up wasn't what one would call cordial. She let me know, in her words that I was "less than nothing. A piece of dirt. Florida white trash, a trailer park loser". In fact, some of our more private moments had somehow mysteriously leaked to the gossip rags that every grocery store carried at the checkout counters. There were rumors that I had impregnated her French friend, but it turned out to be false. I will always remember her parting words to me. She was asking me if I thought that my contract was real money. Telling me that she paid her agent and publicist, more than I made per year. It was over with her, that much was for sure. But even to this day, when I see her in one of her movies, I can't help but think about being with her and that other actress.
It took my whole second year to cleanse my soul and turn things around, but I did it. I was lucky that after my first year that they didn't send me packing back to "AAA" ball, or even lower.
Spring training has just finished, and I will be starting my third year as a pro. I was drafted high by the Dodgers and this will be my second year starting at third base, I was finally living up to my team's expectations of me. I love the old stadium and all the history that goes along with it. But being a pro ballplayer in Los Angeles can be a little bit surreal.
People want a piece of anything that they can get from you and for a small-town boy from Florida, it is a lot to live with, and I had learned all about it, the hard way. Now I held on to reality with a bit tighter grasp.
When I was young, we went to lots of Spring Training games in Clearwater and the surrounding areas. Hell, I watched baseball every single day, but until you are on the other side of the fence, you have no idea what it is like.
"Joe." "Home, please." "Joe." "Home." "Joe, please." "Joe, come on."
Yeah, that's me. Joe Plato. Nicknamed, "Home".
Sometime after I had hit a homerun or when I had thrown someone out at home, Dodgers color guy, and ex-Dodger, Rick Monday called me "Home Plato", and it stuck.
It seems that every year that more and more people show up for batting practice. It has become part of the game experience and the screams can become distractions. I try to keep it from becoming so and always remember what it was like when I went to the park.
After my hits I always walk the fence line and sign caps, balls and shirts. It keeps everyone including me happy, but when the crowds go home L.A. can be a big, lonely place, especially for a small towner that no longer wants to be a party animal.
Today, when I had filled all of the screaming orders, I made my way deeper along the foul line. I was planning on tossing a ball around for a bit. Sitting a couple of rows up, I noticed a guy sitting with his program and a pencil. I had noticed him a few times last year and at least once this year at a pre-season game. He was always early to arrive so that he didn't miss one second of batting practice or the game. He looked to be about 19 or 20, and not once did he scream or beg for a ball or a signature. The thing that was different today was that he was wearing a t-shirt with the Dodger logo over his heart, and my name and number screen printed under it and on the back.
He was watching my every move, but didn't say a word, so I started.
"So, do you think that we have a chance against the Mets today?"
Sheepishly, he looked at his program and said, "Syndergaard is starting. You'll take him deep if you wait. Deep for sure."
"I hope you're right. Can I borrow your pen for a second?" There was something about him that made me think that he was possibly older than he appeared.
Reluctantly, he stood and climbed over the rows in front of him and handed me his pen.
I signed my name, put my jersey number on, and dated the ball. Dating a ball is something that I normally don't do because it just takes to damn long, but it felt like it was something that he might want.
Returning his pen, I tossed the ball up and he caught it in his beat-up, vintage first baseman's glove.
Tossing the ball around with our third base coach, he gave me some pointers and talked about the kid I just talked to.
