“We’re just blowing off steam,” Cody replied sullenly.
The coaches stepped out of the manager’s office, but no one said anything, just stared at him. Bill Monroe took a step forward, mouth open. Jason pointed the bat at him, warning him to back off.
Jason snorted. “You’re pissing away the season. Just a few weeks ago, you were in first place and on a steady pace to get to the playoffs. Right now, you’ve blown off enough steam to drop to second in the division and in the wild card. At this rate, you’ll be back in the cellar in no time. Maybe you like to be there. Maybe you can’t handle the pressure of the playoffs.”
“What do you care, old man?” The kid swaggered up to Jason, full of piss and vinegar and his own ego. He glanced around at the rest of the team, but no one met his gaze. “You just got here and you’ll be gone as soon as the season ends. It’s our team, not yours. We can do what we want.”
“That’s pathetic.” Jason tossed the bat aside and met Cody toe to toe. “It’s your team and you don’t care if you win or lose? Why the fuck should I bust my ass out there? Why should any of us? Let’s just phone it in, like you’ve been doing, Patterson, lolling the ball to first, dogging it down the line, not even attempting to catch a ball hit right to you.”
“Not all of us had the luxury of half the season off. Most of have been humping it here all season while you’ve been on your ass watching the games.” He stretched his arms out and struck a pose.
“Yeah, if you don’t have the endurance, get the hell out of the game. Let someone else have a shot since you clearly don’t give a shit. You have real talent, all of you do.” He paused, making eye contact with the cadre of young guys, willing them to meet his stare. “But you’re fucking up. If you don’t want to win, go home. There are plenty of kids in the minors who would kill for one day in your shoes.” Jason stormed to his locker and began to dress.
Silence slowly fell away to the low murmur of voices. No one challenged him or even looked his way. They all dressed in relative quiet and, one by one, or in small groups, left the locker room.
*
Jason walked outof the locker room and down the hall to the exit ramp. Leaning against the wall was Cole Hammonds. Shit. He had just blasted the team’s golden boy and Hammonds’ favorite player. Losing always left a sour taste in his mouth, but the bullshit he just doled out made him tired, exhausted. And here was the general manager, probably ready to kick his ass for daring to ream out the kid. Another reminder of his short leash, or his tenuous position on the team, was something he didn’t need.
“I’ll pay for the damn radio,” he growled.
Cole fell into step next to him walking up the ramp. “The hell you will. They needed that wake-up call. All of them.”
Jason glanced sideways at the GM but said nothing.
“They don’t know how to lose,” Hammonds said, in a mild tone.
“Hell, they barely know how to win,” Jason replied.
“That’s what Callahan wanted you to teach them.”
Jason rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Shit, you saw what they think of me. A washed-up old-timer who doesn’t belong.”
“Is that what you think?” For the first time, Cole sounded willing to work with Jason, interested in his opinion.
“Does it matter?”
Cole shrugged. “Well, I’d think it would be a matter of pride. Besides, you won’t get a decent contract anywhere if the team goes into free fall, which happens to coincide with your arrival. You’ll be blamed.”
“Won’t be the first time I’m blamed for something I didn’t do. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
“Maybe not, but wouldn’t you like to prove everyone wrong?” Cole grabbed his arm and swung him around to face him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes burning with a barely banked heat. “You and I both know your shoulder is balky and you probably don’t have too many years left. Another big injury and you’re done. But you have a chance to go out on a high note, a chance to play in the playoffs, maybe the World Series. The only thing standing in your way is this team of young, stupid players. You can turn them around.”
Jason stared at him dubiously. “I thought you wanted me to avoid your young players, to not corrupt them. Now you want me to mentor them?”
Son of a bitch. This was a turnaround he never expected. Cole Hammonds, who thought Jason was a demon seed, now wanted him to act as the wise old man on the team. So now he was no longer a corrupting influence but a positive wizened old player? Shit, was he ready for that? It was one step closer to retirement. Then again, he wasn’t that far away now either. And Stacia would be dancing a jig if he could show some, what did she call it, team fucking spirit.
Cole shrugged. “In the game, not the after-hours activities. From what I gather, they have a good handle on the partying. An encouraging word here, a guiding touch there. You never know. It could help.”
“Is this a condition of my contract?”
Cole’s eyes grew cold and stony. “Do I need to make it a condition?”
Jason shook his head. Yeah, they all thought he was in this for the contract, the short deal. But maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to be part of a team. It had been so long. He missed that. Missed the camaraderie. Missed the winning. “Nah, I’ve got you. I’ll see what I can do. But I do it my own way.”
“Fine.” Cole nodded, a smile crossing his face for the first time that Jason could ever remember. “Just don’t break any more radios, okay? And if it takes a few days to replace the one in there, I’m good with that. A little silence and soul-searching might be good for these kids.”
“Yeah right. Communing with the baseball gods? I don’t see these kids as choirboys.”
Cole clapped him on the back. “We just might be coming to some sort of agreement here, Friar.”