"Co-o-ole!" A voice rings out to me. It's my mom, calling me for breakfast.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!" Mom cooed her signature breakfast call as I slinked down the stairs, half awake. As I completed my sluggish descent, I looked at the calendar tacked up on the wall with a big red circle around April 27th. Today's date. Under the date is scrawled in red marker: VS TEXAS 4:00. Realizing the importance of this red circle, I instantly gained a spring in my step.
Today, after months of strenuous training, I was set to play the first game of my college career at Texas Christian University. I don't know what my mom puts in those pancakes, but their flavor just knocks you out. I take a bite and black out.
Oh, you thought I was kidding?
I pop awake, in a dim hotel. Sleeping in the bed across the room is Kellen Caldwell, ridiculously buff power hitter, our team's starting left fielder, and my high school best friend. Upon closer inspection, I realize he's not actually asleep, seeing the AirPods in his ears and the Netflix show on his phone. I quietly sneak over and yank them out. Classic.
"Hey!" Kellen, startled, nearly jumps out of his jammies. "When did you wake up, ya goon?"
"Ah, I just noticed an ounce of peace in the room," I quip. "Can't have that."
Kellen yuks and slaps me jokingly, before placing his AirPods back in. I take in my surroundings. The alarm clock is marked at 9:24 AM. The calendar beside my bed indicates that today is August 14th, 2019. I look outside groggily, sidling to the window in a t-shirt with a hot-dog on it and some soft jogger pants. The John Yoder Memorial Ballpark towered in the distance above the beautiful tan morning Detroit skyline, looking out over my hotel. Today we play for our lives against the Erie Canal Hawks in that stadium. I looked closely to find workers the size of ants working on the field, painting the lines and mowing the outfield.
I looked back to the room. Kellen had gotten up, and was walking towards the bathroom. His thick beard had yet to be groomed, and as a result, had remains of what was a medium well steak and some wings around 14 hours ago. If you couldn't tell, Kellen's a messy eater. From behind me, I hear a tap on the door and the footsteps of DJ Edmonts, another teammate who apparently let himself in, his long, dirty blonde hair freely blanketing his neck. I redirect my sleepy gaze from the window to greet DJ.
"How's life treating you, DJ?"
"Life's treating me fine, it's the mornings I'm not a fan of." DJ grinned, producing his glasses from the case he left in our room last night during a rather heated watch-party of the football game.
Kai Kordes, our boisterous shortstop with a quick hand and an even quicker mouth, strolled by behind the door, poking his head into our now-full room.
"Chop chop, fellas! First BP in 30!" Kai announced before cruising away. Hearing that, DJ flicked his hand at us to say goodbye, and briskly followed, not wanting to be late.
My baseball bag was tucked in the corner, packed with baseball related odds and ends. Above it, my batting practice jacket was draped on a clothes hanger in front of Kellen's. I jumped into my black team pants as Kellen lumbered out of bed. I threw on my practice jersey, a proud steel-silver.
When I looked down at it, sure it was, there was a deep royal blue CATS beaming on the front crest. I never get tired of seeing it when I look down. How could four letters on a shirt pour so much pride in a guy? Affixing my black game hat from last week to my head, I stepped out of the hotel room into a hallway with chipped cream walls and a jazzy red carpet.
Upon seeing me, DJ flashed a toothy grin. Kai and DJ were chatting and walking down the hallway to the elevator, followed by Reece Hampton and Bryan Stackhouse, our all-star pitching dynamic duo.
Braxton Gentry, the oft-somber, serious third-baseman slithered behind, as if on his way to a funeral. We all had our practice jerseys on, our numbers being the only difference about us. Braxton, one of the more laid-back fellows on the team, draped his jersey on his back casually, not even bothering to tuck in his shirt, but DJ looked like a Christmas ornament in his perfectly tapered black knicker-length pants and number 8 proudly shining on his back.
We may have been smiling, but all our stomachs were in knots from anticipation.
The six of us packed into the elevator, buzzing with excitement about today's game. As the elevator creaked to a halt and the door slowly slid open, we were revealed to the rest of the team. After exchanging 'good-morning's and high-fives, we each picked out our food from the gourmet selection of hotel breakfast food. Kellen and I took a seat at the only visible open table.
Cordell, our sharp, smart center fielder was too busy picking at a lone pancake on his plate to offer us more than a simple wave. This was not out of the ordinary for Cordell, who is best defined as the strong, silent type.
After finishing our breakfast, Kellen and I made a quick trip back to our elevator to clear out all of our items from our hotel. After extensive checking that we didn't leave anything in the only quality hotel we could find in southeastern Michigan, we packed our bags and boarded the bus that had appeared outside, bound for Yoder Field.
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An Unlikely Slugger: The story of Cole Bassitt
ActionCole Bassitt, a no-name catcher, just wants to have a normal season. Of course, during the postseason, an injury flings him into the fringe, and suddenly, he's a little bit of a hero. While his career skyrockets, his teammate wants his king status b...
