The Batboy Read online

  “Good luck and have a good time.”

  When Mr. Granville completed his little speech he and the players went back onto the field.

  Mr. Dickenson asked the group to follow him once more. As they walked out onto the field, they were handed back numbers and safety pins. Thad, Link, and Dale helped each other to pin them on. The team had finished their warm-up and some of the players went into the dugout or up into the stands to watch the tryouts.

  Experiencing the stadium from the perspective of the playing field and the anticipation of what was to come gave Thad an adrenalin rush. He took a deep breath and shuddered.

  The group was asked to line up near home plate. One by one every kid ran the bases. Link had the best time. Thad was second and was satisfied with his performance.

  Next, in groups of seven, they were to take the field. Each of the seven was assigned to a position. Thad was thrilled when he drew shortstop. That was his position on his school team and the position that Iggy played. Things were definitely looking like they were going his way. The bigger thrill came when Iggy stepped to the plate to be the one who would hit balls out to be fielded. Iggy would toss a ball into the air and hit it out to the kids: infield, then outfield, then infield again. Each of the kids got to show their fielding skills a couple of times. Then they switched, infielders played outfield and those that had been outfielders took positions around the ball diamond. Out of the corner of his eye Thad watched as Perone, Otis, Dickenson, and Miller stood together on the sidelines, watching and writing things down on notepads.

  Following the fielding drill, the group lined up again, this time at third base. The five player/judges lined up along the first-base line. One by one each candidate moved along the line of players, throwing and catching a ball from each player as the kids moved between third and second base. Although he was disappointed he wouldn’t get to play one-on-one with Iggy, when it came Thad’s turn to throw to Iggy, the man complimented him on his arm and fielding skills. Thad could have died right then and there and been happy.

  The final test was retrieving foul balls on the sidelines. Mr. Dickenson explained that when a ball was foul and out of play it would be the batboy’s or batgirl’s job to shag the ball and return it to the umpire. Once again, one kid after another ran from behind the plate to where Jack Miller had tapped a foul ball, picked it up, and returned it to one of the players. Thad made sure when it was his turn he placed the ball firmly in his idol’s hand and was rewarded with a smile, a nod, and a wink. The only thing that would make this day better was to actually be picked for the batboy squad.

  The tryouts completed, Mr. Dickenson asked the group to follow him to the players’ lounge where they were to be served lunch.

  As they walked through the stadium, Link, Thad, and Dale compared notes on their experiences and how they thought they’d done. All three were confident they had made the team. When Dale commented on how cool he thought Iggy was, Thad had a strange reaction he didn’t understand. He almost felt angry at his friend’s appreciation of his idol.

  Five long tables, similar to those found in the fellowship hall at Thad’s church where potlucks were held, had been set up in the lounge. Thad noticed each table had a Reserved sign on it in front of one seat. Thad and Link figured out what it might mean and quickly sat down on either side of the reserved chair. Dale was bummed out at this and headed for another table, hoping to get one of the seats near a Reserved sign.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Granville and the four players who had acted as judges came in. One of them went to each of the reserved seats. Thad closed his eyes, crossed his fingers under the table, and said a quick prayer.

  “Mind if I sit here?” came a deep voice with just a hint of an accent.

  Thad heard Link say in an enthusiastic voice, “No, sir!”

  Opening his eyes, Thad watched as Iggy slid into the seat beside him. Can this day get any better? he thought.

  “Hi, guys. I’m Ignacio Hernandez,” the man said to the table in general.

  Like he has to tell us who he is. Thad’s heart was pounding.

  “Why don’t you all tell me your names?” Iggy continued.

  One by one each of the ten kids around the table introduced themselves. When it came to Thad’s turn, his mouth was so dry he could barely get his name out. He croaked, coughed, and finally stammered, “Thad Stevens.” He felt like a total idiot. But Iggy didn’t seem to notice.

  “You have some pretty decent skills, Thad,” he said. “You must’ve played a lotta ball?”

  Thad found his voice and acknowledged the compliment. Iggy went on to speak with the other kids around the table.

  Mr. Granville stood up and called the group to attention.

  “Before we serve lunch, let’s have a rousing chorus of Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”

  Thad was kind of surprised, but before he could react, he heard Iggy groan.

  Jack Miller, the catcher, spoke up. “Wayne.” He laughed. “Give us a break.”

  “No, no. It’s tradition,” Granville said with mock seriousness. Then smiling again, he added, “Ready?” He started to sing.

  Most everyone joined in. Thad knew the words, as he’d attended many Buzzards games where the song was sung during the seventh-inning stretch. He sang very quietly, however, as he didn’t think he had much of a voice. Iggy, on the other hand, sounded pretty cool, and Thad loved the way his deep voice kind of got inside of him.

  The meal consisted of hot dogs, soda, Cracker Jack and ice cream: an authentic ballpark lunch. By the time lunch was over Iggy’s leg had brushed Thad’s a couple of times and, horror of horrors, what teenage boys dread most of all had happened. Without willing it in any way, Thad was in a state where he would rather die than have to stand up.

  Mr. Granville was standing again and thanking everyone for trying out. He told the group of kids that while he wished they all could join the team, only ten would be chosen. If they were chosen, they would get phone calls in the next few days, followed by letters with papers that needed to be gone over with their parents. If they didn’t make the squad they would be notified by mail only. As he talked, Thad tried to listen and distract himself from the uncomfortable and embarrassing tightness in his jeans. It wasn’t working because Iggy had leaned back and placed his arm casually on the back of Thad’s chair.

  A couple of guys now came into the room and started passing out Buzzards T-shirts and caps as souvenirs of the day’s tryouts. Thad gratefully took his.

  Soon after the meal ended and it was time to go, Thad strategically held his shirt and cap in front of him to hide his problem. He stood and shook hands with Iggy.

  It was a few more minutes before he could safely don the cap and throw the shirt over his shoulder.

  * * * *

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mr. Stevens reminded his son as Thad shoveled his dinner into his face while at the same time enthusiastically telling his parents about his day at the stadium. “And you really should take your hat off at the table,” his father added.

  “Oh, Howard,” Mrs. Stevens said, reaching out and putting her hand on her husband’s arm. “Just relax and let the boy have his moment. You can see how excited he is. He did take it off while we said grace.”

  “All right, Marion,” Mr. Stevens relented.

  “So, Thad, when can we expect to hear whether or not you’ve made the squad?”

  Thad swallowed a big wad of mashed potatoes and took a gulp of milk. “They said in a couple of days.” He paused and wrinkled his brow and then asked, “Is it wrong to pray that I make it?” He looked at his dad.

  Mr. Stevens served himself another helping of Brussels sprouts and replied, “It’s never wrong to pray, son. But we must always follow the Lord’s example and pray that the Father’s will, not ours, be done, keeping in mind that His wisdom is greater than ours and if He denies us the desires of our hearts, it is for a good reason.”

  Thad couldn’t think of any good reason for Go
d not to want him to be a batboy.

  His dad was continuing. “It is also good to remember that sin can block our connection to God and keep his grace from flowing into our lives. Prayers are more readily answered when we keep our thoughts and actions pure.”

  Thad stopped chewing; a fork full of Salisbury steak suspended in midair as the gravity of his father’s words hit him. He had sinned. When he’d arrived home that afternoon, his mother encouraged him to take a shower as he had been in a germ-laden environment that day. She was always a little spooked by how dirty public places were.

  Thad had sprinted up to his room, stripped, and hopped in the shower. He lathered his body and hummed Take Me Out to the Ball Game as memories of the day flooded his mind. It didn't take long for thoughts of Iggy—the shortstop’s hunky frame and his leg brushing against Thad’s—to have an effect. In no time at all Thad had broken his vow of chastity.

  He lowered his fork to the table. Trying not to let the panic he was feeling show, he slightly bowed his head as he recommitted himself to a life free of sin and asked for forgiveness.

  “Thad?” his mother asked. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded as his father continued his sermon on the power of prayer.

  “And it is always good in God’s eyes if we put others before ourselves and pray for their welfare rather than our own.”

  And, God, please let Link and Dale make the batboy squad. It doesn’t make any difference if I do. Amen. Thad hoped that took care of the situation.

  However, that night in bed he fretted and worried about how what he had done in the shower would mess up his hopes of being a Buzzards batboy. However, despite his continued reassurances to God that he would never have impure thoughts or jerk off again, his body had other plans and his spirit and flesh wrestled the night away. In the end, his flesh won out and for the second time that day he broke his promise of abstinence to the Almighty. At first he tried to pass it off as a wet dream. But he knew better, and he knew God did, too. He fell asleep, sure that any chance of making the team was now dashed.

  * * * *

  Sunday morning gave Thad a glimmer of hope. Usually he disliked going to church, but maybe, if he went with a contrite heart and sincere pledge of his renewed efforts at a sin-free life, he could salvage the situation. After all, he decided, they probably hadn’t made their choices for the batboy squad yet. Maybe there’s still time to get things right with God and ensure a spot on the team.

  He arrived in the kitchen in a suit and tie, right on time for breakfast without having to be called or reminded that it was Sunday. His parents looked at him in surprise.

  “Thad?” his father said.

  “Why, how nice you look, dear. But…”

  “What?” Thad defensively reacted to their surprise.

  “Well, son, we usually have to use a bit of pressure to get you to dress up for church, and you’re on time for breakfast,” Mr. Stevens said.

  Thad really didn’t want to admit that he was trying to bribe God, so he decided to pass it off by shrugging his shoulders and smiling angelically.

  Sunday routine consisted of an hour which included church school for the younger kids and Bible study for the adults, a Sunday service, and then coffee hour. Thad usually endured this weekly ritual with bored indifference. Today, however, with his ulterior motive at the forefront of his mind, he would throw himself into the activities wholeheartedly.

  Dale attended the same church. The two met outside the room where the boys’ senior high group had class. He was also dressed in a suit and tie. The two boys smiled at each other.

  “A little insurance?” Thad asked with a wink.

  “Yeah,” Dale replied, straightening his tie. “I figured it couldn’t hurt. But my mom said that if I wasn’t doing it with a pure heart though, I’d be a hypocrite. And God hates hypocrites. That’s got me a little worried.”

  Thad thought about what Dale said. He tried to assure himself—and the Lord—that he had the purest of intentions, and while this change of heart to extreme piety came at the same time he needed this favor, well, that was just a coincidence.

  The two boys went into the classroom. They received some strange looks from the other guys in the room who, while dressed nicely, were not in suits and ties. Thad met their questioning looks with a stern “back off” expression.

  For Thad, one of the mysteries of God’s wisdom was the church’s assignment of Miss Puiesse to teach the guys’ high school class. She was an ancient spinster lady of at least fifty, while the girls’ class had Mr. Duncan, a cool guy, probably in his twenties.

  Dale and Thad found seats just as Miss Puiesse announced that the day’s topic for discussion was “the willing spirit versus the weakness of the flesh.”

  Most of the guys in class snickered, hiding their amusement behind their hands as they looked around at each other. Thad tried to keep it together. After all, he had a vow to uphold. But he couldn’t help but think, What does this old bat—shit, sorry, God—dear lady, know about how a teenage guy feels about sex? She’s probably a frickin’ vir—oh, sorry again. Damn, this thinking only pure thoughts is hard!

  Miss Puiesse was beginning. “Gentlemen, you are all of that age when attractions to the opposite sex…”

  Thad thought of Iggy and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “…and the temptations to yield to the desires of the flesh are at their height. Let us read what God has to say on that subject.”

  Thad had a lot riding on this, so he sat up and paid close attention.

  “Saint Paul tells us in Romans,” she said and then began reading, “I speak after the manner of men because of the infirmity of your flesh: for as ye have yielded your members servants to uncleanness and to iniquity unto iniquity; even so now yield your members servants to righteousness unto holiness.”

  Looking up, Miss Puiesse asked, “What do you think Saint Paul was trying to tell us?”

  Harold, a freshman, and someone whom Thad had considered a pain in the butt—until today, that is—raised his hand.

  Miss Puiesse nodded.

  “What’s iniquity?” he asked in his nerdy, sing-song, nasal voice.

  “Sin, Harold, sin,” the teacher replied in an exasperated tone. “If you’d been paying attention, you would have known that we’ve discussed iniquity several times this year.”

  “Then why don’t the Bible just call it sin? Why do they have to use dumb words like iniquity and write it so you don’t understand what they’re talkin’ about?”

  Amen, brother! That’s a good point, Thad thought. How do they expect you to understand when they write it that way?

  The boys, all except Dale, that day’s other candidate for the piety award, were snickering again.

  “Well, Harold,” Miss Puiesse said with a patient air that seemed contrived, “the Holy Bible was written by men inspired by God, so who are we to tamper with the words that came directly from the Lord’s mouth?”

  Thad winced when he heard Miss Puiesse’s explanation and asked God to forgive him for criticizing the writers of God’s Holy Word.

  “Okay, but what does that Paul guy—”

  “Saint Paul,” Miss Puiesse corrected.

  “Okay, Saint Paul, mean by member?” Harold persisted.

  Miss Puiesse hesitated, looked uncomfortable and took, what seemed to Thad, a steadying breath. “He was talking about certain parts of your body.”

  “What body parts?” the nerd asked.

  The class laughed softly, even Dale this time. Thad struggled to stifle his reaction in case God didn’t find Harold’s ignorance as amusing as the class did.

  “That will do!” Miss Puiesse reprimanded them sternly.

  “Those parts of your body that…that…” she floundered, searching for the appropriate word.

  Thad heard someone whisper, “Your wee-wee, Harold, you dummy.”

  Miss Puiesse must have overheard, as she no longer searched for the appropriate way to refer to that particul
ar part of the male sexual anatomy.

  Harold pressed on. Thad had to admire his dogged stubbornness at getting to the nitty-gritty.

  “I don’t understand how that part of your body can be a servant to uncleanness or iniqui…uh…sin? Is Saint Paul talking about peeing? How can God expect you not to pee?”

  The class didn’t hold back and laughed loudly. Some breaking the commandment—Thad couldn’t remember which number it was—of not taking the name of the Lord in vain by saying “Oh my, God!”

  A couple of guys said right out loud, “Masturbation, you imbecile.”

  “Jerking off, you dope.”

  There were other expressions of a similar nature.

  Thad looked at Miss Puiesse. She looked as if she might be about to have a coronary. He wondered how Mr. Duncan, who was teaching this subject to the girls’ class, would be handling this particular topic.

  “Yes, well. Yes. Actions of that nature, as well as fornication and, uh, other things,” the teacher stammered.

  Harold paused. It seemed everyone in the class was waiting with eager anticipation for him to ask another question. They kept looking from him to the teacher, who was pale and seemed to be in a sweat. Thad was worried she might faint.

  “Well,” Harold began, “I don’t understand how you can use your, uh, wee-wee for holiness like Paul says. How would you do that?”

  Evidently Miss Puiesse couldn’t either, because she changed the subject completely and began a contest to see who could recite the books of the Bible from memory the fastest.

  Thad was just as glad they had moved on as he was distinctly uncomfortable with a discussion of this nature—especially in light of his vow, and fear that his own iniquities with regard to his body parts would impede his being chosen for the batboy squad. He had his suspicions that the only way to use your parts “for righteousness unto holiness” was to not use them at all until you got married. That, it seemed to him, was a tall order.