Nightmare Series - 3

John Lester's Meeting

"I love this piece. I worked hard on coming up with the right idea and wrote it in one draft. Please read. I'm really proud of it. "

John Lester didn't feel like eating. He didn't feel like drinking or talking or anything for that matter. His pitching was a disaster. Long gone were the accolades that he was accustomed to bestow on himself. Instead they were replaced with a myriad of insults and when he hit the Boston Hotel room for the first time in a week, it didn't feel like much of a homecoming. Nevertheless the brain is a miracle of modern science and he soon found himself asleep.

“Wake up!”

John pealed his eyes open and saw a short, stout and rather rambunctious creature wearing a New York Yankees uniform starring down at him.

“Wake up kid.”

John turned over to notice he was lying on wet grass. He sprung himself up aware of his new surroundings and saw the ball field in the middle of a corn field.

“What in hell...”

“Wake up!”

“I got that, “ snapped John. He found himself in a Red Sox uniform and got up looking at the scene. It was late at night with lights raining down on the field. It was surreal.

“Where am I?”

“You're with me...beer?”

“Hu...no, “said John. “I don't...hey...you look familiar!”

The man held out his hand and John accepted pulling himself up. For a man so out of shape he had power to his pull.

“Come on...you're a pitcher so pitch.”

John saw the glove in his hand and the white baseball resting in it.

“Who are you?”

“I said pitch...want a gin and tonic...Vodka, rum...whiskey?”
“No...what is it with you?”

“Just trying to be polite.”

John walked towards the mound confused by this strange man.

“Where's the catcher?”

The man swung his bat aiming it at the outfield.

“Don't need one. Beer?“

“No...I don't want a drink and you shouldn't have one either!”

The man smiled and sipped a beer.

“It's smoking that killed me kid.”

John ignored the comment and targeted his first pitch. Without Tek it was a bit difficult to get the right aim.

“Come on kid...”

John did the Lester windup and threw the first pitch. A cutter on the inside part of the plate. The man swung and found himself missing the pitch entirely.

“No fair kid. Didn't have that pitch in my day! Beer?”

Lester smiled. He felt a bit more confident and threw a fastball on the inside part of the plate. This time the ball found contact and screamed overhead until it fell against the black of the night and out of sight.

“Wow...you got some swing!”

The man snorted some rum and said, “try again. “

Lester did the windup and threw a curve ball sailing away from the plate and again the ball sailed away into the patch of corn.

“OK...I give up!” laughed Lester. “For an old man, you're tough!”

“Old...you call me old! Come on...what else you got?”
Lester sighed and threw another cutter and once again the ball sailed out of sight. The man had learned.

“I never make the same mistake twice kid...beer?”

Lester tossed the glove down on the mound.

“Come on kid...that all you got?”

“Yup...I know when I'm beaten.”

The man marched up to Lester and slammed his bat on the ground.

“If that isn't the sorriest excuse for a pitcher I ever seen. When I pitched, I didn't give up, or whine. You're like a baby looking for his mommy...beer?”

“Look, “snapped Lester. “First I don't drink. You would think you would get that by now! Second...what is your point...pitch all night until I dislocate my shoulder so I can give you batting practice!”

“No, “snapped the man. “The point is that you take that attitude into a game you're sure to lose. You have to believe that every at bat, you're going to dominate...so stop feeling sorry for yourself and start winning games because you and that uniform deserve more than that!”

Lester smiled and said, “wait...I know you...you're dead?”

The man smiled and said, “course I'm dead. I smoked too much. Beer?”

“So you came back...to work on me?”
“I was a pitcher too...but I hated it. Too much work. When you're the once in ten lifetimes player, you can pick and chose your talents.”

Lester nodded and walked back to some chairs on the field and sat down.

“Better in your day.”

“Oh the excuses...the moaning...the whining...the...poor baby 100 pitch mentality.”

Lester turned toward the man and said, “were you always this much of an asshole?”

“Ha, “laughed the man as he sipped a beer. “You guys have it too damn easy. In my day...”

“Oh, it's always in my day. We had it so much better. Oh the house that the man built...come on...quit it.”

The man laughed and chucked a large beer in one gulp.

“I lived kid. What are you doing but worrying. You can't relax and you can't focus. That's your problem. It's a freakin' game and those Boston fans are nuts! Relax a little.”

John looked at the beer sitting next to him. He picked it up and starred at it.

“Go on kid...on me!”

John sipped it tasting the watery bile.”

“This beer sucks!” snapped John.

“Hey kid...I never said I had taste!”

John leaned back.

“I just want to be as good as the next guy...the superstar...you know.”

“Fades like a memory. There's only one Babe Ruth kid and you're not it. Nobody is. You're Jon Lester...why don't you start acting like the pitcher who wants to win...instead of the pitcher who panics over a few lousy starts. Really...it's only a game.”

John nodded and starred up at the black sky. He saw the moon and it's bone white chalk stare down at him.

“Oh...this does feel good...getting away. “

John leaned down and grabbed a dark imported beer. That tasted good.

“Looks like manure to me!”

John turned towards the man and said, “looks like urine to me and when would you ever say manure?”
The man leaned forward and said, “hey...I got some class!”

John laughed and sipped the beer and leaned back. He crossed his legs and yawned. He sniffed the breeze.

“Hey...I thought you said smoking kills, “snapped John getting a whiff of smoke heading towards him.

“I know that kid. The advantages of being dead!”

“Well I'm not...so put the damn thing out will ya, “grumbled Jon.

“OK, “snapped Ruth. “Ty freakin Cobb is the same way. He used to smoke and now he's on this health kick...like it matters!”

“You should talk, “snapped Jon before he forced a laugh out.

Ruth leaned the beer glass towards Jon.

“To Jon Lester!”

Jon smiled and said, “to Babe Ruth...a real ass!”

Ruth winked and turned towards the sky.

“Come by anytime....oh and by the way. Santana...sent him 450 feet. ”

“You're point?
Ruth leaned towards him and said, “I only hit yours 400!”

John held his glass up at the stars. He smiled and laughed and spilled the beer all over himself. He wiped hie eyes and looked up and saw the face of Kevin Youkilis starring down at him.

John looked around. The dream was over.

“Jon...are you...OK?”
Jon who looked down at his dripping wet body from a glass of water that had apparently spilled all over his body laughed.

“To be honest Kevin...I'm doing fine!”

“Well, “said Kevin. “Better get dressed. You know how Tito feels about being late.”
John nodded and said to Kevin. “Hey Kevin...how about a beer...after the game?”

Kevin paused, turned around and said, “you Jon? You want a beer?”

Jon got up and said, “ya...it's only a game!”

Kevin smiled and gave the thumbs up. He got up and yawned. Over his side was a Yankees baseball cap. Jon picked it up and tried it on. It fit well. He put it in his suitcase.

“Thanks Babe!”

Jon hit the shower feeling OK about life.