The Bullpen Gospels:: Major League Dreams of a Minor League Veteran

by Dirk Hayhurst

“Hello,” said the mother again. “I have a little boy here who would really like to meet you.” The boy jutted out from behind his mother’s leg. Shy blue eyes pressed down, timidly stealing glimpses of me from under the brim of his oversized ball cap. He had thin wisps of blond hair on a pale face and a smile waiting to blossom, if he could only find the courage to let it. If only someone would help him. His mother nudged him forward, but he resisted, comfortable in Mommy’s shadow. “Hi there,” I said to the boy. I didn’t have to hand out souvenirs, but I could still talk with the boy. My words, however, made him cling to Mommy’s leg like a shy koala. “Tell him your name,” his mother said, and he did, in a squeak of voice. I repeated it back to him, adding, “Nice to meet you.” The strong, silent type, he opted out of the conversation. I left my comfy Rough Riders bullpen chair and went to the railing in pursuit of the boy who had contentedly buried his face in his mother’s leg. “Hey there, buddy. Why so shy?” He let one eye free. “It’s okay. You can talk to him,” his mother said, trying to encourage him not to suffocate on her kneecap. I steadied myself on the railing, squatting like a catcher, awaiting his attempt. “Tell him how old you are,” his mom coaxed. He didn’t speak, but offered me three tiny digits, instead. “You’re a slider? That’s what it means when you wiggle your fingers like that. Are you a slider?” “I’m three,” he said, letting the other eye free. “Oh” I repli...