The Greatest, Part II
A short story, continued
Last week, I rolled out Part I of a short story called “The Greatest”:
This is the second installment of that story.
Garrett: Alright fellas I got a hypothetical for you Chris: Shoot Mike: Let’s hear it Jeff: Hit me Danny: [question mark reaction] Garrett: Imagine you woke up tomorrow and suddenly you were the greatest baseball player in the world Garrett: Like, you could hit a ball 500 feet, throw 100 miles per hour, run fast, field, etc Garrett: Except that no one knows it Garrett: And you’re like, still you Garrett: You’re a normal guy in your early 40s and you suddenly have these skills, how would you go about actually using them Danny: hmm Brian: Is this an actual hypothetical or did something happen to you Danny: I would simply go down to the local major league baseball stadium and ask if they’re hiring Garrett: I mean, that’s the thing, it’s not like these clubs have open tryouts. This isn’t the 1930s Chris: you’d need to make some kind of public splash Chris: like, you go sit in the bleachers at a game, and you catch an opposing player’s home run, and then in keeping with tradition, you throw the home run ball back Chris: but you throw it so perfectly and so far that the whole stadium is in awe and the owner of the team, who is desperate to bring attention to his moribund club, signs you as a publicity stunt Garrett: is this the plot of Rookie of the Year (1993) Chris: yes it is Mike: great flick Jeff: ah man I should make the kids watch that Garrett: i mean it did work for Henry Rowengartner, but it’s not that easy Garrett: like, first of all, you have to catch a home run Brian: are you not good at catching in this scenario? I assumed it was part of the whole deal Garrett: no, you’re very good at catching, but you still have to be in the right place at the right time to catch a home run. I’ve been going to baseball games my whole life and I’ve never caught a ball. Mike: you could be like that ball-hawk guy, Zack Hample. You know, the guy who goes to games just to catch home runs and says he’s caught thousands of balls over the years Garrett: yes but everyone hates that guy Jeff: and rightly so Chris: yeah that dude sucks Brian: the worst Danny: maybe you just bring your own ball to the game and throw it Mike: I don’t think you can do that Jeff: You'd probably just get thrown out of the game for that. People wouldn’t even focus on how good the throw was at that point, they’d just be like ‘what the hell, dude, cut it out’ Chris: okay so the Rookie of the Year (1993) solution is out Mike: what if you just go play for a low-level team in a small town in Mexico and wait for a down-on-his-luck scout who’s being punished for some past mistake by being sent there to discover you and then you get signed by the New York Yankees and make your debut in Game 1 of the World Series Garrett: this one sounds familiar Brian: that’s The Scout (1994) Jeff: is that the Brendan Fraser one? Mike: yeah. Steve Nebraska. It's a fun watch but it got some plot holes tbh Jeff: he throws a 27-strikeout perfect game on 81 pitches Danny: I did that once Danny: I didn’t make a big deal out of it though Garrett: guys I’m not sure there’s a perfect movie analogue to this one Brian: so you don’t want to hear my Brewster’s Millions theory Garrett: I’m gonna stop you right there to say that I don’t have a fantastically wealthy distant uncle who’s going to surprise me by willing me hundreds of millions of dollars with the provision that I spent it all in 30 days Danny: not with that attitude you don’t Brian: to be fair Monty Brewster didn’t think that he did until it happened either. I think you should remain open to this possibility Garrett: I won’t rule it out Brian: honestly though, I think social media would have to be your answer. You’d have to make TikToks of you doing amazing baseball things and hope that enough people notice Mike: yeah TikTok is pretty much the only way you get discovered for anything now Mike: that or LinkedIn Mike: but this doesn’t really feel like a LinkedIn scenario Danny: have you considered how a growth mindset could help your baseball career Jeff: Taylor Tomlinson got a late-night show through TikTok clips of her standup Chris: there’s a guy I follow who just does amazing basketball shots. He’ll shoot a three-pointer while laying on his back and stuff Brian: yeah I think if I woke up tomorrow morning and I was suddenly Mike Trout or whatever, I would film some TikToks of me doing crazy baseball stuff and then see where it goes from there. Garrett: alright Garrett: I think you guys are right Garrett: side question Garrett: what do you think of this
I attached a video clip from my trip to the batting cages, showing me hitting ball after ball off of the back net, then a second clip of me throwing at targets in the backyard.
Chris: holy shit dude Mike: what the hell Jeff: [exclamation point reaction] Danny: so wait was this not a hypothetical scenario Chris: explain please Danny: last week when you asked if I would rather fight a shark or a bear, was that also not a hypothetical Danny: Do I have to fight one of those things Danny: Because I would prefer not to Brian: dude. Did you get a hold of some Tom Brady meds or something? What’s going on
I explained the phone call, and the fulfillment of my long-forgotten birthday wish.
Chris: I think when I was eight I wished to be a Ninja Turtle Chris: Honestly I hope that one doesn’t come true now. Like, it would be fun to have ninja skills but I think that Kate would have a problem with me being a giant turtle. Would probably be weird at work too Danny: well you did just tell us that you’d made the wish, so that probably invalidates it Garrett: yeah no the guy said that kills it Chris: okay whew. I mean I’d still like some nunchucks but I could probably just buy those online Brian: kate probably wouldn’t be thrilled with that either Chris: right but if I explain that the alternative was her having to share a bed with a six-foot-tall bipedal turtle, I think she’d understand Mike: let’s focus on the fact that Garrett is suddenly Dad Barry Bonds Danny: Shohei Oldtani Jeff: Mike Gout Chris: Bryce AARPer Brian: Babe Oof (that’s the sound of you getting out of a chair) Garrett: to be fair he probably made that sound too Mike: Ken Griffey Senior Garrett: okay but you know Ken Griffey Sr. was a real guy, right Garrett: like, not just as Ken Griffey Jr.’s dad but a successful Major League Baseball player in his own time Garrett: It’s important to me that you know that Mike: Sammy Sofa Chris: lmao Jeff: got his ass Danny: [exclamation point reaction] Brian: [HA HA reaction] Garrett: better
“Sammy Sofa is a good name,” my wife said.
“It’s a great pun, but I can’t pick that as my handle. People are already going to assume I’m on some kind of steroids, I can’t pick a guy who was at the center of the Mitchell Report.”
“I don’t even know what that is. You’re overthinking this.”
“Picking a social media handle is important! If it takes off like you hope it will, you’re stuck with that name forever.”
“Yes, but it has to be something people will connect with, and Sammy Sofa is funny.”
“I just think it should be something more dignified.”
“Shit, it’s taken already anyways.”
“What? That’s bullshit.”
“Okay, I registered you as @DadBodARod”
“OH COME ON.”
“It’s catchy, it rhymes, and it wasn’t taken.”
“It sounds weirdly suggestive.”
“Even better. If you’re going to become a TikTok star, you’re going to need the audience being weirdly suggestive brings in too. Okay, I uploaded the first two videos, but if you want the algorithm to pick you up and put you in people’s feeds, you’re going to need to post more and better videos soon. We need to see you hitting off live pitching.”
“I don’t know who I could ask to hit off of.”
“Is there anyone at work who played baseball growing up?”
“Probably, but I can’t bring this up at work yet, it’d be too weird. What if this goes away tomorrow? Then they’ll all just think I’m a weirdo.”
“I don’t think you need to worry about that. They already think you’re a weirdo.”
“True. But still, I’m not asking at work.”
“Fine, then just place an ad on NextDoor. There’s gotta be some high school kid around here we can pay to throw some pitches to you.”
“Hmm, that could work. Looking for high school or college baseball player to throw batting practice to me. Nothing weird.”
“Don’t say ‘nothing weird.’”
“I feel like I should specify that, though.”
“If you specify it, it only makes people more certain that you’re doing something weird.”
“Okay, but how do I make it not weird that I’m trying to hire a high school kid?”
“Just say it’s for an advertisement or something. Pretend you’re a local HVAC repair company or a car salesman or something. They’d plausibly film an ad like that. ‘Our prices are a home run!’, y’know?”
“Looking for high school or college baseball player to throw batting practice for video shoot. Need two hours, will pay $50 cash. Is $50 enough?”
“We pay the lawn kid $40, and he’s here less than an hour. Make it $100.”
“Okay, I posted it.”
Rhonda Maypole: My grandson plays basketball Jeff Swerpman: You should go down to the local high school and ask there Jennifer Wendell: You should not do that Bart Champers: This generation doesn’t want to work, it’s sad MarySue Mortonsen: I am looking to hire someone to move a fridge Dick Gramm: When I was a kid we would play baseball for free! Heather George: My son is a senior who pitches for St. X, he will do it. I will message you.
“So, you said this is for a video shoot, right?”
Tyler had agreed to meet me at the high school baseball field early Saturday morning, before anyone else was around. My wife was filming, and the kids were sitting on the bleachers playing games on their tablets.
“I did one of these a couple months ago with the guy from Champion Auto Sales, it was something like ‘drive one out of the park with Champion’. He hired me for two hours but we had to go almost three before he hit one far enough for the shot. If we go long, it’ll be extra, is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’s totally okay,” I said.
“Okay, cool. So what’s this for, are you like HVAC repair or something?”
“Yeah, something like that. Can we start?”
I’d bought a bucket of balls on Facebook Marketplace, and Tyler wound up a soft toss.
CRACK. It soared over the left-field fence, and bounced off the scoreboard with a pleasing THUNK.
“Whoa.”
“Throw harder.”
He put a little more on the next one.
CRACK. THUNK.
I could see his brow furrow, and a wave of competitiveness wash away the desire not to hurt the old guy he’d been hired by for the morning. He scowled, and unleashed a cut fastball at chest level.
CRACK. This one clanked off a maintenance shed well beyond right-center.
“Dang.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be, that was awesome. Uh, do you have enough for your ad?”
“Can I be totally honest?”
“Sure.”
“This isn’t for an ad. I’m trying to make good TikToks so I can get a tryout with a Major League club.”
“Oh, sure. That makes a lot more sense, honestly.”
“Do you think these would be good?”
“I mostly just follow girls on TikTok, to be honest.”
“Oh, uh, are there girls on TikTok?” I said loudly and for my wife’s benefit.
“Shut up,” she said, walking over to assist my daughter with a tablet issue.
“If you really want to catch on on TikTok, you need to make it fun,” Tyler said. “Trick shots, dumb stunts, stuff like that.”
“How much time do you have?”
I extended his hourly rate to the rest of the day, and we filmed every idea we could think of. I tried to see how many home runs I could hit off the foul pole in a row (ten). I hit a ball into a trash can we pulled into center field. I hit a home run blindfolded, and another from my knees. When his arm tired out, he started hitting balls for me to shag. We set an empty can of Prime on the fence in straightaway center, and I stood at home plate and knocked it off with a perfect throw. My wife and kids left by midday, but a few of Tyler’s teammates had shown up by then, and they both helped in filming and added videos to their own feeds. By the end of the day, we’d backlogged dozens of clips that I could post, and I’d Venmo’d him five hundred dollars for the assistance.
“I gotta be honest, Mr. P, this isn’t what I expected today.”
“Listen, Tyler, I’m as surprised as you are.”
“Why didn’t you play ball before this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just never believed in myself. But hey, never too late to start, right?”
Over the course of the next week, I rolled out the clips on TikTok. I posted regularly–one in the morning, one in the evening; I wanted to show a consistent flow, but I didn’t want to burn off my cache of videos too quickly; Tyler was more than happy to come back and film more, but between paying him, buying balls, and replacing a light that I’d broken at the high school trying to replicate the end of The Natural, this was becoming an expensive hobby. I’d have to pace myself.
After a few days, the clips started getting more views, and more comments.
@derekforreal98: I could do that @iambigsteve: He’s using a corked bat @worldwidewill: Those are loaded balls @shanetrain420: This is an edit @champagnejavi: It’s shot in reverse @kobebetter248: Kobe better (?) @momhunter69: Yo let’s see more of the mom @robthatruthtella: Sick of these fake videos @mmaguykyle: old ass couldn’t do all this stuff lol ppl will believe anything @_its_braylonX: anyone could hit off that pitcher, cmon
I brushed off most of the comments—everyone on social media is a hater—but that last one made me feel bad. Tyler was a really solid pitcher, good enough to pitch in college next year, but no one was going to look great when they were up against The Greatest Baseball Player in the World. Besides, he’d been trying to make me look good.
I hoped that this didn’t have any blowback on his scouting.
“I need to comment back.”
“Absolutely do not comment back,” my wife insisted. “That’s what they want. You cannot get mad online if you want this to work.”
“I can’t let them talk shit on Tyler like this, though.”
“He’s a teenager, he’ll be fine.”
@Bigbenny2002: I could take this pitcher deep @TyBallasign (Tyler): your mom could take me deep
“See? He’s fine.”
Garrett: the videos are doing decent, but I don’t know what to do next Garrett: like, I’m up to a few thousand followers, but that’s not enough to get the attention of a Major League Baseball club Garrett: I hope I haven’t plateaued Danny: we could call you Jose Mesa Danny: do you get it Danny: because a mesa and a plateau are similar topographic formations, you see Danny: and Jose Mesa was a baseball player who was good for a while and then wasn’t Garrett: yes thank you for that Danny Garrett: also fuck Jose Mesa I’m still mad about the 97 world series Chris: wait I think I have an idea Danny: you think we should build a time machine and travel back to 1997 to stop Jose Mesa from blowing the save in the World Series, and then also maybe stop 9/11 while we’re back there? Chris: okay I have TWO ideas Chris: you know how you said Ash warned you about getting mad online Garrett: right, she pointed out that getting mad online never serves you, it just serves the person who made you mad Chris: right Chris: so you just need to get someone else mad online Chris: and I know just the person Mike: Trevin Hough! Chris: BINGO Danny: oh shit yes Brian: [thumbs-up reaction]
Trevin Hough was a piece of shit.
He’d played twelve seasons in Major League Baseball, and he’d been pretty good for most of them. He finished in the top ten of Cy Young voting twice, and made three All-Star teams. He won a World Series ring, and while his resume wasn’t anywhere near Hall of Fame status, it was respectable. 25.6 career Wins Above Replacement.
He’d always had a bit of a rash streak on social media, but after retiring he’d pivoted to full-time social media reactionary. His feeds were filled with low-resolution and often wildly-racist memes about gang violence in Chicago, shoplifting in San Francisco, imagined litter boxes in schools and the entire notion of immigration. He belittled women’s sports, hybrid automobiles, and the idea that anyone could be an effective parent without hitting their kids. “My parents whooped me, and look how I turned out!”, he’d often note, the statement not making the point he thought it was.
I hated Trevin Hough, and now I needed him.
I scrolled his Twitter feed, wincing at the mix of bigoted sentiment, reposts of conservative grifters, and posts for “American-made” male enhancement pills. I didn’t want to be seen as following him, but I needed to catch him when he was online, and when he presented the best opening.
Then, I saw it.
News had broken that the latest edition of MLB: The Show, the major licensed video game of Major League Baseball, would for the first time include the ability to create female players in its Career Mode. Naturally, this was a threat to people like Trevin.
@TheRealTrevinHough: This is ridiculous. Women could never make it in the majors. It’s a man’s game, and these lib game designers need to quit messing with OUR sports @DadBodARod: Trevin, you posted a 7.13 ERA in your last season in the majors, and then no one would sign you the next year. Are you sure it’s YOUR sport? @TheRealTrevinHough: count the rings, bitch @DadBodARod: counting to one isn’t hard for me, I’m just surprised they even gave you one, you only lasted three innings in your one start in that series. They won in spite of you @DadBodARod: but I’m sure you were a great clubhouse presence, that’s why no one will hire you as a coach, right? @TheRealTrevinHough: who the fuck are you? You never played ball, you think you can do better than me?
Just how I drew it up.
@DadBodARod: As a matter of fact, I do. @TheRealTrevinHough: Yeah I bet. I’d strike your ass out on three pitches, send you home crying to mommy @DadBodARod: Prove it. I’ll bet you $10,000 you couldn’t get me out. @TheRealTrevinHough: lol that’d be the easiest 10K I ever made @DadBodARod: I dunno you got a full playoff share that year you almost blew the Series @DadBodARod: one at-bat. You get me out, I hand over $10,000. I take you deep, you donate $10,000 to a charity of my choosing. One you’re gonna HATE @TheRealTrevinHough: you’re on, pal
We’d been saving the money to build out a patio room, but if this went the way I hoped, we’d have a lot of plans to change soon.
It had taken consistent pressure to make sure that Hough didn’t flake on the challenge, but the argument caught a head of steam on social media, quickly earning the #BEEFBALL moniker, and fans and haters of Hough started competing fundraising drives. By the time a reporter from The Athletic had reached out with interest in covering our matchup, it would’ve been far too embarrassing for him to back out. I’d agreed to meet on his terms—a spring-training field near his home in Orlando. We’d persuaded a retired Major League umpire to attend, along with a handful of local college players who’d serve as fielders.
Our face-to-face introduction was tense, but polite; I could see a hint of a smirk as he observed my not-major-league physique in person. “I hope this is a real learning experience for you,” he said, squeezing my hand hard.
“I hope you saved for retirement,” I said.
A few moments later, we dug in in front of a small crowd of eager onlookers. His first pitch was high and tight, buzzing right under my chin.
“The batter’s box isn’t a safe space, snowflake!” he bellowed from the mound as I pivoted away. I shook it off, and stepped back in.
His second pitch buzzed over the plate, and I swung, missing as it broke hard at the last moment. If I’d felt like making a fuss, I would’ve had the ball inspected; he’d long been rumored to doctor the ball, and that was the kind of break only a healthy amount of spit could achieve. I still had two strikes left, though.
“No gender-neutral bathrooms here, kiddo!”
“That doesn’t even make sense, Trevin. Also, there’s a family restroom behind Section 102.”
His face searched for a comeback, but he just shook his head like he was shaking off a catcher. I took his third pitch—a curveball at the knees—for a called strike two. His stuff wasn’t major-league quality anymore, but he was putting everything he had into it, and it was still a big step up from both FunTimeZone and from Tyler.
“Facts don’t care about your feelings!”
“Jesus, man, would you just shut the hell up?”
He glowered, then reared back for his fourth pitch.
CRACK. THUNK.
Continued in Part III…
—Scott Hines (@actioncookbook)
Mike Gout killed me
Damn it, Scott, this is good. I totally get why Charles Dickens published on installments.