YOUNG AT HEART | RETIREMENt
Safe at Home
A Short Story
“You’re OUT, old boy!”, the umpire shouted, as Joe tried to slide into home plate under the tag. The aging ballplayer no longer had the speed to score from second on a single. Joe knew he was out and didn’t bother disputing the call. Struggling to his feet, he brushed the orange clay from the seat and knees of his uniform pants, limping back to the dugout.
Joe had spent his entire career in the Bulldogs organization. He was once the star short stop who could do no wrong. Sportswriters praised his powerful hitting, stellar fielding, and speedy baserunning. He had once been called “the future of the franchise.”
But age and injuries were catching up with him. As he entered the twilight of his career, homeruns were turning into pop flies; ground balls he used to field cleanly now snuck into the outfield past his gloved left hand; and his speed on the basepaths was more turtle-like than hare-like. Joe continued to give his all to the team. It’s just that his all was not what it used to be.
“You’re OUT, old boy!” The coach told Joe when making the line-up card for the next game. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to bench you. Jayden is faster, more agile, and a more reliable hitter than you. He’s the future of the franchise.”
Joe was devastated by his benching, after all the years he had dedicated to the team and all the heroics he had delivered in clutch moments. He had more game-winning RBI’s than any ball player in his era. He won two batting titles, a homerun title, and the league MVP award. Accompanying these offensive achievements, Joe won an impressive six “Golden Gloves.”
“This really stinks,” Joe thought to himself, recounting his conversation with the coach. It hurt to be cast aside for a younger but less-proven talent. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, but he didn’t.
As Joe watched Jayden take his place on the field, he felt like the “old boy.” His spirit was more than willing, but his flesh was unquestionably weaker. Still, each day, he came to the ballpark early and stayed late, working on his batting and fielding, wanting to be ready when his name was called. But, with each passing month, he heard his name called less often. And with the decline in playing time, his love for the game began turning into resentment and bitterness.
“You’re OUT, old boy!” the general manager told Joe after the last game of the season. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut you from the team. And unfortunately, there’re are no other teams interested in trading for you.”
As quickly as that, Joe’s career was over. On that September day, he packed his locker, and said goodbye to his team-mates. He made one last tour of the clubhouse, walking past the many photos of himself that hung on the wall, and the World Series trophy he helped win. As he exited the stadium for the last time, he saw no reporters with microphones in his face. The door to the clubhouse closed quietly behind him.
An equipment manager named Ryan volunteered to drive Joe to the airport so he could make his flight to Norfolk, before catching an Uber to his home in Newport News. “Before you go, can I have your autograph, Dave?” the equipment manager asked Joe as he got out of the car, not even calling him by the right name. Ryan figured he might be able to sell Joe’s autograph for eight or ten bucks on E-Bay.
If there was a silver lining at the end of his career, it was that Joe might finally be able to spend time with his family. Between winter league, spring training, and away games, Joe figured he had slept in his own bed only about a third of the time during his career. He had relationships to rebuild.
But, upon arriving home and paying the driver, Joe found his house empty. There was a note on the table in the foyer, saying that his wife Amy, who had become active with the School Board over the past few years, was at a meeting. His daughter Colleen was at a play rehearsal. And his son Jackson was at lacrosse practice.
Joe dropped his duffle bag in the front hall and plopped down on the sofa in the living room, feeling old and unwanted in the big empty house.
But while it’s true that the house was big, it wasn’t quite empty. The family dog, Beau, a golden retriever, was there. Joe smelled Beau’s familiar scent and heard his dog tags jingling.
Beau had been a loyal family pet for a dozen or so years — always eager to play and always a reliable source of companionship. Beau had been there when Colleen needed a shoulder to cry on after not getting the part she wanted in a play. He had been there to lick Jackson’s face after the boy had gotten into a fight with his best friend. And he was there to play watch dog for his wife Amy, after there had been a string of break-ins in the neighborhood.
Beau had always been there for Joe also — accompanying him whenever he practiced his batting during the offseason. The dog eagerly fetched balls that Joe hit into the outfield, returning them to the pitching machine near the mound.
But that day, Beau moved slowly toward the sofa where Joe sat. He panted sweetly, but he clearly had trouble walking without pain, his back aching and his ligaments sore. And he slept most of the time these days. Approaching Joe, Beau slowly wagged his tail, carrying a ball in his mouth, before plopping down himself at Joe’s feet. Beau still had the spark in his eyes, but he was past his ball-fetching and game-playing prime. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak.
When Joe’s kids came home that afternoon, they quickly gave their dad a hug before heading to their rooms for a change of clothes before rushing back out.
“Can I have the car keys, dad?” Jackson asked Joe before meeting up with his girlfriend.
“Hey, pops. I’m spending the weekend with my friend Tina’s family at their lake house,” Colleen said. “Can I have some money for food?”
Joe should have felt lucky to get even that much conversation from his kids. Poor old Beau didn’t even get noticed.
An hour or so later, Amy came home and greeted Joe a little more enthusiastically. She gave him a long hug and sat down on the sofa with him to listen to him talk about his final days with the Bulldogs. She then shared a little bit about what was going on at work herself. Now that she had been elected as an officer of the School Board, she told Joe that she might be away more often.
“Why don’t you get a new puppy?” she offered Joe, suggesting that might help him transition back into the active household. “You can take him on walks. You can play ball with him. You can teach him new tricks.”
Joe scooted off the sofa onto the floor to sit next to Beau. He patted the loyal dog on the head and gave him a gentle hug, wondering what might be going on in the dog’s head.
“This old boy is all the dog I’ve ever needed,” Joe told Amy. “He’s got a lot more left in him than anybody realizes. There’s no way in hell we’re getting a new dog.”
Hugging Beau, Joe said, “You’re SAFE, old boy!”
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