The 823rd Hit (2012)
“I walked into the visitors’ locker room, and one of the Rogues asked me to relace his shoes. I was hunched over in the corner, and the players forgot I was there.
“Glad this is the last series in this crummy stadium,” one of the Rogues said.
“It’s the sorriest sight in the Prairie League,” another player agreed.
“I don’t like the showers here,” said a third player. “The water’s not hot enough, and there’s no pressure.”
What would they complain about next? That our grass wasn’t green enough? That our baseballs weren’t round enough?
I finished lacing the shoes and plopped them on the bench. The Rogues still didn’t notice me. Not even the guy who owned the shoes.
“The food is pretty boring here too,” he said.
“I miss the catfish fingers and hush puppies back in Rosedale,” said another player. It was Damien Ricken. He had just been called up from Rookie League. Ricken was supposed to be a big-deal pitcher.
By the time the game started, I didn’t care about seeding and school nights.
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