Easton Bennett has been seen with a young blonde while out and about in Florida, which continues to spur rumors that he’s not the father of his on-and-off-again girlfriend’s child. Maybe Bennett is housing Anna and her son until she can get back on her feet?
Don’t forget, the BoRes will have some charity events coming up, plus a chance to run the bases with your favorite Renegade!
The countdown begins until our Renegades are back in Boston where they belong…freezing with the rest of us!
The BoRe Blogger
Chapter 17
Cooper
Sending Ainsley the roses was probably the cheesiest thing I’ve ever done, but I had to show her that she was on my mind. The last thing I wanted her to think was that the night before hadn’t meant anything to me. It meant everything to me, and I want to show her properly.
After dropping my father off at the hotel, I made my way to the park to get ready for our road game. We’re traveling a whole twenty miles down the road to play Minnesota again. Today’s outcome will be different if I have anything to say about it. My workout with Bainbridge opened my mind, not only with my batting but with him as well.
He’s my teammate, but I want the starting spot. Cal Diamond could move me to another position in the outfield, but Kidd and Meyers are both stellar players, and the only way I’m taking one of their spots is if they’re getting a night off.
Maybe I should seek a trade. My agent can easily work a deal that gives the Renegades some draft picks, except this is where I want to play.
In the clubhouse, the guys are loud, and when I walk in they all say hi, everyone except Bainbridge.
“Rookie, we missed you yesterday.” Kidd slaps my back as he walks by. “Today, though, no excuse.”
“I can’t. I have to be up early,” I tell him. I don’t mention that I’m hoping Ainsley calls and I end up seeing her tonight. I also don’t want to tell Kidd that I’m planning on meeting Bainbridge here in the morning to work out. Jesus, just thinking about him helping me, and the fact that I want his starting spot, makes me feel like a fucking douche. It’s the nature of the beast, though. Bainbridge is my teammate, and that’s what we do for each other. I know that I have a lot to learn from him, but if the roles were reversed, I don’t think I’d be willing to help someone.
As soon as we’re dressed, we’re on a bus heading crosstown to Century Link for our game. I’m ready to avenge the loss from yesterday and show the coaches what I can really do. The Cooper Bailey that they were witness to is not who I am when I’m up to bat. I’m usually focused, steady, and know what pitches are for me.
The drive to the stadium is short, and when we get off the bus, the fans are waiting by the fence for autographs. I drop my gear and head over, taking the lead and start signing everything from balls, to bats, to programs and baseball mitts.
“Thanks for coming out,” I say as I sign my name. The first time I signed my name was the first game I played in college. Kids were lined up after the game eager for my autograph. They thanked me for a great game. That is when I realized that watching baseball was their entertainment, and I was responsible for getting the job done.
I never felt any pressure to get the job done in college or in the minors. Everything flowed naturally. I never felt uncomfortable up at bat or nervous in the outfield. Yesterday’s jitters could easily be chalked up to it being my first game, and with the added pressure, I freak myself out.
I continue down the line, making sure to get every single person in line. Even adults are lined up, pushing their merchandise toward me for an autograph.
“Are you excited to finally be a Renegade?” an older man asks, catching me off guard. In my mind, I’ve always been a Renegade. It was just a matter of being called up. When they drafted me, I knew I was pegged as Bainbridge’s replacement, so waiting a year in the minors wasn’t going to be an issue. I was able to excel there and pretty much forced their hand into either bringing me into the fold or trading me.
“I’m happy to be playing ball,”
I tell him. Playing baseball is all I’ve ever wanted to do. It’s really all I’ve known. It’s what I love. I’ve said this before. If I’m not playing for the Renegades, I’m playing for some other team.
“Can I have a picture?” a young girl asks as she leans over the fence.
“Sure thing.” I crouch down and get into the viewing space of her camera. She fumbles with her phone, trying to get us both in.
“Here, let me do it. My arms are a little bit longer.” I take her phone from her and snap our picture a few times, even giving her a silly-faced one.
“Thank you,” she says, giggling, as I hand her phone back. She huddles with her friends as they look through the photos.
“They like you,” Bainbridge says as we near the end of the line.
“I need fans if I’m going to compete with you,” I tell him honestly. He pauses and grabs my arm, halting my steps.
“We’re not in a competition, Bailey. We’re teammates, and that means we have each other’s back, regardless of who is out on the field playing.”
“That’s easy for you to say, Bainbridge. You have the starting spot that I want. I have goals that can only be achieved by playing. If we’re rotating, or I’m playing every third or fourth game, those goals will never be reached.”
He shakes his head. “You’re young; the accolades will come. Develop your game first, get a feel for what you have to do to better yourself. Most importantly, love the game and your team. We’re a family, and it’s not meant to be dysfunctional.”