wheel, first baseman Phil Steiner, shortstop Felix Oates and third baseman Jack O'Rourke were in the back.
"Get in," Collie told Terry.
Terry did and Collie drove off, to the tune of a little laughter from the backseat. Why shouldn't there be, the way the team had been playing recently? Also, Terry knew that a beer or two in the locker room after a game was more rule than exception.
"Got us a little party to go to," O'Rourke informed Terry. "Hear the women flow even more than the wine."
"Groupies?" Terry asked a bit inanely.
"Plus some local talent," Steiner chipped in.
"Rather just go home," Terry requested, cognizant of being by far the oldest here, with the likelihood he'd get stuck with whomever the others didn't want.
"You're in the big leagues now, Rookie," was shortstop Oates's way of ending the discussion.
Collie seemed to emphasize that by driving nowhere near their neighborhood. In fact he started to ascend into hilly terrain. The roads became treacherous. Then they turned circular. For some reason, Terry flashed back to the old childhood game "ring around the rosy." He had no clue where they were as Collie stopped the car.
"Sorry, Rookie," O'Rourke announced. "Forgot to mention, you weren't invited to the party."
Terry suspected that he was being had; all four of the others getting out of the car provided further evidence. And when they opened his door and pulled him out, there was no doubt.
"Meant to bring you a road map, Rookie," Steiner said. "But we forgot it. Hope you got a good sense of direction."
Right after Steiner's comment, they did play ring around the rosy of sorts. They spun Terry in a circle three or four times. Then they laughed and got back into the car. Driving off, they shouted almost incoherently at him.
About the only words he could make out in their jumble were, "Have a good time, Gramps."
Â
Rookies, according to long-standing unofficial big league protocol, didn't achieve any kind of recognized status with their respective teams until they had undergone some type of rite of passage. Terry knew that no matter how he performed on the field or what value he had for the team, he would sooner or later get his . Clearly, his teammates had taken advantage of his most obvious dependency on them, his constant need for transportation.
His earlier contentment when he left the stadium now changed to fear as he tried to figure out how to get home. He neither knew anyone in this hilly neighborhood, nor anything about the area. He assumed that his best option was to begin walking and hope he came upon something familiar.
But which way to start? He decided that whenever he had to choose a direction, he would pick the one leading downhill. They had driven a lot uphill, so his bungalow must be downhill. After beginning, he heard a dog barking in the distance, the way he was going. He considered that positive, since a dog would most likely be in a populated area, like his own neighborhood.
The night was getting cold and he zipped up the jacket he'd fortunately brought from the stadium. He passed a house with music and loud chatter coming from it and immediately thought of the party his teammates referred to. He had to laugh at himself for the thought, however. There was never a party; it was simply a ruse to dupe him. One that he'd fallen for, hook, line and sinker.
He continued downhill. From the next block, or certainly nearby, he heard what sounded like a wolf. Or, maybe it was a coyote. Whichever, he walked very gingerly, as silently as he could.
Then finally, after stealthily negotiating another half mile or so, he came upon a vista situated above a deep canyon barely visible in the dark. He was able to see lights down below. There were plenty of houses in the distance and he spotted what was unmistakably an arterial.
Encouraged, he quickened his pace and actually started to jog.
Â
Everything was becoming familiar to Terry. The shops and restaurants of downtown San Leandro. The
"Get in," Collie told Terry.
Terry did and Collie drove off, to the tune of a little laughter from the backseat. Why shouldn't there be, the way the team had been playing recently? Also, Terry knew that a beer or two in the locker room after a game was more rule than exception.
"Got us a little party to go to," O'Rourke informed Terry. "Hear the women flow even more than the wine."
"Groupies?" Terry asked a bit inanely.
"Plus some local talent," Steiner chipped in.
"Rather just go home," Terry requested, cognizant of being by far the oldest here, with the likelihood he'd get stuck with whomever the others didn't want.
"You're in the big leagues now, Rookie," was shortstop Oates's way of ending the discussion.
Collie seemed to emphasize that by driving nowhere near their neighborhood. In fact he started to ascend into hilly terrain. The roads became treacherous. Then they turned circular. For some reason, Terry flashed back to the old childhood game "ring around the rosy." He had no clue where they were as Collie stopped the car.
"Sorry, Rookie," O'Rourke announced. "Forgot to mention, you weren't invited to the party."
Terry suspected that he was being had; all four of the others getting out of the car provided further evidence. And when they opened his door and pulled him out, there was no doubt.
"Meant to bring you a road map, Rookie," Steiner said. "But we forgot it. Hope you got a good sense of direction."
Right after Steiner's comment, they did play ring around the rosy of sorts. They spun Terry in a circle three or four times. Then they laughed and got back into the car. Driving off, they shouted almost incoherently at him.
About the only words he could make out in their jumble were, "Have a good time, Gramps."
Â
Rookies, according to long-standing unofficial big league protocol, didn't achieve any kind of recognized status with their respective teams until they had undergone some type of rite of passage. Terry knew that no matter how he performed on the field or what value he had for the team, he would sooner or later get his . Clearly, his teammates had taken advantage of his most obvious dependency on them, his constant need for transportation.
His earlier contentment when he left the stadium now changed to fear as he tried to figure out how to get home. He neither knew anyone in this hilly neighborhood, nor anything about the area. He assumed that his best option was to begin walking and hope he came upon something familiar.
But which way to start? He decided that whenever he had to choose a direction, he would pick the one leading downhill. They had driven a lot uphill, so his bungalow must be downhill. After beginning, he heard a dog barking in the distance, the way he was going. He considered that positive, since a dog would most likely be in a populated area, like his own neighborhood.
The night was getting cold and he zipped up the jacket he'd fortunately brought from the stadium. He passed a house with music and loud chatter coming from it and immediately thought of the party his teammates referred to. He had to laugh at himself for the thought, however. There was never a party; it was simply a ruse to dupe him. One that he'd fallen for, hook, line and sinker.
He continued downhill. From the next block, or certainly nearby, he heard what sounded like a wolf. Or, maybe it was a coyote. Whichever, he walked very gingerly, as silently as he could.
Then finally, after stealthily negotiating another half mile or so, he came upon a vista situated above a deep canyon barely visible in the dark. He was able to see lights down below. There were plenty of houses in the distance and he spotted what was unmistakably an arterial.
Encouraged, he quickened his pace and actually started to jog.
Â
Everything was becoming familiar to Terry. The shops and restaurants of downtown San Leandro. The
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