Page 7 of The Problem with Players

Cameron grumbled and stomped off to the dugout. A few teammates tried to pat him on the back and tell him it was okay, but Cameron shrugged them away as he moved to the back corner of the dugout. He took off his helmet and threw it to the ground.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry…

“Fuck!” he blurted out, covering his face with his hands. He broke down into tears.

Crap.

Every time he did that, I felt my own heart shatter.

I walked over to him and sat on the bench beside him. I clasped my hands together and remained silent for a moment. I wasn’t good with seeing others cry. I didn’t show emotions at the level of the average human. The last time I cried, I was eighteen years old—almost two decades ago—so seeing other people cry made me feel highly uncomfortable. It was probably something I should’ve seen a therapist about, but to see a therapist, one had to open up, and well, no, thank you.

I grimaced as I raised my hand and patted Cameron on the shoulder. “There, there,” I muttered. “You’ll get them next time, Cam. This is just preseason anyway. This game doesn’t count.”

“You said every game counts, Coach K,” he replied.

“Did I? Well, yeah. But this one didn’t. Every game but this one. You’ll get it next time.”

I stood and removed myself from the situation because it felt odd to remain sitting there. If I were falling apart, I wouldn’t want people to be around, watching me and giving me pitiful shoulder pats. I gave him space and privacy to pull himself together.

I coached the rest of the game, only for us to lose by a handful of runs. Cameron would probably beat himself up for striking out, but it wasn’t a huge deal. Our team sucked every single year. I was kind of surprised that the school district didn’t cancel our baseball team to save a few bucks, but they did invest a lot of money into the state-of-the-art sports facility after Nathan’s success in the Major Leagues. The district was convinced they could become the breeding ground for Major League players. It hadn’t happened much, especially with the baseball team that yours truly had overseen.

Maybe this year will be different with Coach Erickson gone. One could only hope.

The first week of March,I was called into the principal’s office only to realize that the district had been discussing our team’s bad performance. Instead of canceling the team altogether, Principal Raymond, or Ray as I called him, had gathered an even worse idea. One that made my blood boil from irritation as I sat across from him at his desk.

“You’re bringing on another coach?” I asked, stunned. “Without giving me a chance to vet them?”

Ray combed his hand through his thinning blond hair. “I really hope you understand, Avery. We truly believe in your coaching abilities and your team’s talent.”

“So why the heck would you bring in another coach without asking my thoughts? Frankly, I don’t know if I need another coach. I have the team under control. The season is just beginning. We’re just getting our sea legs back on the field.”

“Yes, I understand that. But, well, you haven’t won a game in three years, Avery.”

Had it really been three years since we’d won a game? No way.

There was that one time back in—oh crap.

We hadn’t won a game in over three years. That wasn’t the best look.

“That was because of Coach Erikson. I’m not him.”

“Still…three years.”

“But another coach?” I grumbled. “Why don’t you just cancel the program?” I sarcastically said.

“Because it’s a great program and a good way for the students to build up their skills. Yet we think having another coach could benefit us in ways we couldn’t even imagine. I know you wouldn’t want to lose the program, either. You’ve invested a lot in this. This is a good thing, Avery. This is agreatthing.”

He was right. I’d hate to lose the program. A lot of the kids relied on baseball to keep their heads above water with whatever home issues they were dealing with. It was their outlet, their haven, and I didn’t want to remove that for them. As a teacher and coach, I always swore to put the students’ needs before mine. The only problem was that I was a lone wolf. I didn’t work well with others. I spent the past five years fighting Coach Erikson tooth and nail on every topic. The idea of another coach coming in was enough to make my skin crawl.

“Do I get to be involved in the hiring process?” I asked, almost knowing the answer already by how Ray was acting.

“We went ahead and handled that for you. They should be here any second now,” Ray said as he glanced at his watch.

I arched an eyebrow. “You already hired someone?”

Before he could respond, a person came darting into the office in a flurry.

“Sorry I’m late. Got held up a little bit at my brother’s shop.”

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