Page 20 of Through the Water

4

Killian

“It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone.”

-A. Bartlett Giamatti

The Snap Heard ‘Round the World:

Is MLB’s Golden Boy Finished?

The Houston Hurricanes have acknowledged that center-fielder, Killian Reed was forced to undergo emergency surgery after suffering a torn ACL, MCL, and meniscus during a one-game playoff to advance to the ALDS.

Reed, 26, was hurt as he rounded toward second base after a fiasco of a play against the Kansas City Bears. This injury is considered career-threatening for Reed, despite this being his best year yet.

He set career highs with 37 homers, 32 stolen bases, and 103 RBIs for the Hurricanes and has been invaluable as a clubhouse leader for manager Burt Morosi.

Morosi still believes that Reed will be back next season, regardless of the injury. “You don’t want to see any of your players hurt, but if anyone can come back from this, it’s Killian. He’s a smart kid, and I truly believe he’ll make an impact in someone’s life while he’s recovering.”

Garrett Sanchez, the Bears’ third baseman who snagged Reed’s high-chop, has other thoughts. “Look, he’s a fantastic player, and if he comes back, my guess is that he’ll be even better than he was before. But, if he doesn’t—and, I’m not saying he’s done—he might make an even bigger impact in his second career.”

Sanchez seems to believe that Reed could have his pick of jobs.

“He’s a guy with an amazing skill set. If he came back as manager or batting coach, I imagine he’d be very successful. He’ll land on his feet wherever he ends up.”

With Reed at the helm, the Hurricanes were favored to clinch the ALCS after making their first post-season appearance in eight years.

If Reed manages to return to the lineup next season, the Hurricanes can’t predict how productive he’ll be right away.

As you may remember, Los Angeles Rangers shortstop, Mike Cole suffered a torn ACL and meniscus two seasons ago. After undergoing surgery in July, he missed the remainder of the season. He returned the following year to one of his worst seasons yet—his .717 OPS was nearly 200 points lower than his performance a year before. After struggling through a rocky season, Cole hung up the cleats.

Reed is undoubtedly a more accomplished hitter than Cole—and nearly every other player in MLB history. And while no two injuries are alike, one cannot help but view Cole as a cautionary tale for the Hurricanes because, for the first time in years, uncertainty surrounds one of MLB’s most preeminent players.

Goddamn Sanchez.

I threw the magazine aside with a growl and dropped back against the pillows. Hinting I was done—as soon as I was out of this hellhole, maybe I’d pay him a little visit.

Let’s see if he backs up his statement when I’m in front of his smug little face.

“It seems bad,” my agent began, “But like I always say, any press is good press.”

I resisted the urge to tell him where to shove his press, and instead massaged the area between my eyebrows as if doing so might ward off the sudden headache.

“In what world would the end of my career be considered ‘good press,’ Theo?”

He tipped back in the plastic chair, balancing all of his weight on two legs before fixing me with one of his trademark grins. “Killian, you and I both know you’re not even close to the end of your career. So, you had a setback with the knee. There’s not a doubt in my mind you’ll be back next season, stronger than ever.”

“Are we just glossing over the fact that Sanchez happens to be your client, then?” I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. “Look, it is what it is, but the one thing we can’t ignore is where I go from here.”

His smile didn’t slip as he responded in an annoyingly even tone, “Look, we both know you weren’t happy with what the team was offering.”

In my infinite stupidity, I’d held off on signing a six-year contract with the Hurricanes—convinced another team would swoop in and offer more than three hundred sixty million.

Three hundred sixty million.

Clearly, I was a moron.

My mother had said as much when she saw me after my surgery. In fact, her exact words had been, “If brains were leather, you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug.”

---