I mean, why couldn’t he just throw strikes like he used to? I ever see him around these parts again, I’m gonna ask him.ĬLIENT CURRENTLY IN BARBER’S CHAIR: I bet his underwear was too tight. LOCAL BARBER: You’d think with all the millions they paid him he could just throw straight. Hell, my dog coulda thrown better that day. They shoulda drafted me instead-I coulda thrown better that day. Tyler Shaw thought his didn’t stink, but what stinks now is his arm. HIGH SCHOOL RIVAL: His ego brought him down, plain and simple. Poor bastard.ĬHEMISTRY TEACHER: He lacked discipline. I mean, six wild pitches in one inning? In the World Series? Damn. HIGH SCHOOL TEAMMATE: It was the curveball. One minute, he can throw a baseball the next, he can’t. Who wasn’t? It’s not every day a hometown kid plays in the World Series. a future I wanted, a future I’d earned, a future-I was convinced-I deserved.įORMER LITTLE LEAGUE COACH: Sure, I was watching that game. And before I could even legally buy myself a beer, I made my Major League debut. A few months after that, I was in spring training. Three months later, I was in Arizona for Instructional League. That night, I signed autographs for kids in Little League uniforms at the ice cream shop on Main Street-then I paid for all their double scoops. My senior year, I was San Diego’s first-round draft pick with a fucking two-million-dollar signing bonus. My coach said I was a once-in-a-generation player.
They retired my number and hung my jersey in the gym. Plenty of times.Īt my high school, I held the record for strikeouts and home runs. From sixty feet, six inches, I could break the webbing on the catcher’s mitt-and I did.
Back then, I could dot a gnat’s ass from two hundred feet away. I even had a nickname-they called me “The Rifle” because I pitched with such relentless speed and accuracy.
Once upon a time, I might have been the hero of this story.Īfter all, I had everything a hero needs.
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