Deringer

 

                     by Darcey Kurashige-Elliott

 

 

            Joey sat in his office, staring nonchalantly at the black-and-white television. He organized and reorganized the mass of papers on his desk, but never got around to reading them. Leaning back in his office chair, he rubbed his day-old chin stubble and readjusted his cap.

            Welcome back to SportsCentury! Today we’ll be looking at the illustrious career of Greg Deringer, the greatest relief pitcher in history.

            Greg Deringer was indeed the greatest relief pitcher in the history of Major League baseball; the best of the worst pitchers in the major leagues. He was a force on the mound, his graying mustache and fierce slider overshadowed only by his love of chewing tobacco. Greg might have been more famous for his commercials than for his achievements on a baseball diamond; the camera was always pointed in his direction, and he always accepted it.

            “Hi, I’m Greg Deringer, the greatest relief pitcher in history. And let me tell you, chewing Stevenson’s Tobacco is like chewing pure gold.”

            “Greg Deringer here for Pain-Away. After I strike out the side, there’s nothing I like more than rubbing Pain-Away on my shoulder in the locker room. Pain-Away: it gets the job done!”

            Greg Deringer would sit in the locker room on game day watching ESPN on his Sony television, chewing Hubba Bubba bubble gum and relaxing in his black leather E-Z-Boy with his name and number inscribed in the headrest. Entranced by all of the opportunities to make fast cash, Greg Deringer never said “no” to anyone.

            Joey grew up in the shadow of his older brother. Exactly 4 years after Greg Deringer starred at Jefferson High School in southern Kentucky, Joey arrived as a gangly freshman. He tried out for the Mustang varsity baseball squad on their brand new AstroTurf grass and hit against their state-of-the-art pitching machine. Companies rushed to put their logo on the scoreboard in hopes of catching the eye of a television camera. Many of the major stations captured last year’s high school games, catching a glimpse of the soon-to-be future All-Star pitcher. Even though he was now gone, the logos stayed, corroding under the intense heat and gusty winds. Television was no longer interested in tiny Jefferson High, and neither were many of the students.

            Joey had never been a good baseball player. However, people recognized him for his famous last name. He made the varsity team based purely on one word – Deringer – and never played an inning.

            Greg was the greatest teammate a guy could have, he heard the other players say.   Greg always had my back.

            Hey, looks like Greg got all the talent in the family.

            It made him bitterly jealous of his brother. Greg Deringer never had to work for anything, whether it was baseball, academics, or girls.

            Hey, kid, don’t you wish you had a little bit of your older brother in you?

            And now, as Joey sat in front of his desk, watching the black and white highlights of his brother’s career, he had but one thought: This is going nowhere. His life was a mess; the loss of his girlfriend caused a lackadaisical attitude at work and a subsequent firing. He thought of stealing money from his parents again. He wouldn’t dare ask anyone for anything. Joey Deringer never took charity.

            Joey reluctantly pulled himself up from his chair, and searched for his jacket. No. I don’t need help from them. I don’t need help from anybody. He passed by the kitchen sink, full of dishes, and hesitated at the bathroom before heading for the door. He could live with the stubble. At the door, Joey noticed the answering machine, blinking a piercing red number one. He thought he knew what it would say: Joey? It’s Tanya. Look, baby, I really want to work this out. I’m sorry for what I said, OK? Call me. Checking his pockets for his wallet, he stepped out into the bitter cold and locked the door. He didn’t know when he’d be back.

            He reminisced about his life, and what it used to be – he could rely on his brother for anything. At high school, kids would swarm him, asking for the great Greg Deringer’s autograph. Joey loved the attention, even though it was never directed at him.

            Greg Deringer, on the other hand, was a different story. At the beginning of his illustrious career he enjoyed the media, the fans, and the endorsements. But soon he began to despise them, the way that they followed him around, the way that they would do anything just to get a wink or an autograph. Greg Deringer - Greg Deringer! - began to doubt himself. He doubted how his fans said that he would always be the greatest. He doubted what all that money would actually do for him.

            Joey shut the door to his car and started driving. I don’t want anybody. I don’t need anybody.  His face was a mix of anger and frustration; he didn’t know what he was doing, nor did he understand it. He only knew one thing: he had to find the only person who knew exactly how he was feeling. He took a left and started on the long and windy road to the house of Greg Deringer.

            He needed what his brother had: the fame, the fortune. Greg Deringer may have been the greatest relief pitcher in history, but he didn’t know how to handle the pressure. He retired years earlier than he could have, just because of the weight on his shoulders. Sportswriters commended him for retiring in his prime (“The Barry Sanders of baseball,” they called him) but they never knew the real story. Greg Deringer felt he couldn’t rely on anyone, and he needed to leave. He needed to escape.

            He didn’t know how to handle it. I do. I’d know exactly what to do. Joey’s hands were sweating as he clutched the steering wheel tightly. He clenched his jaw in anger, the flood of memories raining down around him. Even their parents favored his brother. It was probably because he promised them money. He promised everybody everything. Joey slammed his hand on the steering wheel in rage.

            “What did you promise me, Greg? What did I ever get from you?”

            He could feel the silence staring back at him. It was beckoning for him to say more. He knew no one could here him out here, on this deserted road.

            You didn’t give me anything except for false hope. Greg, you knew that I would never be the person you would be.

            “Look where I am now! Look at me!” You wanted me to be a failure.

            And I am a failure. Tears slowly started to run down his cheeks. He pulled the car over to the shoulder.

            Look what you did to me, Greg! This is what you should have been! You made me a failure!

            This is your fault. This is your fault, and I will never forgive you.

            Joey laid his head in his arms and began to sob.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            Greg drove into the familiar dirt driveway, and at once noticed an unfamiliar car parked in front of the garage. Parking his truck, he hopped out and locked the door, and walked towards the small sedan. Perhaps he was in need of help.

            “Hello?”

            No answer. He stepped closer to the vehicle, and could barely make out a figure in the driver’s seat.

            “Hello? Do you need help?”

            The man opened the door and stepped out into the night. It was wearing a hood, but he could still make out the face. It was familiar, and at once he stepped back. The features resembled his own. At once he knew who it was.

            “Hello, Greg,” the figure said.

            “Joey?”

~~~~~~~~~~~

            The house was cozy, a single-story farmhouse that could provide sufficient living quarters for two, at most. The walls were bare stucco, painted a light yellow. Furniture was scattered about the room, and a small television rested against a wall.

            “It’s small.”

            “I know. It’s exactly what I wanted.”

            Greg walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, its doors scattered with various magnets and papers.

            “Do you want anything to drink? I mean, I wasn’t really expecting anybody…”

            “No, it won’t be necessary. I won’t be long.”

            Greg grabbed a bottle of water and sat on the couch.

            “Uh…please…sit down.” Joey obliged. “So…why are you here? I mean…I haven’t seen you in…wow…”

            “I-I don’t know,” Joey answered.

            He stood up suddenly, and paced back and forth. He briefly thought of leaving. But this was too important. He had to get answers.

            He glanced at the mantle over the small fireplace. Various pictures sat there, dusty with old age and neglect. Joey’s eyes spotted some pictures of the Deringer family, smiles and all. He saw Greg’s high school portrait, littered with notes from schoolmates.

            Hey Greg, you’re an awesome guy. It was great catching for you.

            When you’re on TV, remember to wave to me!

            Looking good!

            Examining further, Joey’s eyes stopped on one single picture. The gold lettering above it read “Jefferson High Mustangs 1989.” Joey recognized the ad-filled scoreboard in the background. He recognized the grass in the outfield. It was a little too green. Joey grazed his finger across the faces in the picture, and stopped at the one at the very end. The face was of a gangly kid who was shorter than the rest of the players. His cap was exactly straight, and the bill was perfectly curved. His shirt was flawlessly tucked in. Joey looked into the eyes of this young man, and saw a kid too young for corruption, a kid who still believed that he could be the best baseball player who ever lived. Joey glanced down and saw a fire poker, hanging from a hook. His hand grazed the cold iron, and he slowly closed his fingers around the handle. He didn’t need answers.

            He heard his brother come back into the room, and heard a wrapper being opened. The smell of tobacco filled his nostrils.

            “Hey, kid, you looking at your baseball picture?”

            And Joey lunged.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            The house was situated on about four acres of grazing land. Five horses stood in the back, fenced into a large pen with a swinging gate. The rainy season hadn’t been kind to the land, and large puddles were situated throughout the property. It was a mess. Joey dusted the mud off of his hands and started to hike back towards the house, making sure to leave the shovel outside. It would rain the next night, and everything would be washed away.

            He felt no remorse. He knew that he’d done the right thing. His brother had taunted him for years and years, even though they hadn’t spoken. Every time he saw Greg on the television, he would cringe. The fame was supposed to happen to him. Everything that Greg never wanted, Joey did. Greg didn’t understand what to do with everything that had been given to him. Joey had to work for everything, and never saw any reward.

            It’s over. It will never happen again.

            I am a new person. No one will ever know.

~~~~~~~~~~~

            The man walked into John’s Grocery with a smirk on his face. He was feeling great. Picking up a basket, he walked around the store, picking up various things for his busy week ahead. After he finished, he walked up confidently to the cashier.

            “Hi. I’ll be getting these things…and this as well,” grabbing a pack of Hubba Bubba bubble gum.

            “Alright sir, that’ll be $22.60,” the cashier said.

            “Oh wait…I almost forgot. Can I get some chewing tobacco also?”

            “Sure…what flavor?”

            The man hesitated, as if unsure of himself.

            “Umm…just get me the Stevenson’s original,” the man said, stroking his mustache. “You know what they say…’it’s like chewing pure gold!’”

            “Of course.”

            The man handed over a credit card, and the cashier studied it a bit before looking up. A shocked expression crossed his face.

            “Oh my God! You’re Greg Deringer, the pitcher, aren’t you!?”

            The man chuckled a bit.

            “Yes sir, yes I am.”