Jack talks Quin into watching the kids throw

I think most of us want our lives to be a story worth telling. Most of us, however, do not feel that our life is a story worth telling, but at the same time we are afraid to take a step towards adventure. In this story Jack is inviting a reluctant Quin into a bigger story...

Preston interrupted the silence, “See the kid standing right by third. He’s the one I was telling you about. That kid has a golden arm, but no form to speak of, and I’m not sure I can teach him that much about pitching.”

Quin focused as well as he could from beyond the fence. The kid looked vaguely familiar. He guessed that he was most likely in one of his intro to lit classes. Physically the kid was striking, but not in an altogether good way. He was quite tall, probably about six foot five, but skinny, almost malnourished skinny. Being that tall and that thin he probably could throw hard, but he would probably fall apart mechanically in no time, and he would probably be wild. All these thoughts registered immediately and automatically in Quin’s subconscious. There was still some part of him, though it had been dormant for a very long time that knew baseball.

At the same time that he made his initial baseball assessments he came to grips with the ulterior motive in Preston’s offer to get him in shape. Jack had wanted him to come to the field, and see the kid. “He thinks he can hook me into this thing,” he mused as he still fought to catch his breath.

When he had caught his breath to the point that he was reasonably sure that he could talk, he said with as much irony as he could muster, “Is this the route you always run coach? I’ll bet you had no idea that your boys would be out here warming up.”

Preston was unfazed by the jab, “Of course I knew they would be here, I’m the coach, the skipper, the captain of the ship, and these are my boys.  They’re here because I told them to be, and when I tell them to be somewhere, they show because if they show up late, for even one practice I’ll sit there ass on the bench.” Jack had started talking casually, but by the end he was speaking with an intensity that made it obvious that he was the coach and had acquired the intensity of a coach.

He paused and looked at Quin, and then said with conviction mingled with humor, “And you’re here, Professor, because I want you to watch that kid throw the ball, and help me figure out how to help him with his pathetic form.”

“So the whole song about getting the poor old out-of-shape Professor of Literature into shape was all just one big ruse to get me to watch the skinniest kid I’ve ever seen throw a baseball?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you just ask?”

“Because, you would have said no, and besides I’m asking you now.”

“OK, well now I’m saying no.”

“Come on professor, just watch him throw, and then I’ll leave you alone. Besides you can’t have anything better to do.”

Against his better judgment Quin agreed, “OK, coach I’ll watch him this one time.”
“That’s all I ask Professor. Let’s introduce you to the boys.”