The Unnatural *Wattpad Featured Story*

Chapter 5

 Jed Scorpion stands beside the entrance to the tunnel that leads from the clubhouse to the field. Senior team leaders Mike Baron and Travis Miles go first, and the rest of us trail behind with Jensen, Fluke, and I bringing up the rear. Even though we're mere rookies, we've played a lifetime of team sports that enable us to sense the unspoken pecking order.

Before Jensen, Fluke, and I pass by Scorpion, he says, "It's your first Opening Day. You'll never forget it."

He sequentially locks his ice-blue stare onto each one of us, and then adds, "They can't all be like today, fellas. Or else you'll burn yourselves out. But don't let that stop you from enjoying it."

I bolt past Scorpion like I'm afraid he might rethink his decision to let me take the field, leaving Fluke and Jensen in my wake. I want to tear down the tunnel, screaming at the top of my lungs, as a primal blast of approval answers me from the stands. I'm not a football player, but I'm so charged up that I want to be cheered like one.

It's all I can do to merely jog, instead of sprint, across the cracked cement that lines the dim passage. A musty odor that isn't quite hidden by recently applied Pine-Sol teases my nose as I pass. The faint smell of decaying flesh makes me wonder if a mouse or rat had recently met its demise down here. The Court's foundation is showing its age. But I don't care. I'm too busy yearning to reach the sunlight that shines from the end of the tunnel.

I'm not in the lineup. But that doesn't matter to me. I can still pinch-hit. Or replace someone who suffers an injury or take over as a defensive replacement. I can't let myself believe that the Baseball Gods will let me rot on the bench my first day in the big leagues.

If I start thinking like that, I won't be ready in case I do get in the game.

As I approach the tunnel's far end, the buzz from thousands of fans talking and laughing merges with indistinct music from the stadium PA system. Even this sub-current of crowd noise seems unnaturally loud for a guy accustomed to minor-league parks.

I emerge from the narrow canal into welcoming back slaps from my amped up teammates. We laugh. We joke. We high-five. We assure each other that the Twinkies don't stand a chance against us today.

We line up along the first base line, our cleats toeing the even white line machine-dyed into the monochromatic artificial turf. Meanwhile, the Minnesota Twins stand across from us along the third base line. The PA announcer introduces every player on the Jesters' roster, saving the starting lineups and no. 1 starter Wayne Renfro for the end. Country music icon Garth Brooks sings the national anthem.

Just as Brooks blasts out the final stanza, a charcoal-gray B-2 Bomber from Whiteman Air Force Base soars over the stadium. The dull gray wedge looks more like something from Batman's special weapons arsenal rather than a working military asset. Fireworks shriek and then explode over the stadium in red, green, blue, and orange showers as the crowd bursts into a welcoming roar to greet the baseball season.

And then I sit my ass down on the bench.

I must confess, I'm frustrated. Energy courses through my body, and I have nothing to expend it on. I want to grab a bat, charge into the clubhouse tunnel, raise it over my head in a caveman grip, and bash the concrete wall until my weapon bursts into a thousand irreparable fragments. Perhaps after I've broken enough bats to build a pyre for the doomed Twins, I might feel satisfied.

Or perhaps not.

What I really crave is a hit. One single, solitary hit will make my first day a success. But I'm not going to get that hit unless Jed Scorpion decides to break my major-league cherry on my first day.

I try to distract myself by looking around Jester's Stadium. Despite weather reports of drought in Kansas City, I can't tell from the dugout. While AstroTurf doesn't depend on rain, the grass embankment behind the left-field wall still grows lush and green. Either the groundskeepers in Kansas City have performed a better paint job, or they have access to nutrients, fertilizer, and water that their counterparts in Arizona had lacked. Everything here looks well-maintained and healthy.