6. Head Games

[rossi]

The ball left the bat with a solid "CRACK" and from the sound itself, Ray knew it was out of there. The crowd had jumped to its feet as one, it seemed, even those rooting for the Phillies, and the wave of sound from the stands was something he'd never heard before. Ray tossed the bat aside and began his round of the bases, the fifth time that game, pausing after reaching home to raise his helmet in acknowledgement.

It was the tail end of his rookie season. It was the biggest moment in his life.

Later, much later, in the locker room, in the quiet after his fellow Tigers and coaches had expressed their accolades and gone, Ray opened his locker.

"Any son of a bitch can hit home runs, boy."

Ray yelped and slammed the locker shut.

"You okay, rook?" It came from the catcher, on his way to the showers.

"Um, yeah. Just... stubbed my toe. You know how that hurts like hell." Ray waved off the reaction. "I'm fine, Carl."

"Better be. Don't want to mess with that streak of yours."

Ray waited until Carl had gone, then cracked open the locker again. "Jesus. You scared the crap outta me."

The disembodied head of Ty Cobb, sitting on the shelf next to his spare cup and a tube of lineament, glared at him. "Don't blaspheme, boy. I won't have you take the Lord's name in vain."

"Sorry." Ray's voice turned quickly humble - he knew better than to incur Cobb's wrath. Dead or not, the man knew how to punish what he saw as a 'smart mouth'. "I hit five homers in five at-bats. That's gotta show for something, right?"

"You want to hit homers, you get yourself in with that pig Ruth. That's not what I taught you, boy."

"Yes, sir." Ray's shoulders dropped. Somehow it seemed he could never please his ghostly mentor.

"Still, you done good, boy. Even up against that coloured pitcher. I haven't seen anyone throw like that since Johnson." There was something akin to a raising of the corner of the mouth - on anyone else, it might have been a smile, but it was lost in the hard planes of Cobb's face. "Niggers in the major leagues. I never thought I'd see the day."

Ray winced. "We don't talk like that any more, Ty. Not 'less you want to get hit with a lawsuit. Or worse."

"I'm dead, boy. I can talk any damn way I like." Ty's eyes went hard again. "Hit the showers and then straight back to the hotel. You've got a big game tomorrow."

"But the fellas wanted to buy me a beer, to celebrate today..." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Ray regretted them. An impact like a slap flared across his cheek.

"Beer is for bums like Ruth. You want to be the best, you've got to put in the work. Your body is a temple, boy. Treat it like one. You drop your discipline, they'll be on you like wolves." Cobb's head lifted off the shelf, floated towards Ray almost menacingly. "Showers, then the hotel. Make sure you stretch."

"Yes, sir." Ray rubbed his cheek and meekly obeyed his mentor. Cobb was a hard taskmaster, but you couldn't deny the results.