Bond, Ray Bond: Part One

[Ghosts]

Niihama, Japan – June 15, 2032

Ray Bond walked into the Niihama locker room with all the confidence of the new kid on the first day of junior high. Ray had spent the prior two seasons as a lynchpin of the Ghosts rotation, but there was no sense of homecoming whatsoever as he walked into the locker for the first time since last October.

As the Ghosts finished a roller coaster 2031 season and farewell tour of the WIL, Ray ruptured a disk in his back during his final start of the year. He’d already surpassed his previous career innings pitched in a season by over 60 innings – and that total had surpassed his previous high by 40 innings – but he waived off the trainers’ concerns over usage. The Ghosts were jockeying for playoff position, and Ray was vital to their efforts. “I feel perfectly fine!” he remembered snapping at his manager, as his manager discussed the possibility of skipping starts toward the end of the season. Stubborn as a damned mule, Mom always said.

The truth was that he’d felt anything but fine. The 26-year-old was waking up with aches and pains that he imagined were reserved for one’s Golden Years. Quit yer bitchin’. He probably abused his granddad’s favorite maxim, but it was a useful tool for indulging his self-abuse. Besides, break the routine, lose the momentum. This was the overriding anxiety that drove Ray’s militant adoption of routine. He’d managed to win double digit games in both 2030 and 2031. He was walking guys at the lowest rate of his career. And the Ghosts had a chance to make a run at the WIL championship despite finishing 2030 in second to last place.

When the back gave out, Ray wasn’t surprised. When the trainers told him, “Best guess, six months of recovery,” he was a bit surprised. The fact that in 2031, the only thing the medical team could tell a professional athlete was that they could wait and see, or fuse two of his vertebrae together, he was more than a bit surprised. Now, after eight months of rehab, standing in a familiar room that felt completely alien, he was in shock.

Nothing felt the same. His old locker was occupied by a “Holder”. His old locker neighbors were gone as well. As he searched for his new locker, he scanned the nameplates and didn’t recognize a single familiar name. So foreign were the names that his anxiety over whether or not a locker for him had even been set aside barely registered. He would have missed it, if the name plate hadn’t been a piece of masking tape with “R. Bond” markered over it. He dropped his trainer bag onto the bench and surveyed the names of his new lockermates: C. Stinton and J. Allen. Stinton’s locker had a funk that matched the disarray of its contents, while Allen’s looked oddly light in décor. He took note of the smaller than usual bag and lack of personal effects. Ray shoved aside his jitters and began dutifully setting up his own locker. Maybe learn from this Allen cat and don’t get too comfortable.

This early before game time, there was usually no one in the locker room, but the sound of water flow coming to an abrupt halt within the aging plumbing of the Ghosts locker room snapped him out of his reverie. Ray sat quietly and continued to organize while keeping an eye on the shower area. He was anxious at the thought of meeting one of his new teammates. Almost none of the names on the active roster were ones he recognized from the WIL. No, these players were PEBA quality. Maybe a bit too young or a bit too old to be very competitive, but guys that wouldn’t stoop to the WIL.

You’re a fraud, Ray. You might have forgotten it for a moment, but you do not belong here. There’s a reason that you don’t know a single player on this team. They just haven’t remembered to dump you like they did with the rest of last year’s squad.

Distracted, Ray missed his new teammate’s exit and was startled by the presence of a tall, gaunt, towel-covered Japanese man sliding toward him on the old maple bench. “Hello Mr. Ray Bond! We are so very honored to have the team’s strikeout and wins leader from last season’s excellent team to join us! My name is Seishero Kokuro,” the man, as youthful in appearance as he was friendly in demeanor, extended his hand graciously.
He knows who you are! Very, very cool! Ray suppressed his relief and smoothly shook Seishero’s extended hand, being ever so careful to turn his body as little as possible in the process. “Thanks, Seishero. Where were you playing last year?”
“Ahh, I am afraid I was unable to play last year, as I was on the Tempe reserve roster for all of last season. And the season before that, as well. I was deeply honored when I was selected by the Niihama-shi Ghosts during the rule five draft. I am also honored to call you a teammate, Mr. Ray Bond,” Seishero stood and bowed deeply.

Damn this rube is our starting centerfielder? No wonder this squad has lost a season’s worth of games by mid-June. “Hey thanks, Seishero. Anything I can do to help out the team, I’m all about it.” Ray flashed a smile and returned his focus to the critical task of organizing his exercise bands.

“I am heartened to hear you say that, Mr. Ray Bond,” Seishero’s voice boomed much louder than before, startling Ray. “For too long, this team has grown accustomed to losing. I feel great shame in my part of that, for although I work as hard as I can, my bat is weak and my glove has failed me too many times. The Ghosts need a man who has seen our beautiful green colors win glorious victories. You are that man, Mr. Ray Bond!”

Ray looked the man over, and felt compassion for his apparent sincerity. Ray couldn’t help but to want to be the leader this guy was hoping he’d be. “Look, Seishero, I’ve never been that guy. I can’t just show up here and take over. But I swear to you, I won’t settle in to complacency. I’ve been busting my ass since October to get a chance to pitch again, and now I’m about to make my PEBA debut. I promise, there is no lack of motivation here. Cool?”
“Very good, Mr. Ra-“
“Dude please call me ‘Ray’ or ‘Bond’,” Ray quickly interrupted.

“Very good, Ray,” Seishero smiled widely.

His first introduction to a teammate hadn’t gone according to fears, but Ray’s restlessness only grew. The realization that in a matter of hours he’d have to pitch to Andres Hernandez and Danny Burke gave rise to a hurricane of anxiety that caught Ray off guard. I think I preferred the fear of being outcast in the locker room.

Seishero, waiting patiently next to his new teammate, spoke softly but clearly, “When I was preparing to take my first at bats for this team, I was awash in fears. So great was my imbalance, that I did something I had not done in many, many years.”

Without breaking from an almost catatonic gaze into his locker, Ray managed to query, “What was that?”

“I meditated,” Seishero said, chuckling to himself. “I have never been a spiritual man, and I had to ask around to find some incense. The groundskeeper had some for me. He’s a good man. I like him very much. Warm.” Seishero paused and continued to smile, reveling in the memory. “I got about a minute into the ritual my grandfather ingrained into me before it hit me.”

After a moment of silence, Ray realized that he was expected to ask what had “hit him”. Annoyed with the prompting but grateful for the company and the attempt to relieve his stress, Ray relented, “What hit you, Seishero?”
“That all my fears were silly, of course!” Seishero announced the reply in his previously boisterous tone. Seishero stared at Ray grinning, until Ray finally had to relent further and meet his gaze.

“That’s great, dude, but I don’t think it’s silly to get nervous about facing talent of this caliber for the first time. I’m probably going to get smoked out there,” Ray felt little relief in exposing his fears, obvious though they were.

“Haha but that’s just my point, Mr. Ray! I suck!” Seishero broke into a fit of laughter. “Of course I will do badly! And of course we will lose!” Seishero could barely get the words out he was laughing so hard. “We are a bad team! If I must compare myself to Luis Cervantes or Pat Watson… I am a very bad player. Bad players play badly, so why be afraid of playing badly? You see?!”

Ray couldn’t help but be infected by this crazed man’s laughter and started laughing as well.

“And you know what, Ray, I think maybe you suck too!” Seishero hunched so deeply in his laughter that he slipped off the bench entirely. Ray’s mild laughter spiked into a fit to match Seishero’s and he, too, slumped to the locker room floor. For a moment, Ray’s mind was light, and he could only note how gross the thin carpet of the locker room floor really was and how potent the stink of this Stinton kid's locker truly was.

As the two recovered, Seishero spoke again in an earnest tone, “Well maybe you suck. Probably not like me, but you are probably not as good as “Badger”, the man I faced in my debut. He has a fastball… drops like a curve… and a slider… oh my God, it bites.” Seishero took a moment to catch up to Ray on recovering his breath before continuing, “I went 0-3 that game. Weak chopper after weak chopper. But, my friend, I got to play baseball in PEBA. There is no greater stage. If you let it be, it’s FUN. I will tell my grandchildren about 2032 with a great and permanent fondness. No one can ever take these moments away from me. I will say to them, I got to play with “Tugboat” Smith and Vincent Powell,” Seishero smiled, turned to Ray, and elbowed him gently, “And Ray Bond.”

[Apollos]

Great story! You had me rolling at a couple good lines in there

[Ghosts]

Great story! You had me rolling at a couple good lines in there

Thanks, Brian!