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........................................| 93 In the fog, in the April chill, on the spongy green grass of Hadlock Field, young men play catch. It is a meditative rite of spring. Back and forth. The ball snapping between them. Pop–pop–pop. They throw in pairs, strong-armed young men who have all sipped the sweet bubbly of success on other fields in other towns. All have been stamped for greatness, been told they could truly believe. And now they are all the way up to Double-A, within range of the goal, though even among this select crew the majority will never play even one game in the bigs. Who will ultimately get the call? Talley Haines? Conor Brooks? Jonathan Papelbon? Marc Deschenes, still plugging along at age thirty-two? Out in right center field, beneath the fence with an inflatable L. L. Bean boot and the lighthouse that rises after every Portland Sea Dogs home run, two model-handsome characters throw the ball back and forth with some animation. Charlie Zink puts the knuckle of his index finger on the ball, digs into the hide with the long nail of his middle finger, and lets fly. The ball sails without spin through the moist air. At the last second it darts down and smacks Manny Delcarmen in the shin. Hopping mad, he picks it up, and fires back at ninety-five, aiming for the grass right in front of Zink. “Don’t get your panties ruffled, you Mexican!” Zink shouts, and the two howl with laughter. They share a loft in a green condo at the Junipers of Yarmouth apartment complex ten miles north of the ballpark, right off Interstate 295. Downstairs in separate bedrooms live their two other roommates, a couple of laid-back lefties, Kason Gabbard and Jon Lester. The apartment with four pitchers is ballplayer spare: nothing on the walls, dirty laundry piled in the corner, an Xbox with DVDs scattered around the floor, open cans of Bud Light, a few tins of Copenhagen snuff, plastic bottles of Aquafina water filled with brown pools of tobacco juice. They play poker and spend hours with MLB 2005, the one with Manny—Ramirez—on the cover. After games, Manny and Charlie like to go to the bustling Old Port, hitting the bar circuit at places like Gritty McDuff’s and Liquid Blue. They usually wind up on Fore Street, snickering at the store called Condom Sense (with its displays of penis pasta and candy bras) and making their 7 Opposites Attract Portland, Maine 94 | chapter 7 way to their favorite joint, the Fore Play Sports Pub. There they play fierce games of pool, with pretty young ladies surrounding the table, the beer flowing, paying sporadic attention to the last inning or two of the Red Sox game playing on twenty-four screens. When they dismount from Charlie’s Yukon Denali at the condo in Yarmouth, the Maine night above them is cold and quiet. ● True friendship in the minor leagues is rare. For one thing, the lifestyle is too transient. Players are constantly coming and going, getting promoted, getting demoted, traded, or released. You don’t have to spend long in pro ball before you see a teammate getting tapped on the shoulder by the clubhouse attendant, called into the manager’s office, and sent packing, sometimes dragging a wife and young kids across the country. Pretty much everyone has known the telltale moment when the clubbie rips the athletic tape with a teammate’s name off the top of his locker, wads it up, and tosses it into the trash. As former Red Sox scouting director Wayne Britton advised just-signed draft picks Brad Baker in 1999 and Manny Delcarmen in 2000, avoid getting too close to teammates. Save yourself the trouble. The larger, more unspoken reason why friendship is uncommon is that beneath the feel-good hokeyness of the minors lies a culture of ruthless competition , particularly among people playing the same position. Simply put, a fellow pitcher or fellow shortstop’s success is bad for you. His failure—or injury—is good. Everyone is vying for a few golden spots. Here in 2005, when major leaguers earn a minimum salary of $316,000 and an average of $2.63 million while Charlie Zink pulls in $9,500 ($1,900 a month for five months), you don’t see a lot of looking out for number two. But Charlie and Manny are tight. They first...

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