The Last Summer. Chan Howell
have a clever line to describe what Wyatt could do to a baseball; he just shook his head in disbelief. The league was about to be turned upside down. Wyatt would rival our giant Travis Harrison’s trash talk and surpass Drake’s and Ogre’s abilities at the plate. Wyatt began to call Travis Ruby after he watched Travis dominate against one of the lesser teams. No one knew why. Wyatt would only say, “I’ll tell you one day.”
The Giant
Most of the league was Travis Harrison’s bowling pins, to be set up over and over only to be knocked down time and again. Travis and Wyatt became enemies despite the fact they were a lot alike. Travis was the best pitcher in the league and had been since we were nine years old. It was extremely rare for him to lose. He toyed with everyone while defiantly smiling at his opponents.
Travis made sure everyone knew how many times he had struck them out. His dad, Alex, was his coach, and his mom, Vanessa, was the stat keeper. He had stats on everyone. When I was eleven, I actually put the ball in play for the first time, and Travis pitched an epic fit that would make Donald Duck seem tame. I hit a slow grounder or, as Duckworth called it, a swinging bunt, to third, and I reached on an infield single, bringing my career stats to 1–12, with 11 strikeouts. My next at bat, he threw two fastballs at my head. Duckworth told Coach Alex if he did it again, he’d report his team. Alex laughed then nodded at his son. Travis then made quick work of me with three straight fastballs. My legs were shaking as strike 3 blew by me. Alex smirked at Duckworth as I shamefully went back to the dugout.
Travis was nearly six feet tall by the time we were twelve. He dominated due to his size, but also, he relentlessly worked at getting better. His favorite player was Roger Clemens, and he emulated his every move. Travis was at best an average hitter, but when he pitched, he never lost. The only time I ever finished in first place was when we were teammates at ten. I counted grass blades in right field while he threw a one-hitter in the championship game.
Travis’s dad and mom were the league villains, too, but those that sided with them felt like they did no wrong. Alex manipulated the draft each year to his favor and always had a great team. Alex was the president of the boosters’ club, and he used his influence for his own benefit many times. Alex was greedy and wins were the only thing that satisfied him. Alex and Vanessa both constantly argued balls and strikes. She would smile and sometimes wave at other parents when her son struck out their kids. If Vanessa befriended you, it was likely she needed something.
Alex was a stressed-out car dealership owner and was a feared boss. I think baseball stressed him even more. He never made it to practice on time. He yelled as soon as he stepped out of the car, and our parents’ eyes rolled the minute he arrived. I always wondered, was he planning his tirade while speeding late to practice? Alex did not like to lose at anything, and his intensity made the large man seem colossal. Alex was the only person I ever heard Duckworth say anything bad about. I heard Duckworth say many times, “Alex will live for forever because the devil does not even want him.”
Alex forced Travis to stay after every practice and throw another fifty balls. He earned being the best pitcher. He and Alex put in the hard work. Alex would constantly yell two things, “Perfection!” and “What are you doing?” It was common to hear Alex shouting at Travis, “Stop being such a pansy and pop the mitt!” Each year Travis and Alex would argue more despite always winning. They never had enough strikeouts or wins. Alex’s postgame speeches were always about the mistakes the team made and how they should be ashamed of themselves. Winning was not enough—he wanted perfection. Travis was a head taller than everyone in the league except Ogre. Travis and Alex only finished out of first place once since we were six years old.
The transition from elementary to middle school was not easy for Travis. He had spent the last few years of elementary school being the alpha dog, but the eighth graders made sure he knew his place. He was not bullied as much as warned. Travis had to keep his ego in check when around the older boys in the middle school. He became increasingly more difficult and disrespectful to those of us in the sixth grade. He constantly fired insults at everyone, and no one ever stood up to him except my sister. Whitley and Travis constantly argued. She would not tolerate his behavior, and as she put it, “You would be embarrassed to pitch your next game with a black eye.” She never followed up on the threat, and Travis just obnoxiously laughed at her.
Ogre
Darren Ogre Winslow was the biggest kid in the league and the best hitter. He led the league in home runs each year. He was a gentle giant, and he rarely spoke. He was already over six feet tall. He nodded at almost every word spoken his way or quietly said, “Yes, sir.”
His dad was the most intimidating man you ever saw. Every season, Jack Winslow drove a new jalopy that was full of baseball equipment. He carried a fungo, and he looked like he was on his way to an epic street fight or he had just left one. All your fears subsided as soon as he spoke. Words whistled out of his mouth through his missing front two teeth. When Ogre was nine, he hit a line drive at his dad, knocking out his father’s teeth. Jack loved when folks would ask what happened to his teeth, and he told the story while smiling toothlessly.
Jack was the local mechanic, and all his team’s baseballs seemed to be covered in grease. Jack was the nephew of Frankie Winslow. Frankie had raised his nephew, and baseball was their passion. Baseball and his son were his life. Jack could take one look at a player and find what he was doing wrong. He would even tell opposing coaches what their players were doing incorrectly. I believe half the league’s players were dropping their hands until he corrected them. Duckworth showed us the correct way to play baseball, and Jack fixed our bad habits.
Ogre was bigger and stronger than everyone, and his size and strength allowed him to be the best. He did not need Duckworth’s cues. Ogre threw hard but did not have a curveball despite using balls covered in car grease. Ogre seemed scared of the big moment, and he usually was outpitched and outplayed by Travis. Ogre always led the league in home runs, but he never boasted about how many he hit each season. Jack dated and kept every home run ball, and the balls were scattered throughout their messy house. Ogre hit his first over-the-fence home run at eight, and I remember Jack running up and grabbing his son as he crossed home plate. Ogre never even mentioned hitting home runs; we usually found out from the opposing team or the rumblings at Winslow’s. He was a menacing figure on the mound, and when he pitched, you lost.
Ogre and Jack cracked the code of beating Alex’s team the previous year. The code was to make Ogre mad. He rarely became angry, but Alex had woken something up in Ogre. He pitched with a rage I only saw during last season’s championship game. Alex Harrison called Ogre’s dad low-rent trash before the championship game due to a dispute. Alex Harrison refused to pay Jack Winslow for his services. Ogre’s pale face turned red, and he was unstoppable. He was able to ignore Travis’s taunts, and he focused on earning the respect Coach Alex owed his father.
Ogre and Jack lived a simple life, but a fun-loving one. Ogre had free rein of the town, and Jack let him go wherever he wanted. Ogre was always wandering through the streets of Swansville, and everyone in town knew the oversize boy. Ogre and his dad lived beside Jack’s shop in the middle of town, and their yard was full of old junk cars. They had an old goat in their backyard named Izzy. Ogre and Jack were generally seen walking to the same two restaurants each night. Jack never cooked, and the boy survived on BBQ from Kermit’s restaurant and whatever the special was at the Dixie Grill. Jack was a minicelebrity at the two restaurants, and when he and Ogre entered, everyone loudly greeted the pair. Ogre’s mom died during childbirth. The town seemed to be Ogre’s adoptive mother. Jack and Ogre were embraced by everyone. Baseball and cars were their lives. Ogre started helping Jack in his shop when he was five years old.
Ogre was usually dirty from head to toe except on game days. He got the nickname Ogre when he was in kindergarten, when our teacher asked the grease-covered boy if he had crawled out from under a bridge. The teacher’s assistant said he looked like a little ogre, to the laughter of the entire class. The following day, Travis Harrison brought the book The Big, Fat, Smelly Ogre for our teacher to read. I remember laughing, but I have regretted it since.
Ogre seemed hungry all the time despite never missing a meal. He would eat twice as much as any other kid in our class. I forgot my lunch for a field