It was a cold, rainy day in New York when the train from Chicago arrived at Grand Central Station. The basic structure of the station, which he had visited for the first time many years prior, remained the same. However, layers of smoke and soot from the endless parade of locomotives had stripped the place of much of its earlier grandeur. All around him was a loud, unsettling lurching towards the future. The old train station was being torn down to make way for a new one. He had heard from others on the train that the new station was supposed to be better than this one, but no one had quite been able to articulate why.
The huge numbers of people stirring about—arriving from far off destinations or waiting for a train to take them to where they hoped to be—felt to him a bit like purgatory. The people at the station must change, he figured, but the station probably remained about the same day after day. He sympathized with that sense of stasis, with the steadfast refusal to acquiesce to the world changing around it. But, in the end, he reckoned while watching the construction, time still came to collect its debts.
“Just a little longer,” the nearly 38-year old ball player thought. “Traded for a 5th round pick.”
“Hello, Nicky.” The voice calling out from his past yanked him from his quiet reflection in the present. “It’s been awhile.”
“Vic, old friend. It’s nice to see you.” He meant what he said. He had known Vic Killgo, the Brooklyn bench coach, from his days in the Eastern League before Richmond shipped him back westward. He had the utmost respect and admiration for how the Providence slugger had carried himself and competed back then. The two were contemporaries straddling the cruel boundaries of professional baseball—player and former player—barely four years apart in age.
“Welcome to New York, Nicky. Baseball capital of the world. The team is thrilled to have you.”
“Thank you, Vic. I am excited to be here, too. Though I was a little surprised to get the news. I have been following the team in the papers. It seems like you were doing fine without me.”
“It’s been a good start,” Vic acknowledged while offering a small chuckle, “but Skip is not willing to take any chances. He is tired of losing to Philadelphia. Can’t stop talking about it. He wasn’t convinced the team was where it needed to be. But, he knows you’re going to help us get where we need to be.”
Nicky perked up at Vic’s use of the word ‘us.’ “How quickly habits change,” he thought. “11 years in one place and three months in another. Already ‘us.’” He understood the phenomenon well enough, though. He had known four previous versions of “Us.” A fifth seemed familiar enough at this point.
“What about the new kid? The baby face from your old team?”
“Who? Cook?” Vic asked, though his defensive body language betrayed his incredulity. “I can’t lie to you, Nicky. He’s a good player. Took my job and sent me here. I was bitter about it. Sure, I was. But, Skip wants to bring him along over time. But, he ain’t polished like you, Nicky. I know that firsthand. After 13 years under pressure in the league, you’re a diamond. We need that fight that you got now. And you got a heck of a lot more fight left in you than I had left in me.”
“Vic, you don’t have to talk to me like I’m a greenhorn. I know what it means when a team brings in a kid to play same position,” the man who has made his living off of his discerning batting eye said, seeing the future clearly.
“Nicky. We brought you in, too. Believe me, I get it. Better than most. But, there will be plenty of time to worry about the future when the future comes. The guys that had to worry about Cook are already across the water in Jersey City. We brought you here to win a Cup. After 13 years, you deserve to win a Cup. Heck, we deserve to win a Cup. Things are different here in Brooklyn. After carrying teams for more than a decade, you don’t have to do that anymore. You just have to do what you do best, and you’ll do just fine around here. Besides, his game reminds me of yours. He has a lot to learn from you. You can help him build something—live on a bit in the game after your body won’t let you do it the same way any more.”
Nicky took one last look around the orchestrated upheaval around him. “Alright, Vic. Can you show me where I need to go?”