Chapter Eight: Heading out to Chicago

Chapter Eight: Heading out to Chicago


Yesterday I was released from the hospital. I have to go to Chicago and meet Lou Piniella. I made it to the airport, then my seat, then Chicago, and then Wrigley Field. The Cubs were having a practice there. I saw a man in a Cubs jacket and a Cubs hat waiting in the parking lot. I walked out of my rental car and up to the man.
“Hello,” he said. “I’m Lou Piniella. You must be Daniel.”
“Daniel Evans,” I responded. “How’s it going?”
I reached out and shook his hand. He brought me inside the stadium and out onto the diamond. I saw a lot of Cubs players playing catch, pitching, and hitting. I knew everyone on the team in spite of the fact that I’m a Yankees fan. I love to pay attention to baseball. I could tell you any stat you want; I could tell you every player on every team (okay, maybe that’s a little exaggerated). Oh, and the fact that I’m a Yankees fan, I won’t tell them about that.
“Okay!” Lou said. “Everybody stop what you’re doing and come over to the dugout!”
The players obediently stopped and walked over to where Lou and I were. When they all arrived, Lou started to talk again.
“People, this is your new teammate, Daniel Evans. He spent two years at Harvard, graduated, and now is going to play with you as a Chicago Cub.”
The players looked at me as if I had a bomb in my hand. They seemed so disgusted with me. They must’ve heard what I did.
“Hey guys,” I said. “Waz sup?”
I had no clue what to say, I could tell in their eyes they hated me.
“So this is our new teammate,” one player said. “Out of all the people in the world, we have to have a college boy.”
“You were once in college too,” Lou butted in.
“Yea, but I knew how to drive in college.”
Lou just walked away without saying another word. One by one, the players spit at my feet and walked away. One player didn’t spit though, and he stayed.
“My name is Carlos Zambrano,” he said. “I’m also a starting pitcher, don’t worry about them.”
“Thanks,” I said. “You know what I did. Why are you sticking up for me?”
“Because no one’s perfect,” he said.
“I guess so,” I admitted.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he said. “Just prove that you made a mistake and that you can overcome it.”
I smiled and walked away. I met my pitching coach and got to work.