Читать книгу The Last Summer - Chan Howell - Страница 7

Ducklings

I started playing baseball when I was four years old. My first coach was Jim Duckworth. Everyone called him Duckworth, and our parents loved him. Everyone in town knew him since he worked the counter at the post office. He taught us the fundamentals, but more importantly, he taught us that baseball was supposed to be fun. The baseball phrase “Ducks on the pond” meant something different to many of us. Coach Duckworth called us his little Ducklings, and our first-year T-Ball team was named the Ducks, despite our jerseys looking like the Pittsburgh Pirates of the 1970s. He constantly shouted, “Ducks on the pond!” along with many other phrases, and I believed he coined them. He was a walking, talking baseball-reference thief. We all knew how to field with our feet, alligator hands, line up our door-knocking knuckles, punch the midget, and many more. I thought these were all his original phrases, until I was much older, when I heard other coaches yelling the same things. He stole everything, and I still viewed him as a genius despite it.

Duckworth had been through T-ball, C-Ball, and Little League before with his eldest son. We were players in his life’s second act. Drake had a much older brother that died before Drake turned three years old. Donnie was a basketball star that passed through too quickly. He died at sixteen years old in a tragic hotel fire. Duckworth’s dream for Donnie would fall short, just as the reach of the fire truck’s ladder. Donnie had been an all-state point guard his sophomore year. Stardom was on his horizon. Duckworth had relentlessly groomed him into a Division 1 college prospect. Donnie and his dad argued constantly over sports, with Donnie usually throwing some type of embarrassing tantrum. Donnie and Duckworth had a love-hate relationship with each other but also with basketball. Duckworth was more of a coach than a father to Donnie. Donnie consumed the game as his father insisted, but his hatred for losing was only matched by Duckworth. Duckworth once stormed the court during a middle school basketball game and threatened a referee. The police had to escort him from the school’s gym, and he was banned for one year. The story did not seem true, and many folks could not believe his transformation when coaching Drake.

Duckworth and his first wife’s marriage collapsed under the pressure of not having Donnie follow through his sure-to-be-successful junior and senior years. Drake’s mother moved away, and Duckworth was left alone to raise their son. Betty Duckworth left town in the middle of the night, and no one knew where the dark-haired beauty had escaped to. She also left Drake her athletic genes. She had been a standout track star, and Donnie and Drake inherited her athleticism. Betty had state records that were still unbroken in the 1,600 meters and 400 meters. Drake and Donnie both had her long legs and dark-olive skin. Drake never mentioned his mother, and he avoided every conversation about his superstar brother.

Duckworth had gray hair and a stubbly gray beard. He had an infectious laugh, and his gregarious nature made people flock to him. He walked with a limp due to knee surgery a decade earlier. He walked like an old cowboy, swinging his stiff right leg. Duckworth eventually married our elementary principal, and Drake later became a big brother to Ashton. Principal Duckworth catered to Ashton’s every request. Ashton was Little Miss Swansville, and the two spent the summer on the pageant circuit. We rarely saw Principal Duckworth unless it was a school function. Ashton embarrassed her older brother every chance she got. She was a blond, blue-eyed bundle of energy and was full of personality at five. She and Drake looked nothing alike. Everyone gushed over the young beauty and showered her with compliments. She constantly showed us her new tricks. Drake usually avoided his little sister at all costs. I remember Drake telling me, “Here she comes. Let’s disappear.”

Duckworth was much older than all our other coaches, although he seemed younger. He was full of energy, and his booming voice welcomed everyone that set foot on the baseball field. He grew old at the same pace we grew up. It happened in the blink of an eye. Duckworth went from running bases and giving jump high fives to pitching batting practice sitting on a bucket. He was not hard on Drake like he was with Donnie. Donnie was forced onto the court, while Drake was encouraged. Duckworth wanted to enjoy everything this time around, while Drake wanted to be the best. Drake had the natural desire Duckworth cultivated in Donnie. Donnie was just a natural talent, whereas Drake had to work for it.

We excelled at baseball because of the fundamentals Duckworth showed us when we were four and five years old. We all still shouted the same batting and fielding cues he taught us before we knew our ABCs. The letter L was the first letter I could identify because of Duckworth. When I was asked by my kindergarten teacher to show the class the letter L, I stood up and lifted my arm in its shape as Duckworth had shown us one hundred times. The laughter from my classmates was the first of many embarrassing moments.

I believe Duckworth’s currency was hearing all his former pupils shout those stolen baseball cues years later, because his teams rarely had winning seasons. Eventually his cues were known league-wide, and every other coach seemed to teach his players using them. Duckworth seemed to know everything about baseball, and he wanted us to consume his knowledge in the event we needed it for future Ducklings. He told our parents and the team after each game, “I love you, and God loves you, and I am proud of each one of you.” We believed him.

Duckworth liked having the youngest and least experienced kids on his team; thus, Drake never had team success despite being one of the best players every year. I played on his team the last two years, and I went from marginal player to key contributor. Duckworth developed my skills that had been ignored by other coaches while letting me patrol right field. He woke up my dormant abilities. I began to love the game, and I consumed everything he taught me. Finally, Drake and I would be competitive and have a shot at an elusive championship.

Drake did everything with precision and played the game perfectly. Drake practiced every day, and the baseball field was his sanctuary. He was an artist on the field. Each year that passed, Drake’s play became more automatic and the game was effortless. I felt he could play with his eyes closed. He stopped socializing, and he seemed to no longer enjoy the game as each season passed. He rarely stopped in at Winslow’s. A Cheerwine with his friends had little value to him; he would rather stay on the diamond. I remember watching him once for twenty minutes practicing on the field alone with no baseball. He mimed it. He and his shadow looked like they were in a delicate ballet that they had trained for their entire lives. Watching him calmed my nerves and made me feel like I was in the presence of Baryshnikov.

The pressure Drake put on himself to be like his older brother made him too serious, and his calm demeanor gave him the look of confidence. He was labeled cocky. Outsiders disliked the quiet boy. Duckworth knew Drake was not born with his older brother’s natural abilities. Drake was born with something more. Drake begged his father to stay after every practice so he could take more batting practice or field grounders. Duckworth always obliged. The setting sun signaled the end of practice for him, not a coach’s whistle. Drake consumed his father’s knowledge in near silence. He rarely even spoke to his dad. Duckworth said enough for the two of them. I began to join the extra practices; thus, Drake and I were dynamic at turning double plays.

Coach Duckworth’s mantel was a shrine to his eldest son with trophies and first-place ribbons. A picture of Donnie dunking a basketball in the eighth grade sat over the middle of the fireplace. It served as a reminder to Drake of his brother’s dominance. Duckworth never emphasized winning with Drake, but Drake wanted to be his father’s second chance. He believed his father deserved it.