Page 1 of Switch Pitching

1

ETHAN

MARCH

“Sullivan.” Coach Priya Kelly’s voice pierces through the phone loud and clear, jolting me fully awake. It’s blustery and cold in Portland, Maine, perfect for a day off from training, and I was planning on taking it easy.

“Yes, Coach, it’s me. What’s up?” I know there are only a few reasons why a minor-league player gets a call from their head coach during the off-season.

One: Coach butt-dialed me. She opened the call with my name, so that’s not what happened.

Two: I’m being sent down a level, back to double-A. Ihopethat isn’t what’s happening.

And three: someone from the Boston Falcons wants to talk. They’re our major league affiliate, and I’m on their reserve roster, but I don’t get my hopes up. For all I know, they could just be shuffling the roster positions.

“How fast can you get to the team office?” Priya asks.

“I can be over in ten minutes.”

She chuckles. “Easy there, Ethan. Take a couple of breaths. Get ready, and I can’t say much, but you’ll probably want to clean up for this. Your agent should have sent you an email, so read that and meet me in my office at ten.”

I check the clock on my microwave just as it flips to 8:57.

“Got it, see you then, Coach.” My phone beeps as Priya hangs up, and I open my email app. As promised, there’s an email from my agent, but it doesn’t say much, only that he’s “bound by non-disclosure until the upcoming meeting”, and that he “negotiated toward an optimal contract” on my behalf.

Not knowing what exactly to make of the whole situation, I spend the next half hour frantically getting ready. Priya sounded positive, but I can’t know for sure. I bury myself in a compressed version of my morning routine before I bundle up, head out, and walk across the street to the Portland Schooners’ head office before 9:50.

Pushing the front doors open, I make my way up the stairs to the third floor where the coaches work, and I see Priya unlocking her door right as I’m about to leave the stairwell. I hang back for a few seconds to give her time to settle before I stride in, trying hard to keep my pace normal.

“How did I know you were going to be early?” Priya asks with a gentle smile.

“That’s just how I am, Coach.”

She laughs. “Ethan. I’ve been telling you to call me Priya for the whole two years you’ve been on the team.”

I shrug, and she invites me to sit across from her desk in a scratchy-looking gray armchair.

“Okay,” she starts. “I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you to the office on your day off.”

I nod.

“Ethan, I’ll keep this straightforward. Some people from Boston wanted to talk to you.”

My expression stays neutral, but my chest tightens. A few months ago, I was told that I’m a top pick for promotion, but Boston’s roster seemed solid. There weren’t any signs that they’d call me up any time soon. Of course, I could be removed from the reserve list altogether, but teams rarely send people to break that kind of news in person.

Priya continues. “They originally wanted to come here themselves, but…” she trails off, waving toward the worsening snowstorm outside her office window. “Unfortunately, their jet got diverted to Manchester because of this freak March blizzard.”

“Oh.” That’s all I can muster.

“That isn’t an issue, though, since Boston’s representatives and your agent have all authorized me to speak to you on their behalf.”

“What did they want to say?” I ask.

“As of last night, Jonathan Velazquez became a free agent, and Boston found out that Seattle poached him. $47 million over three years.”

My eyes widen. $47 million? And Velazquez?—

“And Velazquez, as you know, is an outfielder, so Boston is down one. They want you.”

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