Page 7 of The Change Up
Standing, I bring my arms to my front. With my hand gripping the ball, I feel the laces. The scratchy material grazes over my fingers until I’ve settled my digits in the correct position for the pitch.
In fluid movements, I reach back and cock my arm before slinging it forward. The ball sails through the air in the perfectcurveball, the sound of the ball hitting the leather ricocheting through the field. It’s the best sound in the world.
“Hell yeah, Cody!” Hudson yells from the outfield where a few of the guys are running through drills.
Coach claps a hand on my shoulder. “Nice, Jacobs.”
And with that, the man of few words walks away.
Coach Callan Weber has been one of my favorite coaches I’ve had the privilege of working with. He has a tough exterior that hides his charismatic ways.
Weber was the youngest coach in our conference to be hired on as a head baseball coach at the ripe age of twenty-six. He helped his college team win two National Championships before he played three years in the major leagues where his team was a runner-up in his last season.
During the off-season, he suffered a career-ending knee injury on a ski trip with some buddies. Coach Weber encourages us to go out and have fun becauseyou never know what’s going to happen next—his exact words. But while he wants us to have fun, he still rules with an iron fist to make sure we are keeping our heads in the game and focused on what’s at stake.
Reaching into the bucket at my feet, I grab another ball before going through the exact same motions I did when Coach was standing next to me. Even though he’s not beside me observing, I take it just as seriously. Like Coach, I have that passion, that love for the game, that drive to win. I’m eager to bring home the hardware, and I refuse to be distracted. It’s why I don’t fuck around like the rest of the guys do during practices.
When we step between those painted-on lines, it’s time to get serious. No talk of girls or partying.
I want to win. I want to be better than my dad. I want to strive to be the best and accomplish my dreams. But if that doesn’t happen, I don’t want to live my life knocking othersdown like my father. I’ll support my teammates from the sidelines.
He had his chance, but arrogance got in his way. When he was in college, Dad thought he was the best thing to grace his university. While playing—the few games he played—his cocky, holier-than-thou attitude got him nowhere. He made enemies with his teammates, his coaches viewed him as problematic, and he wasn’t playing enough to gain the attention of scouts. This was all before his career-ending injury.
A long time ago, I vowed to walk the fine line between cocky and arrogant.
And to be better than him.
And dammit, I will be.
The clinking sound of weights hitting the racks fills the space as I walk through the state-of-the-art weight room doors. Practice was quick since we are hitting the road for our first tournament this weekend. Coach wanted everyone to get some reps in before a mandatory gym session to get some light lifting in. Everyone is feeling the buzz in the air.
Ty’s music is linked up to the room’s Bluetooth speaker. I watch the jackass attempt to bust out some trendy moves he probably saw on social media. Ty Billings is an excellent baseball player, but the dude has no dance moves. He’s one of the only guys on the team who will do anything the CTU Athletics social media team asks him to do, including viral goofy dances.
I make my way over to my favorite bench that the guys leave open for me. They know I’m a superstitious fuck. If I don’t follow my routine, I’m fucked for the week.
It’s ridiculous, but it’s how my brain ticks.
“Clear the way for King Jacobs as he makes his way to his precious throne.” Ty hollers, taking a break from the dancing. I flip him off over my shoulder as I keep striding to my spot. Reaching up, I pull my Bluetooth headphones up over my head, drowning out the distractions around me. There’s no way I’m listening to trendy pop music right now, not when I need harder music to get me in the zone.
Taking a seat, I lay back under the bar just as Drowning Pool’s ‘Bodies’ starts to float in through my headphones. Hard rock will always be the best weightlifting playlist, and that’s a bet I’m willing to take.
Reaching up, my fingers grip the cold metal bar as I begin to lift it from its position when Hudson appears out of fucking nowhere, almost causing me to drop the damn bar.
“Fuck,” I hiss. The motherfucker just laughs. Hud always helps spot me, but I didn’t see him in the weight room when I walked in. Since I’m just doing light reps, I didn’t think about a spotter.
Bending my elbows, I let the bar drop before I power it back up.
Bend. Press.
Repeat.
Bend. Press.
Repeat.
Lifting is such a repetitive action, but it’s my favorite way to calm my nerves. There’s nothing like a good weightlifting session to drown out the noise.
The guys and I wrap up our reps in the weight room before we all make our way into the locker room. CTU received multiple donations to revamp the locker rooms for all major programs. This is our first year using the improved space. Not only wasour locker room renovated, but CTU’s entire baseball facility was revamped in a multi-million dollar project.
