Tyler Edell

THE SHARK, THE CATCHER, AND SPIDERMAN

I had never accomplished something of this magnitude. I was chosen as the catcher for the 16-year-old Goodwill Series team. I was on my way to Australia to play against the top Australian baseball teams in my age group. Granted, I expected the trip to be different, but I had no clue what was in store for me.

                  The day is the thirteenth of December. This is my first trip out of the state in my whole life. Needless to say, I almost break out crying every time I hear screaming or I think that I lost my ticket at the airport. It makes me feel really idiotic, considering that my argument to keep my mom from coming was that “I can take care of myself, mom, I’m 16 for God’s sake!”

                  I can’t even stand up for myself when a toddler decides to punch me in the butt when I’m waiting in line to check in. I guess that explains why Diego and I immediately don’t like each other.

                  The first thing he says to me is, “Yo, you Mark? You look pretty gay with that hat. *Pff* Loser.”

                  “Shut the hell up, jerk.”

                  “Scuse me? You sound like you’re trying to start a little scuffle here. Is that it, bitch? You wanna fight?”

                  “No, man, forget it.”

                  And with that terrifyingly pitiful attempt at proving my manhood, I sit down. Shortly after, three more kids show up, each welcomed by Diego’s observation about how “gay” they each look. As it turns out, this is the team’s core—the catcher, me, an amazing pitcher, Mike “Maverick” Sinadry, the shortstop, Diego “Spiderman” Rivera, the third baseman, Brandon “Lightning” Leonard, and the first baseman, Tony “Cujo” Rocca. All we are missing is the second baseman, whom none of us had met. As soon as we had run out of things to small talk about, right when the moment gets awkward, we’re greeted by a tough-looking kid with,“Sup guys? You ready to kick some ass?” To which Diego replies, “Nice shirt, retard. What are you, gay? *Pff* Idiot.”

                  “Yes, actually, I am.”

                  He seems to notice how awkward this makes us all feel and decides to change the topic with a pleasant smile, “Well, I’m Shark and it looks like I’m going to be playing second base with you boys.” None of us can tear our stares away from him as he picks up his bag, stiff wrists and all, and walks toward the boarding gate.

                  “There’s no way he’s sittin’ behind me.” Diego says with a sideways grin.

                  We then finally choose to follow him to the gate, and get on the plane. After an especially long-seeming flight spent next to Diego, I arrive in Australia. As I step off of the plane, the warm air hits me like a truck full of bricks.

                  “Oh, crap!” is the only phrase that comes to mind. I forgot it was summer here. My wardrobe consists of corduroy pants, fleece pullovers, and beanies.

                  From this exclamation, Diego, the brilliant little devil, concludes that I am an idiot, and says, “Dude, you’re such an idiot.”

                  “Thanks, Diego, I really couldn’t figure that out for myself.”

                  The coaches now decide to inform us of our room assignments. “Okay, now for room assignments: Shark, Diego, and…”

                  I know what the name is before he even says it.

                  “Mark.”

                  So that was it, Diego, Shark, and I have to spend the next fourteen nights sleeping in the same room.

                  “This is going to be hell.”

                  “You said it, bro.”

                  I am so lost in thought that I don’t even notice that everyone has left; the only people left are Shark and Diego, no doubt, waiting for the key to the room. We are all a little tired from the ridiculously long flight, and I am as eager as they are to get some rest. Only I know we won’t be getting any. The night is rocked with arguments and fights whose equals I had never experienced.

                  For Diego, his night consists of making derogatory remarks about homosexuals, and asking if people wanted to “start a little scuffle, here.”

                  As for Shark, his night consists of refuting the derogatory remarks and getting into those scuffles with Diego. I, on the other hand, simply get tired of getting flailing fists of fury in my face. I sleep in the bathtub after putting up with it for approximately three hours. I can only guess what went on with them.

                  It probably went something like this: Diego would say, “Hey, homo!”

                  To which Shark would reply, “Listen, man, I’m gittin’ sick of this shit, back off.”

                  This, of course, would upset Diego, because he hates to be outdone. He would surely make another remark, which I cannot repeat, and Shark would have hurt him. Now Diego would back off for a little while, until he stops crying, at least, and then go right back at it. This is the best I can do, because I’d hear yelling, fighting, and then nothing for about 15 minutes. Then it would all start again. I could have set my watch to it.

                  The next day, our play is horrid. Diego refuses to catch a ball thrown by Shark, for fear that he might get “cooties.” This angers Shark, so he refuses to cover the base on any steals. And since I am the catcher, I start flipping out. The whole center of our field falls apart. It is as if we are playing without a catcher, short stop, or second baseman. Needless to say, but I will, nonetheless, the coaches are not very content with us three. They decide that the best course of action is to pull a “breakfast club” and lock us up in a room for six hours. I don’t bring to their attention that the whole reason we had become enemies is because of the night we had just spent together, in a room, for well over six hours.

                  This time, however, I have a plan. I am going to use the one thing that had always given me a place, whomever I would be with, poker. Poker has the ability to take men from around the world, no matter what race or belief, and bring them together. When I first discuss the idea with Diego and Shark, they welcome my suggestion with:

                  “What the hell are you thinking?” says Diego.

                  “Diego’s right, you are an idiot.” adds Shark.

                  “Yeah, man, right on. This kid’s been botherin’ me since I first met him.”

                  “You too? I thought I was the only one who didn’t like him.”

                  “No, believe me, Shark-o, nobody likes him. Hey, man, I’m really sorry about all the gay cracks and stuff. I didn’t mean any of it. I say it to everybody, but now that I know somebody who is gay, I see how wrong it is. I’m really sorry.”

                  “Don’t worry about it, buddy, I’m over it.”

                  I am getting fed up and decide to chime in with, “Hey! What about me? I didn’t do anything to you guys! Our teamwork is still going to be all screwed up if you guys don’t like me!”

                  Now, it’s great that these two guys are getting along now, but what the hell? Their hatred of me brought them together. They decide that the team would not really suffer as long as I shut up and do my job. Granted, I wasn’t too happy about this, I like to be liked. I shouldn’t be too bitter, considering we go 8-3 the rest of the trip, and they are all close games. What really gets me is that they don’t like poker. And what kind of a person doesn’t like poker?