Matt Belt - Baseball Fiction Series

It was mid-summer of 1989 and Fourth of July week was fast approaching.  People were looking forward to back yard cookouts, time at the beach, and fireworks.  But one 20-year-old kid was on a bus ride to what he knew was going to be the start of his future.  The New York Yankees had recently traded their center fielder Rickey Henderson back to the Oakland Athletics, which created an open spot on their roster.  Matt Belt had gotten the call and he was on a four-hour bus ride from Columbus, Ohio where the Yankees Triple A team played, to Detroit to join the Yankees.

Matt had flown through the Yankee minor league system like a kamikaze fighter pilot and he played baseball the same way.  He was quick in the outfield always covering more ground than the next guy, but he was also reckless when he played.  If he though he could dive after a ball he would be flying through the air like superman, and if a wall got in his way then the wall better move cause he was going to run through it to try and get that baseball.  His aggressive style was part of the reason that the Yankees were calling him up to the big leagues, but his bat was the major reason.  He was built like Willie McCovey with a large body frame and a powerful bat. As a left-handed hitter he could hit the baseball to all parts of the field including over the fence.

The long bus ride gave Matt time to reflect on his young baseball career, his life, his family, and his future. His emotions had more ups and downs than the flat roads between Ohio and Michigan.  However, he was trying to hide it because he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, the new big leaguer, in front of strangers on a bus.  He worried about things, like how he would fit in with the other players on the team who were older and more experienced than he was.  He would rationalize that once they saw how well he hit everyone would love him.  But, what if he could not hit major league pitching and everyone hated him because he could not hit.  The highs and lows of being stuck in his own mind, and on that bus for four-hours were excruciating.

When Matt arrived in Detroit he was able to got off of the bus, out of his own mind, and find a taxi to the team hotel.  Once there he dropped off his bags in his room, got a quick introduction to a few coaches and was wisked away to the ballpark for the game that day.  It may not have been the locker room at Yankee stadium, but it was still the visiting locker room at Tiger Stadium, and Matt was mystified.  It truth after almost 80 years of wear and tear the locker room was outdated and inadequate for the modern day ball player.  But, all Matt saw were the ghosts of the players who had been there before him, including Harmon Killebrew, Jimmie Foxx, and Lefty Grove.  He wandered aimlessly around the room for a while not knowing where his locker was, until a trainer by the name of Earl came up and grabbed him by the elbow.  Earl directed to him toward his locker and informed Matt to come find him after he had stored all his gear.  Matt dropped his gear on the floor, sat down on the long bench in front of his locker and just stared up at it.  It was not much to look at, basically a cage with wire walls and a few pegs to hang clothing, but to a rookie it meant so much more. Taped to the locker, scratched out on a plain piece of paper was his name, “Belt” and Matt could not stop looking at it cause it meant he had made it.  If he had bothered to notice the other players lockers, he would have seen that the top of their lockers all had a jersey number suggesting who it belonged too instead of a name.

A few of the other players noticed him and came over to introduce themselves.  Mostly small talk with a lot of “welcome to the club” or “welcome to the big leagues.” But Matt was a little intimidated and kept things short by not saying much more than “glad to be here,” followed by a lot of awkward silence until the player walked away. 

With his gear put away he went looking for Earl and found him checking some bats in the equipment  

room.

“Earl you wanted me to come find you?”

“Yeah kid, we need to get you a uniform.”

“Can I have number 30, I wore that in the minors.”

“Na kid, for now you get what we give you.  Maybe when we get back to New York you can pick a new number, but it ain’t going to be 30.  Randolph wore that number for 12 years before leaving last season and it is a little to soon to be handing it out.

Ok, so what do you got for me?

This one should fit. Number 47.

Matt took the uniform back to his locker and tried it on.  He ran his hands down his body and smoothed out the material of his uniform so it looked sharp.  He had a large grin on his face that no one was going to be able to dampen.  Matt went over to a mirror and admired his new uniform.  He wished it had been the classic pinstriped home uniform, but he was still proud of the word "New York" running across his chest.  One of the veteran players spotted Matt checking himself out in the mirror.  He crept over behind Matt and whispered in his ear, "feels good, don't it rookie" then ran away laughing before Matt could see who the player was.  It did feel good, and Matt felt untouchable in that uniform so he just let the teasing of the veteran player roll away.  He knew the day was only going to get better so he grabbed his glove and headed out towards the field.