2063.01: The Groundskeeper

[shoeless.db]

The stadium smelled old. Not that nose-wrinkling mothball smell permeating from a grandparent's old chest found in an attic. Not the scent of yellowed newspapers piled in a long forgotten closet. Nor the musty odor of mold seeping outward over long-neglected cinderblock. To Shoeless, the stadium simply smelled like it wanted to be old. Wanted the game played atop its manicured grass and keenly raked dirt to harken back to a different time. An older time. A hand-hewn lumber time. To cotton jerseys worn loosely over farmer or miner or railroad worker muscles. Bodies earned toiling under the burning sun or the deep dark of pickaxed walls. Like the ballpark didn't care about superstars or flashing screens or gimmicky promotions.

To Shoeless, the stadium known to the world as McDermott Park at Ebbets Field didn't want to be a stadium at all. It seemed to only care about the game played within its walls. And the thought sent a shiver lightning up his back to the hair on the back of his head.

"Mr. Shoeless, sir," a voice said. A deep voice. Hard and grumbly. A voice that sounded uncomfortable saying the word sir. And it knocked Shoeless out of the trance caused by his first visit to his new place of work. "I'm needing a purchase order to replace some screens on the face of the second deck."

A purchase order? For some screens? From the general manager? The gears in Shoeless' mind ground and screeched as he came to the realization that things were likely a lot different here than they were in Sacramento. There, money was a secondary concern. Sometimes not a concern at all. What was needed was simply purchased. Every want was satisfied. "Where's the facility manager or bookkeeper or whoever does that sort of stuff?"

"Everyone quit," the man said without the slightest expression on his wrinkled, sunbaked face. He pulled his dirty Robins hat from his head and beat it against the side of his well worn blue jeans. A cloud of dust permeated outward, causing the air around the man to match the long-sleeved, button down shirt he wore, which was likely white when it was first purchased but years of work had left it threadbare and soiled. "The brass, anyway. All loyal to Mr. Heuring. They either left with him or just, you know, left."

"Everyone? Just you and the security guy at the door are left?"

The man's cheeks cracked into a slight grin. "No, .. sir. Just the brass. You're stuck with all us old-timers who polish and mow and rake the place."

"Concessions?"

"Stuck with them, too."

"So only the brass." Shoeless repeated, attempting to comprehend what he'd just been told. To makes sense of all the work ahead of him. He scratched at his chest. A nervous tick. "Why all of them?"

The old groundskeeper locked eyes with Shoeless. His grin gone. He pulled his hat back over his head. "Mr. Shoeless, sir." There was no stutter in his voice. "No offense, but your reputation beat you here."

"My reputation's that bad, huh?" Hearing it out loud surprised Shoeless much less than he thought it should. He gestured to the man, "Why'd the rest of you lot stay?"

"Hell, why does anyone do the kind of work we do? It's baseball. The BBA. Best damn place on earth. So can I get that purchase order?"

"Take them down."

"Sir?"

"All of them. Every screen. Take them all down. Throw them away. Donate them. I don't care."

"Every screen?"

"And every damn thing that's not necessary for what happens on the field. All I want is seats, the lights, and a fucking organ." He paused for a second. "And I'll get a dugout full of grown men worthy of playing a kid's game in such a place."

Shoeless watched a smile overtake the groundskeeper's face. Then he turned and took in the field and stands surrounding them.

The ballpark still smelled old. Everything about this place smelled old. Along with this groundskeeper.

[JRamirez]

I love how you describe the odors and dust. I need to include more sights and sounds, and smells in my stories.

[Dington]

So weird seeing that avatar next to your name.

[lordtoffee]

Best of luck Shoeless. I think you can do what I couldn't.

[chicoruiz]

Hey, was a minute… that’s how my grandkids describe MY smell…