Pride Mound

The sun was rising slowly over Hammond Stadium, casting the field in soft golden hues. The stadium was silent and peaceful—mostly because it was way too early for anyone to be awake and ready to play baseball.

In the dark morning light, two figures made their way from the clubhouse out to the center of the infield. The first figure proceeded across the field with determined steps, his slightly husky figure stopping dead center in front of the pitchers mound. The second came up slowly behind him, tall and lanky, and looking no older than thirteen.

“Well, Scotty,” the first man said as the sun continued to rise over the field, “this is all yours now.”

“Really, Gardy?” Scotty sounded doubtful, almost hesitant. “You’re sure?”

“Yep,” Gardy replied, hands on his hips.

Scotty stared around, scanning the entire field, looking more and more nervous.

“You’re the new ace, Scotty,” Gardy told the pre-teen, “this is your territory.”

The sun had continued to rise, and the field was now illuminated.

“Everything the light touches, Scotty, is your kingdom,” Gardy said, his voice deep and rumbling.

Scotty’s frightened face turned into one of awe.

Everything?

Light touched an awful lot. “Like the BMW I want?” Scotty questioned. Light had been touching it when he looked at it at the dealership. He was getting excited now.

Gardy resisted the urge to slap himself. “No, not like that—like the field.”

“Not the Ping driver I saw yesterday?” It was a $500.00 driver. He'd really like to not pay for it, if he could.

“No.”

“Are you sure? You did say everything the light touches.”

“It was a metaphor, Scotty. Haven’t you ever seen The Lion King?” Gardy seemed slightly exasperated.

Scotty blinked, then looked rather sheepish. “Yeah, but I don’t like it very much—I don’t like when Mufasa dies.”

“None of us do,” Gardy assured him, patting him comfortingly on the back. “But what I was trying to get to here, Scotty, is that now that you’re the new ace and Frankie can’t get into the country, and Boof can’t last more than two innings, you’ve got to rule the field.”

“Like a lion?” Scotty was trying his best to stick with The Lion King theme. “Am I—am I Simba?”

Scotty was in awe once again. Because if he was Simba, born to inherit the kingdom, that made Johan Mufasa, and the thought of Johan dying was almost as painful as the fact that he went to the Mets.

“Something like that,” Gardy said.

He was beginning to feel like maybe this had been the wrong way to try and explain things to Scotty.

“Wow. I never thought this day would come,” Scotty admitted.

“Me neither… but it has, Scotty, and you need to be prepared to lead the team to victory on the mound. Do you think you can handle that?”

Really, it was a lot of pressure to put on a twelve year-old.

“I mean, I guess,” Scotty said, “since it’s my destiny and all to inherit the field.”

He looked back out on the field and imagined the future: he threw powerful curve balls and fast balls too fast for the best of hitters. He saw himself getting double-play balls even when they weren’t needed. He threw no-hitters like it was his JOB… it was glorious.

“Good,” Gardy said. He was starting to feel exhausted. And he seriously hoped Scotty didn’t follow The Lion King metaphor all season. There was really only so far you could take it.

“One question though,” Scotty said, suddenly sounding concerned. He’d realized a flaw in his Lion King-like future.

“Yeah?”

“If I’m Simba, I’m going to need an advisor—and a crazy monkey that knows my destiny.”

Gardy stared at Scotty. He looked too earnest to let down. “I’ll talk to Cuddy and Red.”

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Because if anyone is going to be Zazu, it's Cuddy Bear, and if anyone is going to be a crazy, red-butted monkey, it's Mike Redmond.