“Then something’s wrong,” said Megan, “and not with you. My ear is to the ground. The pitching lineup appreciates you.”
A glance passed between the two managers. “Told ya’ she’d have a notion about it,” said Dave. “She played women’s softball at University of Texas. On scholarship, too. Made a name for herself. She knows the game.”
A lump took root in her stomach as a pair of sparkling green eyes again came to mind. She glanced from the pitching coach to Dave, the team manager. Might as well throw the elephant into the room.
“Brian Delaney,” she said.
She had fun watching their jaws drop. “Why are you surprised? He’s just as unreliable for public events as he is on the mound. I obviously have no clout with him and am certainly out of ideas. Sorry.” She began to rise.
Dave held up his hand like a traffic cop, and she sat down again. “Brian Delaney is either brilliant or a screw-up on the mound.”
True. She’d watched enough games to see both. But could a pro team afford to have a clown in the lineup? Three pair of eyes were on her. “What?” she asked.
“What can I do about him?”
“We think it’s an attitude thing. Not a skill thing.” Dave steepled his hands, elbows on the desk. “We want you to…to be his handler for the rest of the season. Figure out what makes him tick, get him to show up for every practice.”
The man didn’t look too happy himself when he met her eyes. “Megan, the boss upstairs has a gut feeling about the kid.”
Feelings. The sport was built on feelings. And performance, of course. She preferred the statistics route herself. “With all due respect to Mr. Weber, Brian Delaney was drafted out of college, so he’s not a kid anymore, at least not in a baseball sense. At this point, have you considered trading him? If he’s a problem that doesn’t want to be solved, you might as well cut the team’s losses.”
Dave shook his head and leaned toward her from across his desk. “We need him right now. After last night’s game, we’re down to three starters. Damn tendinitis!
We’re calling up two players from the minors, of course, so we have our roster of five starting pitchers. Delaney’s one of that five and the only left-handed one we have.” He paused, stood and slapped the desk. “I repeat, we need him, Megan. It’s either now or never. Can we develop him into all that he can be on the mound, as well as help the team maintain an honorable standing in the league?”
She was being pulled under. Hope and frustration swirled through the air. Heck, they were all frustrated. But the men were looking at her for hope.
“No technical training involved,” said Rick. “I’ll handle that, but with you in my corner, we might get different results.”
“I-I’m not a miracle worker.”
Dave opened a top drawer. “Your resume’s right here. You’re smart. You’ve played the game, you majored in psychology and communications…”
She held up her hand. “But I’m not a psychologist. I just love the game! But speaking of…has he spoken with the shrink yet? Our sports doc is really good.
He knows how a ball player’s mind works.”
Dave’s eyes fell. “He won’t go. Says he doesn’t have a problem. He’s doing his job.”
She jumped from her seat. “He won’t go? Just like that? For crying out loud, fine him! Maybe if he’d stop cruising the clubs every night and get some sleep, it would help. Does he think he’s Babe Ruth? That guy caroused, but when he played ball—he played to win!”
Pacing now, she wondered why she’d allowed her own emotions to kick in. Was it because she hated to see wasted talent, or something else?
“He’s paid fines twice already, without an argument,” said Rick quietly. “He’s an untapped keg of potential. If I only had the key to…” his voice trailed off.
“We’ve invested a ton of money in him,” said Scott, the general manager.
“Either he comes through or I’ll recommend cutting him.” His gaze touched on each of them. “My job is telling Harold the facts and providing a well thought-out opinion. In the end, he’ll make up his own mind.”
“We don’t want to cut him.” Dave said immediately. He glanced at Megan, then looked away, then back at her. “There’s one thing he does like,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. He likes women. And he likes you.”
“Women? I can believe.” But liking her? Impossible. Brian Delaney didn’t know she was even alive. “If the players like me, it’s because I speak their language, and I don’t waste their time.” Her voice softened. “And believe me, I take their camaraderie as a big compliment. In general, the guys trust me. They come through at the hospitals, charity events…”
The three men nodded in unison, and Megan fought to hold back a chuckle at the
sight. Just for the moment. The situation, itself, was not funny at all.
“We have a hunch, Megan, that you can pull this off,” said Dave. “Rick and I would totally support you.”
She studied each man now. They weren’t kidding around. She had her career to consider. The possible promotion. And her reputation as a professional within the organization. Of course, soon her resume would read: baby-sitter to spoiled brat, Brian Delaney.
“A hunch?” she repeated. “Well then, that’s the bottom line in our world, isn’t it?
Hunches, feelings, superstitions, jinxes, aligned planets, auras, and lots of woo-woo.” She smiled to include herself in the observation. “I’ve lived with those
‘hunches’ all my life, too. And that fool does have oodles of talent.”
“So, you’re in?” asked Dave.
“Let’s hope his womanizing doesn’t apply to me—or I’m out.”
“Agreed.”
“By the way,” said Scott, “speaking of bottom lines. Did we mention the bonus that goes along with this special assignment?”
