Extra Innings -- I (The Tryout)

    'Hey! Where you going?'
    'Doesn't matter. Nowhere.'
    'Where's nowhere?'
    'Somewhere you don't know.'
    'Is it far?'
    'Far enough.'
    'What's all that stuff in your bag?'
    'Doesn't matter. I'll be back around dinnertime, cool?'
    'Sure. Where you going? Tell me or I'll lock the door.'
    'Forfuksake...I... I'm going to... a park for a... job... interview. Right, I'm meeting them for a job in park recreation.'
    'Well you be careful. I can't have any of those Bay Street bullies giving my Ti-Bub any trouble. You call me the first time you're uncomfortable, okay? I'll be there ready to pounce. That's right... hey, where are you going?'
    'Nowhere.'

    He was quickly out the door before any further inanity in question form could be lobbed at him. His bag contained only a change of clothing, spiked shoes, a mitt, a bottle of water and nothing at all resembling a resume. There was no job interview, though in a sense there was kind of.
    The walk to St. George station was a quick one, though loaded with tension nonetheless. He was nervous, like a student of solitude invited to hang out with the cool crew. There was an excellent chance he was about to make a fool of himself. The suspense was unbearable, but the invitation could not be refused, even if this particular crew turned out to not be so cool.
    A subway train came unexpectedly fast, and twenty minutes later he was stepping into Runnymede, a station with a strange name and even stranger colour scheme. The e-mail had instructed him the 79 bus would take him close to the park, but he foolishly took the 71 in excitement. Suddenly he was at St. Clair and Mondovi rapidly regretting the whole endeavour.
   
    'Excuse me? Excuse me.'
   
    'Hey there, I'm lost. Can you...'

    'Pardon me, I'm just trying to find...'

    'Sorry, but do you know... okay sure. Fine. Keep walking. Asshole.'
    'What'd you say joker?'
    'Nothing. Sorry. Hey, do you know where... yeah great. You keep walking too. Only time any of you listen is when I insult you. Hey dickface! You know where Symes Road is?'
    'My word! Watch your language young man! Symes is a block that way, north side. I say, next time ask with some politeness, scoundrel!'
    'Great... thanks...'
   
    Symes Road was an odd road lined with identical townhouses, the kind that seem planted instead of grown. The street ended but continued again behind a barrier, transforming quickly from a generic housing development into an abandoned factory district of unspeakable slaughters. He was uneasy but utilized the cliche "I've come this far" to press himself onward. The smell of rotting carcasses and discarded skin faded away once the road dipped downward into a wide valley. There was the sound of wood echoing with a thunderous crack, and his destination was in sight at the bottom of this descent.
    The park was surrounded by trees, willows to be precise, and they swayed by the whim of even the least assertive breeze. A pathway led off the road, twisted across a steam, and led him right into the action. A dozen or so people were in plain sight, shaking off the rust of their shoulders in an attempt to see if they had anything left. He wondered the same thing as he watched and walked. His introspection was suddenly interrupted.

    'You here for the tryout?'

    He was a short, stocky, twitchy sort of fellow. Young, well groomed, though possessing a smooth face incapable of any facial hair beyond moustache fuzz. His demeanour was intense and intimidating for a stranger.

    'Y...yeah...'
    'Name?'
    'Brinker.'
    'Brinker?' He asked, looking up from a folded paper he had. 'That's... your first name bro?'
    'No my last. I... uh, don't really use my first name much.'

    Within an instant the stranger burst into laughter, poking a spot on his paper repeatedly. It was not a cruel laugh though Brinker felt its insensitivity.

    'Tierra. Tierra Brinker. That's your name? Wow... hah! Sorry I just... I'm guessing you've heard em all, right?'
    'A few, yeah.'
    'How do you say it? *ha-hah* Is it... tie-ra? Or... ti-ara? How about te-ra?'
    'I prefer Brinker, really.'
    'Okay okay, no need to be a good sport about it. *ha hah! ha!* I'm Cole, by the way. One of the administrators of the league. Mostly rules and umpire stuff. Go talk to Sulic over there, big dude in the A's jersey. He'll tell you what you need to know. It's not Teer-ah, eh?'
    'Nice to meet you.' Brinker grumbled, storming away.