CHAPTER TWELVE
Road Trip
The trip from west central Indiana to Cincinnati followed a familiar path down US-231 and then east on US-50. It was the route David and Dan had taken since their first game together in the early 1960s, and, even though Dan realized by 1974 that there were much quicker routes to the ballpark, he never mentioned that fact to his father. He was sure David had carefully crafted each of their baseball outings to ensure they had plenty of time alone in the car to talk about whatever might be on their minds. As they headed toward what might turn out to be a historic Opening Day, there was more for them to discuss than ever.
Still, the general mood of the drive was one of leisure, and both men were more relaxed than they had been in months, notwithstanding Dan’s long hibernation. Their conversation meandered from the Chicago Bears — David and Dan’s favorite football team — to the Reds, and even to the Indiana Pacers, though neither of the Hodges was much of a basketball fan. They also touched on politics, and Dan could tell the Watergate scandal weighed heavily on David, who had voted for Richard Nixon in three presidential elections. Eventually, their discussion came back around to the Reds, as it always did, and they spent the majority of their time split between filling in the gaps in Dan’s knowledge of the 1973 season and breaking down what they expected from 1974.
By the time they were within 50 miles of Cincinnati, they had decided there was really no reason the Reds couldn’t get back to the World Series that fall, and that their opponent would likely be the Oakland A’s, just like in 1972. In order to win the rematch, the Reds would have to corral the Oakland bats AND figure out how to hit Vida Blue, Catfish Hunter, and Ken Holtzman.
“Well, having Driessen in the lineup all season should help with that,” David said.
“Do you really think he’s going to stick at third, Dad?” Dan asked.
“I don’t see why not,” David said. “He hit well enough last year, and the Reds don’t really have an alternative right now. It looks like Driessen has a chance to be around awhile.”
“You know who I really like, Dad?”
David shot his son a sideways look, then grinned: “Gabbie?”
Dan blushed and lowered his head. He wasn’t quite ready for that conversation, so he said, “Well, yeah, but I mean which young third baseman I like.”
David started to say something, but Dan wanted to keep control of the conversation for the moment and continued on, “Ron Cey.”
“Mmmm,” David pondered. “Yeah, I do think Cey is pretty good. His glove is solid — all the Dodgers are great in the field — and he looks like he has some pop in his bat. Hard to tell for sure in Dodger Stadium, though. He does strike out a lot.”
“True,” Dan said. “And his batting average is pretty bad, but he’s still young. I think he’s going to be really good.”
“What about Mike Schmidt?” David asked. “You think he’ll be any good?”
“Maybe,” Dan said. “His power seems even better than Cey’s but he strikes out a TON. He might strike out 200 times one of these seasons if he plays every day! How did those guys end up doing last year, anyway?”
David racked his memory, then answered, “I think Cey hit about 12 or 13 home runs, but his batting average was under .250. Schmidt was close to 20 homers, but I don’t know if he even made it to .200.”
“Ouch!” Dan said. “Well, they have a lot of work to do, but the Phillies are pretty bad anyway, right?”
“Terrible,” David agreed.
“Then Schmidt at least probably doesn’t need to worry about his job.”
“Probably not.”
The two men were quiet for a couple of minutes, and then David eased into one of the subjects hanging in the air between them. “Say, Dan, do YOU ever think about getting back on the field?”
Dan knew the topic of his baseball career would come up, but the reminder of the season he had lost stung, and his eyes watered. He looked out the side window, not able to face his father.
“Geez, I don’t know, Dad. I don’t think so. I mean, I’m not in school anymore, so I don’t have any place to play, really.”
“Well, it’s not the level of competition you’re used to, but a few of the local companies are trying to start up a league this spring. You could be HBM’s ringer,” David said, smiling at his son.
“I don’t know, Dad.” Dan was hesitant. “Is it baseball … or is it softball? And is it co-ed?”
“We haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I don’t know of any women who are interested at this point,” David answered. “We’ve been talking about softball, but we might be able to persuade the other companies to go for hardball if we talk to the right people.”
Dan still wasn’t convinced, but he could feel excitement building in his chest. “Where would we play, though?”
“The mayor has been part of these meetings, and he’s pretty good friends with Principal Skine at Rosedale. We think we can play on their diamonds if nothing else comes up. And, if Rosedale does agree, then that might be enough to get Ferncastle to agree,” David said. “But so far, Donald Stetson hasn’t returned our calls on the subject.”
“I guess Rosedale isn’t all that far,” Dan said. It felt like a “yes” to father and son, and they fell into silence for another few minutes.
“You know, Dan,” David said as they crossed the Ohio River, “American Legion ball starts in the summer, too. That’s probably more your speed, if we’re being honest.”
“No way, Dad,” Dan said and shook his head. “I haven’t swung a bat in nine months, I’ve lost a bunch of weight, and my legs get tired just walking across the parking lot at work. Those guys would chew me up — I couldn’t even make the team in this condition.”
“You have two months to get your stamina back, Dan, and I know your swing will come back after a few sessions in the batting cage,” David assured him. “And guess who the coach is this year.”
“I don’t know, Tommy Lasorda?” Dan joked.
“He’s coaching Little League in Milltown,” David deadpanned. “No, Dan, it’s Coach Croft.”
“Really?” Dan asked, enthusiasm growing. “Sure would be good to see him again. To play for him again.”
David nodded but decided not to press the subject any further in that moment.