The Workhorse, Chapter 2, Part 2

They always tested people fairly and squarely before they ever got to play a Major League game. He heard some players got banned for life for using banned substances. He had never come across one he could name the name of right away, but off the hand and the oven mitt, he played ball as someone he would root for, and he would not cheer for you if he was going to believe that you were wonky. He was a heavy Tonka truck of a man. He benched over 375 American pounds and could run over a mile in under a minute. He was a 37.8 sprinter in the 10-to-1, and couldn't even breathe underwater for five minutes before he wanted to come up for air. He was fine down there as long as he liked. But he preferred not to be swimming when someone wanted him somewhere else. He was a baseball pitcher. And that was where he wanted his career to be played. He was a stronger man than most people, and could even throw the pitch that ended a batter's career the first time he ever met one who could even sink his teeth into the reality that he was not going to lose, not once, not ever, and especially not to someone that he did not trust. He was never seen in the same places that Caleb was. He never was seen playing poker, for example, but he was contrasted with Caleb a few years earlier than he would have liked to be remembered for being awesome, which was what he was going to admire in the past as well about himself, and what he liked his fans to know. He was compared with Caleb and other 0.300 batting average batter's, but he was a pitcher as well, and Caleb had never considered leaving the mound either. He bat at 0.278 all of his career. He was a pitcher, but a shortstop and batter whenever they called him up for those short jobs. His stay on tenure was in the lunchbox 40% of the time, he'd joke about while off duty, but they kept him there to resolve some issues with the other teams. He was never one to joke about much and would not play rough house or abusive games with anyone that anyone who knew or knew of him could tell. They had never seen him gamble on his life. And theirs as well if they had to tell the truth. And not one had gotten it wrong. He had not played a card game in his life. On his baseball cards, they gave him a perfect pitching score, and a 0.278 batting average, well ahead of the rest of the other players. He was also a strong and muscular man, and had a height of over 6 feet taller than the rest of the world viewers who were not as tall as he was. He was six feet and two inches and some odd centimeters high. They never counted the centimeters usually in the heigh charts. But he had weighed in at over 232 American pounds time and time again. He was big, and ran as fast as possible around the pitch and playing field. He was a baseball player, and a major league baseball star, and wasn't going to back down in the polls when he was on a trading chart. He never left the Orioles. Once he became their new superstar, he went from rookie all the way up to major league player and never looked back again. He was secure in his role as their heavy player. He batted, played pitcher, and even was a catcher numerous times. He had little to do with charity or odd events where he could not count on his fingers when two or three times met ten and he was off of the playing field for ten seconds or more. He was acutely aware that he was a brighter fellow than most of the other staff members in baseball. He was a doctor, and had a degree in Psychology, and had been a psychiatrist for some odd manner of time, for some odd reason or another. They poked fun at this fact and compared him to a root-and-tooting gunslinger, who had a doctorate degree and could also throw a ball, and then some odd stuff happened. He even bat once or twice as well. He played shortstop as neatly as he played his own oven at home. And his catcher play was just as noticeable. He was a batter, pitcher, shortstop, and a catcher, but he was a pitcher forever, first and foremost he was their superstar, lead pitcher, and would not back down from the mound. He thought of it as no challenge at all. Not once, not ever did he consider it a challenge not to get up and just go. He had a heavy stature and an even heavier status as the best Major League Baseball player there ever was and would ever be. He was then off of his game one time and threw too many good punches or something like that and managed to get his team to another trophy hugging event. They eventually called him on it and his pay was increased to $37,000,000 dollars, thirty-seven million American United States Dollars and no change at all, not even for overtime. This meant yearly he was making over sixteen million American United States Dollars before taxes, even though he was high up in the rankings, it meant he could afford a nice house, and a nicer stable and garage than anyone you probably know, bugaroo. He had a way with words and used the pitching skills he had to cure cancer once or twice, and performed miracles as often as he played. The fans loved him. They asked him to play for their charity teams. But he had never been singled out as a lonely one. So they never met him. He was demoted to hero and had heroic actions constantly repelling down his chin. He preferred to keep his hat in place when he played. He also threw righty all the time. And he was soft to children and even men and women sometimes, as long as they showed good cheer and were fans of his. He was otherwise not concerned with them and hated the fact that he was getting older. He was a straight righty all throughout his career. And it was a long one as well. He finally retired at age 67 and continued to play sometimes until he was 87 or so, he said. And his autobiography was still out there if you wanted to read it. It contained some nice facts, such as his height and weight, and even his shortstop attire, once or twice modeled on his hunky physique in a picture or two nestled in his book tightly set in between words about his batting style and his average hit count and his 0.278 batting average, which was scored precisely by the bean counters every single time he was ever at bat, or out on the playing field, maybe at home. He was also into long nights under the stars. He met his wife, Alexandra, at a bar once he had gone to before. She was his in no time flat. She asked him to dance and she became entranced by his almighty good looks. He said it was a sure thing they would get married and have three children, which they did. Robert, Theodore and Theodore II were his little pride and joy ménage à trois, and he was in Heaven most of the time. They lived in a nice home, a mansion, and it had cost over $17,000,000, seventeen million American United States Dollars, and some change therein, that it had cost them to buy it outright from some company. It was listed for over $40,000,000, forty million American United States dollars, before he was entirely moved into his new home at the least which had a less than higher chance of him moving to and fro onward as his dreams were now to stay at his new home, with his wife and kids, but they all did move about a lot more than he realized, maybe.