The Workhorse, Chapter 3, Part 3

He had been awarded a new Major League Baseball contract but never.

That was his last one. He never played a charity game in his life. When he retired, he never went back again. He was still considered a hero forever. But Caleb and him were both legendary players, so how was it that they were both known as the best player ever? Well, that is because they never bucked the trends. They always had their fans first on their minds, and they always wanted to know they were doing the right things. They both signed autographs and both took money in for charity causes and organizations like the Red Cross and Batting To End Cancer and even for a Republican campaign called The GOP Election Committee, which guaranteed an office to the next President of the United States of America, surely. His autograph classes were also something he never would talk about. He held them only rarely. But Caleb was about the same. Neither of these legendary players was ever caught with a scandal like some banned players had seen over and over again with their substance abuse and their lethargic entry paradigms and their mean mama's and papa's who never paid them to get where they were today, like Caleb and this new guy, who might look a bit pudgy, but hey, he could throw a mean pitch. Why do not you hire someone else, pardner? They said this to him countless times and it always came to pass that there was no someone else, pardner, and he was in a hurry convicted to throw that damn ball faster than Heck and straighter than anyone else's, just like his claims said he would and must do, just like it was pre-ordained in his future to throw and bat and even catch and play this damn game so well. He was again not as tall as Caleb was, who was a stately fellow at six feet and seven inches, but he was a mite bit taller than you average guys out there with the mean chest hair and the bad juju haircuts. He preferred his to be underneath his ball cap, and when he bat, he preferred to follow the rules and wear a good helmet in case a rough pitch took a mean turn and he could not succeed unless he was safe and protected but good. They say he was a safer man than that. He was seen buckling up once or twice while Caleb was known for his racing steel, and his mean ice career, and his race car driving antics, while this new boob was just an old schooler who liked to play baseball. Caleb was still faster. His pitches clocked over 100 miles per hour, but the new guy? Get out of here. He could return whenever he wanted, just like Caleb. But they'd have a field day if either one wanted to compete for the pitching mound. Caleb and this buddy boy right now catching his mugshot in the cameras who danced around ever forfeiting the chance to be the star you wanted to root for was known for his pitching, and his batting and his catching and his stints as a shortstop and bench warmer as well as his home antics as a homebody and a father and even a daddy to his kids, all three of them, who eventually had kids as well. Caleb was not known as this new guy's daddy, or father, he was his legendary career Major League Baseball professional Orioles pitcher Hall of Famer graduate, just like the other ones who made it, just like them. But they were the most legendary players out there. This meant Caleb, who was still the star player and the most popular pitcher for the Orioles ever, had a lot in his career that made him who he was, while this strong and handsome young devil? He was just as good. Caleb was calmer. But he was not ever a short stop player for the Orioles, nor did he never once play a charity match. Nor did he not race his terrible NASCAR chariots in a driver-bet-all fashion against the world. Nor did Caleb eschew poker, which he apparently loved to play as much as baseball, because he was seen and remembered doing it somewhere, or some when as well, some time, some place, anywhere, or no where. He was ready to pitch for the Orioles his whole career and earned a mean penny doing so. To the fans, neither is easy to recommend as the better pitcher. Both were legendary. They would fight all the time, even as fans, to recommend who to choose. Both were not the same at bat. Caleb was a legendary 0.300 batting average hard hitter, and the heavy man with the set hat schedule was just as good with a not quite as high but still awesome 0.278 batting average, which you probably don't have. You have probably never played for the Orioles, or were Caleb or this other dude, or had their homes, their lives, their paychecks or their routine returns to the pitching mound after passing, or not passing, not once, not ever in Caleb's case, as he was before the time of the big bad dropout's, a lie detector test that guaranteed they were telling the whole truth and nothing but that good stuff. They both liked to chew bubblegum and spit it out, which maybe did not interest you or maybe make you aware they had nicotine and routinely did that substance as well, and that it was allowed by the Major League Baseball playing committee who oversaw and over and over again deemed them worthy of their titles as legendary pitchers. Caleb had left a lot sooner than this young goober. But the new one had to go as well. One day, there was no two ways about it, both were gone from the world of the living. So they say, but it might not be true, as the Major League Baseball playing committee, nor the fans who wrote the second jobber's autobiography, have ever done a test on whether or not they still play.

Caleb and the newcomer, or the newcomer and Caleb. Which was better was still the top argument in the Major League's. They were both amazing, legendary, and carried a mean batting average, far above most people. And their pitching styles were known far and wide as just as amazing.