Whatever Happened To ‘The Next Sudden Sam?’: a short story

Short story. Status: Published by TheSportScribe online literary magazine.

Lately, Rusty Woodward’s life has been brushed back by fastballs up around his chin.

Now, the baseball historian’s knees have been buckled by a curveball: an assignment to write a biography on a mysterious, deceased pitcher from the 1970s—about whom, no one is willing to talk.

Baseball heritage abandoned lefthander Sam Miller, with time and hatred shunning, to the shadows, his life and career.

The more Rusty can’t find about Miller, the more obsessed he becomes. This mission cannot arrive at a more difficult—or perhaps more fortuitous—time in Rusty’s life, as he is struggling with his own dark shadows involving hatred and abandonment.

Not every sports story is inspirational.

The published story can be read, for free, here at TheSportScribe.

Excerpt:

“I saw where The Sporting News compared him to Sam McDowell after you guys beat McDowell in Cleveland,” Rusty prompted.

“Miller struck out fourteen in that game. Those Indians dudes were swinging at air,” Greene said. “You know, that stood as Seattle’s strikeout record for decades, until Randy Johnson came along? You should talk to Ray Fosse. I played with Ray a few years later, and even then he said he didn’t remember no one who threw harder than Miller did that day. And he caught McDowell for years.”

“I’m pretty sure Fosse’s dead,” Rusty said. “Is that how it was though? Guys’d talk about Miller years after he was gone?”

“Yeah, well. Some would, I guess.”

“So, guys must have been curious about what happened to Miller. Why did he disappear? Where did he go?”

“I dunno.”

“Who would know? Who could talk to me about what happened to him?”

“No one.”

“Excuse me?”

“No one is going to say shit to you about what happened to Sam Miller,” Greene said.

“What do you mean by that? Was there something—”

Once again, the line died.

That night Rusty’s thoughts swirled around Katrina and Sam Miller as if they were the same story. A hazy semi-consciousness of surreality carried Rusty slowly through a night of punching his pillow, forcing thoughts away from Katrina, and then worrying about Sam Miller as if he’d known him. Greene had said no one would talk. Like people were scared. Miller’s sister called him an abomination. Katrina said people were going to fuck her up. No one was proud. Seems everyone hung up on him. Does everybody really hate him?