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  Alive on Opening Day

  Adam Hughes

  Copyright © 2016 Adam Hughes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, organizations, or persons — living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  FREE Bonus!

  After you finish this book, be sure to download the sequel, Alive on Opening Day 1980. It’s my gift to you for taking the time to read Alive on Opening Day.

  (https://adamhugheswriter.com/alive-opening-day-1980)

  Thanks for reading!

  Adam Hughes

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to fathers and sons, but especially to my father and my son.

  And to anyone who has ever loved baseball.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Baseball Card Shop

  Dan Hodges leaned over the display case and pointed to a spot right in the middle, careful not to touch the Plexiglass with his finger.

  “Can we see that Dave Parker rookie card?” he asked the chunky middle-aged man behind the counter.

  The shop owner took another bite of his hoagie and looked at Dan through slitted eyes. “Sure, I guess so,” he mumbled, spewing pastrami fumes into Dan’s nose.

  The fat man stood and set the sandwich on his chair, then rubbed his hands together to dust off the crumbs and grease from his meal. He slid out the lucite tray from the bottom of the case and picked up the 1974 Topps Parker card by the edges of its rigid plastic holder.

  “Here you go,” he said, holding out the card out for Dan to take. “You guys Reds fans?”

  He looked from Dan to Troy and back to Dan again. Chubby squinted and raised his chin, almost as if he were challenging Dan, who had seen this type of thing before.

  “Yep, dyed-in-the-wool, since the day we were born, right, Troy?”

  “That’s right, Dad,” Troy answered and cringed, mouthing a “sorry” in Dan’s direction.

  Dan cleared his throat and pretended to be studying the card, then sneaked a look at the guy behind the counter who was scrutinizing him even more closely than before.

  “But I don’t know WHY you wanted to see this card, Troy,” Dan said and turned toward his son. “Especially when there is a perfectly good Dan Driessen card over there in that box that you could have for a buck.”

  Dan pointed to a white box full of cards on a game table standing to Troy’s right.

  “Well,” Troy said, “for one thing, Dave Parker is still playing. For another, he’s actually a great player and is probably going to end up in the Hall of Fame. If the Reds hadn’t let him walk a couple of years ago, they’d have at least one World Series trophy by now.”

  Dan shook his head ruefully.

  “Just like Oakland last year,” Troy finished his thought. “And it’s only by a fluke of Kirk Gibson that they haven’t won two in a row.”

  The shop owner had picked up his sandwich and sat back down, watching the two Hodges lob verbal volleys between them like they were playing tennis.

  “Oh, Troy,” Dan said. “How many times do I have to tell you that there probably wouldn’t have been a Big Red Machine if it weren’t for Dan Driessen? He was the best of their young players in the middle 1970s and even when Sparky Anderson pushed him off to a utility role because he loved George Foster so much, Driessen was still a super sub. Heck, was a younger, cheaper Pete Rose who could play almost anywhere on the diamond. If the Reds had developed him the right way, he could have been the next Mike Schmidt.”

  Troy wasn’t sure if his father was joking or not. He knew Dan had always held Driessen in higher esteem than just about anyone else in the world did, but he also knew that Schmidt had been Dan’s favorite player since at least 1980. In either case, Troy didn’t really care what Dan thought about Parker and Driessen as long as he left Doug’s Dugout with the Parker card in his hot little mitts.

  “Maybe you’re right about Driessen, Dad,” he said. “I suppose he was pretty underrated.”

  Doug, the shop owner, stood up again and thrust his chin toward Dan. “Say, how does such a young guy know so much about the old-time Reds?” he asked.

  Dan touched his chest with his fingers, and raised his eyebrows. “Me?” he asked, and the fat man nodded. “Well, like I said, I’ve been a Reds fan since I was born, so I know pretty much everything about them.”

  Doug looked sideways and squinted again, sizing up both Dan and Troy, and Dan figured he’d better wrap up their transaction before the slob said something offensive.

  “Look,” Dan said to the shop owner. “Parker was a great player and even helped the Reds out when they were rebuilding a few years ago, but he’s at the end of the line and there’s no way he’s going to hold on long enough to make it to the Hall of Fame.”

  Doug shrugged and put both palms in front of him is if to say, “So?”.

  “So I’m thinking,” Dan went on, “that $20 is a bit high for his rookie card, especially seeing as how The Cobra is playing for another team. It’s got to be hard to sell ex-Reds around here, right?”

  The store owner didn’t answer Dan’s question but asked one of his own. “What’s it worth to you, then?”

  Dan rubbed his smooth chin and looked off to the side for a moment, then said, “How about $10?”

  Doug hissed a derisive laugh and said, “You’re dreamin’ buddy.”

  “Dad!” Troy whispered beside Dan, clearly embarrassed by his father’s haggling.

  Dan handed the card back across the counter. “Alrighty then,” he said. “We have to get going because the game starts in a couple of hours and we want to catch batting practice.” Turning to Troy, he said, “We can use that $10 toward one of those Sabo jerseys you’re always harping about.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Doug said as he scampered to his feet again. “You guys seem like real solid Reds fans, so how about we meet halfway: $15?”

  Dan was guiding Troy out the door and called over his shoulder, “Have a nice day.”

  “Sheesh,” Doug said. “Fine! Fine! Ten bucks.”

  Dan stopped and turned, smiling at Doug. “Throw in the Driessen rookie and you’ve got a deal.”

  “You’re killing me!” the shop owner complained, but he stuck a greasy paw into the box holding the Driessen card and pulled out Dan’s prize.

  The next part made Dan nervous, but he hadn’t brought enough cash to get them into Riverfront Stadium and buy concessions and splurge for the two 1974 cards. “Will you take a check?” he asked.

  Doug grunted and pursed his lips. “I don’t suppose you got any ID, do ya?”

  “Sure I do,” Dan said. “How do you think we got here?” He took his wallet from his pants pocket and fished out his driver’s license.

  “Uh huh,” Doug said. “I figured you were from Indiana — nobody from the city would be still be so hung up on Dan Driessen, of all players.”

  Doug lay Dan’s license on the counter in front of him, then leaned in close to read the details, finally looked at Dan. He glanced back to the license and again to Dan, held the license up to the light, and squinted his eyes.

  “Say, what are you trying to pull here, son?” he asked, glowering at Dan.

  “What do you mean?” Dan asked in reply, though he knew what was coming.
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  “This ‘license’ says you were born in 1954!” Doug was getting agitated.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Dan said, fighting to stay calm.

  “Son, if you’re 35, then I’m 100!” the shop owner exclaimed. “This is the worst fake ID I’ve ever seen. I’ll bet you’re not even legal, are you?”

  “Yessir,” Dan said. “I’m a legal 35-year-old man. Now, are you going to sell me those cards or not?”

  Dan had his arm around Troy’s shoulder, and he could feel his son growing more tense as the conversation unfolded. They had been in these types of situations before, and they always ran the risk of running into a bad character, or worse, some sort of vigilante who might cause real trouble. Dan thought Doug was just a blowhard, but he couldn’t be sure.

  He had already written the check and slid it across the counter to Doug, who picked it up and compared it with the driver’s license. Apparently satisfied that at least the addresses and names matched, he huffed and pushed the two cards in Dan’s direction.

  “Guess I’m a darn fool who just wants to give his cards away,” he said. “You boys go on and get out of here now, and I don’t want you coming back in my shop again, you hear me?”

  “Loud and clear,” Dan answered as he guided Troy through the front door.

  On the sidewalk, Dan could see Troy was shaken, but he didn’t want to let the card shop incident ruin their outing. After all, he never really knew how many days there would be before … well, before there weren’t any more. He decided the best way to cut the tension was to talk about baseball.

  Most of life’s problems could be lessened by talking about baseball, Dan had found.

  He held up the Driessen card for Troy to see. “There it is,” he said. “The rookie card of one Cincinnati’s great unsung heroes. Why, I knew from the first time I laid eyes on Dan Driessen that he was going to be a superstar.”

  Troy still looked shocked, but he managed to groan as Dan started talking about his old-time Reds again.

  “It was the spring of 1973, and …”