It's in the blood, this passion that I have for baseball.
It all started on an oppressively humid August day in central Alabama, when I was all of four years old. I was sitting on Aunt Roberta's porch, two houses down from my own, dressed in a gingham dress and enjoying a tea party with Lily, my favorite rag doll. Aunt Roberta had noticed a yellow-jacket nest in the eaves on the far end of her porch and started swatting it with a broom. The next thing I knew I heard shrill shrieks as the swarm of wasps lit into her. Aunt Roberta instructed me to run home to Mommy to get help, but that wasn't needed. My parents had heard the screaming and were already on their way over. Mommy took Roberta to the hospital right away, leaving Daddy to care for me.
Dad looked over at my mom, and said, "What am I supposed to do with Casey? I have to work."
Mom said, "Take a coloring book. She'll be good for you."
So, that's the first day I went to Ramsey Stadium. Our Middletown Knights, a Double A team, shut out the Glenwood Fielders, 3-0, that day. I should know. You see, Daddy was Knight's announcer.
He took me up into the announcer's booth, pushed the crayons into my hands and emphasized that I had to be quiet, particularly when the red light was on. I think I colored for all of three minutes, and then found myself sitting on a tall stool next to Daddy, watching the game. Between innings, when the microphone was silent, I peppered Daddy with all sorts of questions. That day the Knight's manager, Mr. Bardsley, came into the booth. He kept on telling Daddy how I was extraordinarily well behaved and enchanting. And at the end of the afternoon, Mr. Bardsley presented me with a black and gold Middletown Knights cap. Sixteen years later, that hat still rests on a nail in my bedroom at my parent's house.
After one game, I was hooked. I rarely missed a home game from that point on. During the spring and fall, Mommy said I couldn't go to the game unless my homework was completed. Needless to say, I became a very good student. And I was devastated when I came down with the chicken pox at age 8, because it kept me away from the ballpark for the opening week.
Because I was so good and followed the rules, I had run of the ballpark, including the bull pen. Many of the players took me under their wing, as if I were their little sister. But I spent most of the time in the announcer's booth, sitting on Daddy's right side. I was fascinated with the electronic equipment, and at age 13 was able to take over for the sound engineer, Bud, when he was sick. I deviated a bit from his selection of music … less organ music and more rock. One day I snuck a Backstreet Boys CD into the booth, thinking that the folks in the stadium would like
I Want It That Way
as much as my middle school friends. I didn't make that mistake again.
The freckled red-head girl in pigtails slowly morphed into a young lady, with all the appropriate teenage body parts. I seemed to have one big growth spurt between my junior and senior years of high school. When I returned to the ball park in the spring, many of the younger players looked at me differently. I was no longer their little sis, but rather a short tomboyish girl who looked hot in cut-off shorts and tight tees.
A year later, I had a huge crush on Bruce, a 19-year-old centerfielder from Little Rock with killer blue eyes and jet black hair. At first he was very sweet to me; I just knew that we would be married at some point. But then his teammates started teasing him, saying that I was "jail bait." I was hurt when he turned cold on me, and I needed to prove that I wasn't just a kid. On a Saturday night in September, we smoked some joints in the stands long after the ball park had closed. A few hours later, I lost my virginity to Bruce on a squeaky wooden table in the equipment room. Until the season ended, we met up in secret. He fucked me as often as he could. I was heartbroken when the season ended and he returned to Little Rock to work at his uncle's car lot.
As spring approached, I called Bruce. He was strangely distant to me, said that he was promoted to Triple-A. I felt like a fool, being so chaste while he was away and waiting for a return that didn't materialize.
The following summer, no longer “jail bait”, I was more accepted by the players. After most games, I hung with the guys. I was gaining the reputation as team nympho, the redhead tomboy who would spread her legs for a ballplayer in need.
A few days before I headed off to college, with a freshly minted fake ID in hand, the guys took me out for pizza and beer. After the place closed, five guys and I headed to Kevin's apartment where we finished off a few more six packs and watched a West Coast game on cable. Sammy said they wanted to give me a good send off, and set me up in Kevin's bedroom. One at a time, they would empty their seed into me. Once the fucking starts, I tend to cum easily and loudly. They nicknamed me "The Alarm Clock", because the boys could predict when the next should be ready for action. It was a non-stop fuck fest until the wee hours of the morning; most guys came 3-4 times in me that night. God, if Daddy only knew what his diminutive red-headed tomboy was doing.
My sex life didn't let up once in college. But I always looked forward to the summer. College boys were fine, but baseball players were finer. They tended to be quite muscular, and I grew to enjoy the smell of clay from Ramsey field.
Most days I worked the concessions in the summer. And if Bud wanted to take some time off, I'd act as the sound engineer, back in the announcer's booth with Dad. I had to be close to the sport I loved and the boys who played it (and me) so well.
When this summer started, I felt a bit of remorse. A year from now I'd be finished with college and would be looking for a real job. I knew I would miss my summers at the Ramsey Stadium.
When working the concessions, I would take a tall cup of sweet ice tea up to Daddy in the slower periods. One early June day I entered the announcer’s booth quietly and slid the tea over to the table in the front of the booth. The red line was on, but Dad signaled for me to stay.
Between innings, Daddy started, "Casey, I got a call from Brad Keeler earlier." Mr. Keeler was the owner of the Bloomington Redwings, another AA team a few hours away from here. I had met him a few times, and he was one of my favorite owners. "Brad tells me that their sound engineer is out for a month or so … emergency appendectomy. I thought you might be up for the job. It pays a bit more than you'll be getting from the concessions. Brad says he'll put you up in the same hotel where he houses the players. Not the Hilton, of course …"
"Oh, I don't care about that, Daddy. But how much does it pay?" I enquired, thinking about how I would need to spend a small fortune on textbooks in the fall.
"About double what you are making now," he answered. "Now, it's only for a month or so."
The inning was about to start, so the red light went on and Dad started announcing again. I reached for a scrap of paper, scrawled a note and passed it to Daddy. It read, "Tell Mr. Keeler I'll do it."
I can't believe how quickly things progressed. I was on a bus to Bloomington the next morning. Mr. Keeler told me that I could walk to the hotel and the stadium from the bus stop. I was to report directly to the announcer's booth at 4:30 and introduce myself to Mark Tyson.
At 4:15 I stood in front of Redwing Park. It was larger and more modern than Ramsey Stadium, and also a bit more intimidating. With almost three hours before the game was to start, the place was deserted. Yet I managed to find the announcers’ booth easily. I hadn't thought about knocking … just walked right in.
A man in his late 20s turned around and looked at me quizzically. He was a tall and lanky, appeared to have a shaved head under his ball cap. He had what I can only explain as a kind face … warm, caring eyes.
The man began, "Uh, I don't think you are supposed to be here. Who are you looking for?"
I extended my hand out, "You must be Mark. I'm Casey Crofton, your very temporary sound engineer."
Mark lifted his eyebrows and said, "Wow. Casey. It never occurred to me that you could be a girl. And such a hot one at that." Funny thing was that I didn't feel particularly "hot". My shoulder length red hair was pulled back in a pony tail. I had no makeup on, and my clothes consisted of a tight t-shirt and some cut-off shorts. Mark shook my hand and then offered, "Oh, I'm so sorry. That was kind of rude. I'm so sorry. Really. " He paused but continued, "How old are you? Did you finish high school?"
I laughed, "I get that a lot, because I'm so short. It's cool. I'm 20 years old. I'll graduate college next spring."
Mark smiled at me, seeming a bit flustered.
"If it's any consolation," I continued, "I didn't expect you to be so young. I think you are the first announcer I've met that's under forty. Exactly how old are you?"
Breathing easier, Mark replied, "Twenty seven. But you … you look so young. It's like you're my little sister or something. Got to watch what I say."
"Tell you what," I started, "After the game we'll throw back a few brewskies and shoot some darts. Trust me; I'm not anything like your little sister."
Mark held his gaze at me, still smiling. I instantly felt an attraction to him. Any hesitation about taking this job was now gone. Looking around the room I saw a massive console.
"Wow, this is much different than I'm used to. Can you show me the ropes?" I asked.
"Sure, sure." Mark replied. "Sit down, please." He pulled a chair over and placed it behind me. For the next half hour or so he patiently explained things to me, at times touching my hand, my shoulder. His touch wasn't comfortable. It was electric. I liked that.
Mark was a good communicator, and I quickly acclimated myself to the sound system. Mark quizzed me on the features, and when he was sure I had it down, he stated, "We have a new computer system, too." He slid over to his chair and stated, "We are networked and both of us have two monitors. One monitor is for our own use. The purpose of the other monitor is to see what the other is doing. We both have access to all the stats, so if you see anything interesting, flash it up on the screen and I'll think about using it."
