For once, I liked a reporter. Hours after I shattered my shoulder at home plate, our hometown Charlotte newspaper sent a sports reporter to talk to me in the hospital. He waited for hours while the doctors did their best to put the shoulder back together. When the surgery was over, there was even more time to wait as I slowly woke up in the recovery room. Mo kept the reporter out when they brought me back to a permanent room, but he hung out as long as was necessary and napped overnight in the waiting room.

As I slowly woke up after the surgery, a gruff nurse leaned over me and said, “Tell us about the pain. Give it a number from one to ten.”

My throat was dry, and I was worried that I couldn’t speak. Fortunately, the words came out in a reasonably intelligible whisper. I said, “I would call it a seven.”

Less than twenty minutes later, the pain settled down to less than a two. When the nurse came back around, I said, “You’re good at what you do. Thank you.”

She grinned and leaned close. “I’m not supposed to do anything like this, and they could probably fire me for it, but could you sign something for my son? He’s a baseball fanatic.”

I smiled weakly. “I don’t know if I can say much for my motor control, but yeah. It looks like I’ll have to use the left hand, so it’s possible that he will have the most unique Chase O’Rourke signature ever. Maybe that will make it worth some cash someday.”

She glanced at my shoulder and said, “I’m not so sure you’re going to be playing much baseball any time soon.”

I was comfortable when they wheeled me into my hospital room, but I knew I was a little loopy from the pain medication. Celia called, and she said, “I’m in the airport, Chase. I’m getting ready to buy a ticket on the next flight to New York.”

I asked, “Who’s in New York? Why such a hurry, Sis? Are you eloping with someone?”

She grumbled, “You’re in New York little brother. I saw it on TV, and your teammate Eric called me to let me know what hospital. When the catcher hit your shoulder, it sounded nasty on TV.”

“I’m okay. Stay home, Celia. Don’t you need to feed the orange one in the aquarium?”

It was an awkward conversation at best, but I finally convinced Celia to stay home. She said that she would call Eric for updates. He was taking the day off between the All-Star game and the rest of the season to fly up to New York, check on me, and then fly back home.

A few minutes later I was asleep again. When I woke up, I was utterly disoriented about time. Mo leaned over the bed, and Eric sat behind him. Mo said, “It looks like Sleeping Beauty decided to join us again. How’s it going, buddy?”

I moaned, “What time is it?”

Mo turned toward Eric, and Eric said, “It’s about 10:30 a.m. You’ve been out for quite awhile. There’s a reporter here who wants to talk to you. He slept all night curled up on a couch in the waiting room.”

I groaned and started to raise my right arm. “Ouch!”

“Hey, don’t do that!” exclaimed Mo. “That thing’s gotta heal.”

I grinned weakly. “It was some hit. I thought I was playing baseball not football.”

Eric whispered, “I talked to Aaron, and he thinks it was a deliberate slam. I don’t know. I hope not. If it is, that’s a pretty damn complicated mess. I don’t know the catcher, but Aaron says he’s gonna get to the bottom of things.”

I said, “I’m glad the two of you are here. Where’s Aaron?”

“He’s gone back to San Antonio. He was here while you were sleeping. He was sick about having to leave, but he’s got a job, too, you know.”

“What’s the doc say about my shoulder?”

Eric said, “He should be stopping in later. I think it’s too early to know. You’ll have to talk to him. Just relax for now. Do you want us to turn on your TV?”

I said, “No, but why don’t you let that reporter in here? Is he okay? I won’t tell him any deep, dark secrets. I don’t think I know any.”

“He’s a good man,” said Mo. “He supports the team. Just tell him what you want him to know.”

When the reporter stepped up to my bed, he started to hold out a hand to shake and then he pulled it back looking sheepish. “I’m sorry, Mr. O’Rourke. That’s insensitive of me, although it was really just a stupid mistake. I’m a little sleep-deprived. Those couches aren’t the best sleeping surface for older bones.”

He introduced himself as Medford Post. He said he had twenty-five years of experience covering sports in Charlotte. He added, “And yes, my parents grew up in Massachusetts. That’s how I ended up with such an unusual name.”

I said, “I have to warn you that I don’t want to talk for a long story. I can probably give you a complete story in several more hours or tomorrow, but I thought since you’d waited so long, you should at least get to meet me.”

Medford nodded. “I won’t trouble you for long. Let me get right to something that’s bothering me. About 8:00 this morning, the Yellowjackets general manager Meyer Huggins spoke on national television about your injury.”

I turned my head to look at Eric. “Has he called here? Keep him away from the hospital if you can.”

Eric said, “They told me that he tried to call late last night, but you were asleep.”

“His statement was a little unusual,” said Medford.

I asked, “Unusual? What would Huggins say that was unusual? Did he ramble on about distractions and responsibility?”

“It was what looked like a relative lack of concern.”

“What did he say?”

“I saw it, too,” chimed in Mo. “What stuck in my head was that he said, ‘These things happen.’”

“He went a little further than that,” said Medford. “By the end of the brief interview, it sounded to me like he almost expected it to happen. How could that be?”

I pushed against the mattress with my left hand trying to make my head slightly more upright. Eric handed the bed’s controller across my body to my left hand. He said, “Here, this will be a lot easier. Don’t get too excited, though, Chase. You had a rough night last night.”

The head of the bed slowly rose, and I felt more comfortable having a conversation. I repeated Medford’s words. “Like he almost expected it to happen.”

Medford listened to me carefully. He said, “I don’t mean to derail the conversation, but has anyone ever told you what a great voice you have?”

I laughed. “No, my friends make fun of me when I slip into my announcer’s voice. I’ve wanted to be a sports announcer since I was a little kid.”

Medford said, “I’ve met some of the radio and TV greats in person, and with a little work, your voice could go places. I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m serious.”

Mo interrupted and brought the conversation back to my injury. He said, “That was a vicious tag. When his glove hit your shoulder, the impact was almost as loud as the sound of a bat hitting a ball.”

I looked at Medford. He had a kindly face, and I loved the silvery-grey mustache that spread wide across his upper lip. I said, “I think I need to cut this short for now, but I will answer a few more questions in the next few days, and when I know more, you’ll be the first to get the story.”

Medford reached across the bed and clasped the fingers of my left hand. He said, “Thank you, Chase. You’ve been more than gracious. I’ll be here waiting when you’re ready to talk more. If I need to leave the hospital, I’ll leave my number with either this gentleman or the nursing station.”

As he exited the room, I smiled at Eric and said, ”Now that’s a reporter.”

Eric nodded and said, “He was great, and he’s incredibly patient. Who do you need to call, Chase? I’ll look up the numbers for you.”

I crooked my left index finger at both Eric and Mo. I said, “Let’s huddle together, and I’ll tell you my plan.”