The Innocent Man by John Grisham Read Free Book Online Page A

put together a team that included Reggie Jackson, Joe Rudi, Sal Bando, Bert Campaneris, Rick Monday, Vida Blue, Catfish Hunter, Rollie Fingers, and Tony LaRussa.
    The A’s of the early 1970s were without a doubt the coolest team in baseball. They wore white cleats—the first and only team to do so—and they had a dazzling array of uniforms, different combinations of green, gold, white, and gray. California cool, with longer hair, facialhair, and an air of nonconformity. For a game that was by then over a hundred years old and demanded that its traditions be worshipped, the A’s were outrageous. They had attitude. The country was still hungover from the 1960s. Who needed authority? All rules could be broken, even in such a hidebound place as pro baseball.
    In late August 1971, Ron made his third trip to Oakland, this time as an Athletic, a member of the club, one of the boys, a star of the future, though he’d yet to play a game as a professional. He was well received, got the pats on the back and the words of encouragement. He was eighteen years old, but with a round baby face and bangs down to his eyes he looked no more than fifteen. The veterans knew that the odds were stacked against him, as they were for every kid who signed a contract, but they nonetheless made him feel welcome. They’d once been in his shoes.
    Less than 10 percent of those who sign pro contracts make it to the big leagues for just one game, but no eighteen-year-old wants to hear it.
    Ron loitered around the dugout and the field, hung out with the players, took in pregame batting practice, watched the rather thin crowd file into Oakland Alameda County Coliseum. Long before the first pitch, he was led to a prime seat behind the A’s dugout where he watched his new team play. The following day he returned to Ada, determined more than ever to breeze through the minors and crack The Show at the age of twenty. Maybe twenty-one. He’d seen, felt, absorbed the electric atmosphere of a major-league ballpark, and he would never be the same.
    His hair got longer, then he tried to grow a mustache, though nature failed to cooperate. His friendsthought he was rich, and he certainly worked hard to give that impression. He was different, cooler than most folks around Ada. He’d been to California!
    Throughout September he watched with great amusement as the A’s won 101 games and clinched the American League West. Soon he’d be up there with them, catching or playing center, wearing the colorful uniforms, long hair and all, part of the hippest crew in the game.
    In November, he signed a contract with Topps Chewing Gum, giving the company the exclusive right to exhibit, print, and reproduce his name, face, photo, and signature on a baseball card.
    Like every boy in Ada, he’d collected thousands of them; saved them, swapped them, framed them, hauled them around in a shoe box, and saved his coins to buy more. Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Yogi Berra, Roger Maris, Willie Mays, Hank Aaron, all the great players with the valuable cards. Now he would have his own!
    The dream was rapidly coming true.
    His first assignment, though, was Coos Bay, Oregon, Class A in the Northwest League, far from Oakland. His 1972 spring training in Mesa, Arizona, had not been remarkable. He’d turned no heads, caught no one’s attention, and Oakland was still trying to figure out where to play him. They put him behind the plate, a position he did not know. They put him on the mound, simply because he could throw so hard.
    Bad luck hit late in spring training. His appendix ruptured, and he returned to Ada for surgery. As hewaited impatiently for his body to heal, he began drinking heavily to pass the time. Beer was cheap at the local Pizza Hut, and when he grew tired of that place, he drove his new Cutlass over to the Elks Lodge and washed things down with a few bourbon and Cokes. He was bored and anxious to get to a ballpark somewhere, and for some reason, he wasn’t sure why, he