Mr. Mustache

Cam Collier shields his eyes against the glare coming off the Sinclair Building.

He checks his watch. It’s almost noon.

On the roof of the skyscraper, Dickie Diamond, a light-hitting, tiny infielder for the Texas Rangers, is preparing to drop a baseball four hundred feet.

Smiling at the curious crowd, Rowdy Robinson pats a first baseman’s glove, confident he’ll catch the ball. If he does, he and The Coogan Kid’s Memorial Fund will receive $25,000 from Pastel Aeronautics.

Known as Mr. Mustache, the 6’ 2”, thirty-seven-year-old, seldom-used utility player has been in the Major Leagues for thirteen unexceptional years. Well-traveled, Rowdy has played for eleven different teams. This is his third go-round playing for the Texas Rangers.

At the press conference announcing Pastel’s event, Cam, a writer for the Arlington Oracle, referred to Rowdy as a “good field, no hit” player and spelled his name wrong in his article.

Rowdy responded by saying, “I've worked hard to achieve this degree of mediocrity.”

***

When an intern at the Oracle came up with the idea of a baseball catching a ball thrown off the Sinclair building, Rowdy was the only Ranger crazy enough to volunteer.

“You’re aware the ball will be coming at you at a speed of 125 miles per hour,” Cam noted.

“Sure. I regularly drive that fast after the game to avoid being interviewed by you. I'll do anything for the kids… And to get my name in the paper. I know the only way I’m getting into the Baseball Hall of Fame is if I buy a ticket. I’m not a major leaguer. I don’t belong here. I’m a good fielder; otherwise, I’d have been unemployed long ago. But someday, I’ll make Arlington proud of me, and maybe you’ll spell my name right.”

***

Rowdy stands in the middle of a tarp replete with a red bullseye and Pastel Aeronautics’ name in script.

A trio of teens from Summit High School plays a drum roll.

Bill Boeing, president of Patsel Aeronautics, raises his walkie-talkie.

“You ready, Dickie?”

“Check.”

“Rowdy?”

“Let ‘er rip!”

Dickie drops the ball. It sizzles toward the pavement.

Rowdy spins in circles like a drunken seal trying to catch a fish.

The ball hits his glove with an audible BOOM! that mimics the sound of an explosion.

“YEEEEEOW!”

Rowdy dances in place for a moment, then holds up the ball for the crowd to see.

The spectators go wild, screaming, cheering, and applauding.

“When was the last time you heard applause like that?” Cam asks Rowdy.

“When the Rangers announced I was on the disabled list.”

“Gives you something to shoot for, doesn’t it?”

***

Rowdy squeezes the ice pack in his throbbing hand.

“I’m going to do you a favor, Rowdy,” Cam says. “I’m going to launch a weekly Rangers’ podcast. I need a wing man who's loose and funny.”

“That doesn’t sound like MacDonald Valentine. He’s a superstar on his way to the Hall of Fame, but he’s so focused on the game that he comes off as aloof. And Dickie, well, he’s kinda meek and polite.”

“I’m talking about you, numbskull.”

***

Rowdy adjusts his headphones, whispering, “Fix your hairpiece, Cam, it’s crooked.”

Cam tugs at his toupee. “This is Cam Collier, welcoming you to the debut of ‘Rangers Roundup’ with my co-host, Mr. Mustache, Rowdy Robinson. Let’s start with your signature caterpillar mustache. When did you grow it and why?”

“Between Junior and Senior year in college. I lived off campus, and during the summer, I went to visit a few of the guys in my old dorm. It was a beautiful day, and despite the weather, they seemed depressed. I suggested a water fight with the dorm next door to cheer them up. We had flags and hundreds of water balloons. We climbed the roof and attacked the other guys while they were sitting on their fire escape. They didn’t know what hit them. There was so much water in their dorm that they had to open the door to let it drain out. Unfortunately, we caused thousands of dollars in water damage to their rugs. They didn’t exactly squeal on me, but they gave the housing director a description of me. So, I needed to grow a mustache.”

“What’s it like to be on the same team as the legendary MacDonald Valentine?”

“He hits fifty home runs every year, wins batting titles, and is a gold glove fielder. When he’s not playing, he’s practicing. He’s even got a batting cage in his basement. He’s always the first one at the stadium and the last to leave. I’ve never met someone so serious and dedicated. He has to be an alien.”

“Maybe you should emulate him. Not many people know you were a good hitter in the minor leagues. What happened?”

“I hit .337 in Spokane my second year in the minors, with twelve home runs, which was a lot for me. I got a shot to play for the Seattle Mariners. I had game-winning hits four days in a row. I was hitting .307, and I never went to bed earlier than midnight. I thought, ‘This is it. You’ve made it.’ But one of those televangelists, Orel Heckingbottom, was the team’s owner. One day, he heard me cussing, and he had his grandkids with him. So, they traded me to Oakland because I was a 'bad influence.' I walked into a buzz saw in Oakland. The players hated the manager and mutinied. Most of us got traded. I ended up on the Cardinals. The catcher there bullied the young players, so you know I had to do something about it. After he collected his teeth, I was traded to the Dodgers, who didn’t really need me. I think I had forty at-bats with them before they cut me. I ended up in Toronto…”

“Scene of the three-in-one incident,” Cam says.

“Yeah, three errors in one inning against the Red Sox. I was playing center field. Mojo Jones led off the inning with a single, then Pokey Brisbane hit a routine fly ball to me. I lost the ball in the sun for an error, putting runners on first and second. The next batter, Eldon Etchebarren, also hit a fly ball to me. I was still shaken up, so I dropped the ball. Mojo scored from second, and Pokey took off for third. Pokey was a slug, so I tried to throw him out. My arm didn’t cooperate. I launched a throw to third that went way over the head of our third baseman, allowing Pokey to score. My manager took me out of the game. He tracked me down before the next game and told me they didn't allow visitors in the clubhouse. I ended up in Colorado, then with the Rangers for the first time, back to the Cardinals, and back to the Rangers for a second time. I took so many flights that I didn’t bother to unpack.”

“MacDonald Valentine has called you vital to the Rangers. What do you think he meant by that?”

“Guess I’m so bad that I’m good. Just as many players say, I don’t belong in baseball. I’m in the clubhouse to keep the players loose and to add to the opposing pitcher’s strikeout totals.”

“What have you done to loosen up your teammates?”

“When I was in Pittsburgh, Bam Bam Brown, Home Run Harris, and I grabbed Vinnie Pooch, one of the club’s most promising rookies, just before a game. We stripped him down and dumped mayo, mustard, jelly, and hand cream on him. Vinnie was still trying to clean off when a female reporter came in to talk to him. I guess he must’ve smelled pretty good because she ended up marrying him. I’m also an expert on giving a hot foot. One night, I ignited a ring of lighter fluid around the hotel bed of Shiv Stewart. Never even singed the rug, but I scared the beejesus out of him. But my signature move is dressing up like our manager, Joc Leiter.”

“You don’t look anything like him. He’s short and heavy, and you’re tall and thin. How do you pull it off?”

“I dab talcum powder on my mustache and hair. I stuff a couple of towels around my waist under my shirt and put on a pair of those little reading glasses Joc wears down on his nose. When Joc was suspended for a few games and we needed something to stop a losing streak, I dressed up like him and sat on the bench. The umpires were going to throw me out until they realized it was me. Everybody laughed. We won the game and started a big winning streak.”

“Why do you think people call you a clown and say you’re a bum who can’t play?”

“I’m hitting .200 with two home runs. MacDonald Valentine is hitting .350 and hits two home runs almost every game, so maybe I can’t play. I’m the little guy on the assembly line who's always getting laid off. This game continues to break my heart, yet I continue to persevere. My baseball card doesn’t have a picture on it. It has a suitcase. Nike paid me twenty grand not to use their equipment. When parents tell their kids, ‘Don’t do something, or else,’ they use my picture as an example of ‘or else.’ But baseball is my home. It’s taught me the meaning of friendship, that you can be any color, practice any religion, and be respected. It’s taught me that failure isn’t the end, it’s a motivator.”

***

Near the end of the season, the Rangers find themselves three games ahead of the Kansas City Royals for first place. Playing a three-game series in the Rangers’ stadium in Arlington, the Royals show the Rangers they will do whatever it takes to gain first place. Their pitcher, Cotton Wood, hits Dickie Diamond with the very first pitch of the game. In the bottom of the first inning, the Rangers’ pitcher hits the Royals’ first batter, causing both benches to empty.

In the next inning, the stadium erupts in boos when MacDonald Valentine is forced to hit the dirt to avoid a pitch near his head. The benches clear again, and an enraged Joc Leiter is ejected.

Valentine delights the crowd and enrages the Royals by hitting a home run.

Cotton Wood hits Dickie the next time he bats. Wood and Sparky LaFlamme, the Royals manager, are ejected.

When Valentine comes to bat again a few innings later, the Royals’ new pitcher buzzes him with a close pitch. Enraged, Valentine charges the mound. A melee ensues. Five players from each side and both replacement managers are ejected.

Rowdy follows his teammates onto the field, making sure to square off with the Royals’ oldest player and his former teammate, Cosentino Perez.

The two players grab each other’s collars, feigning anger.

“How’s the wife and kids?” Rowdy asks.

“Great. Debbie’s going to Cornell to study biology, and Roger is studying law.”

“Sounds like you’ve got your retirement plan all set up.”

The two men grimace as they watch Valentine knock the Royals’ catcher out cold.

“How about you?” Cosentino asks. “You still dating that singer?”

“Grace Kantner? That was two girlfriends ago.”

“You need a plan, Rowdy. You can’t play baseball forever.”

***

The following night, the umpires nervously wait for the two managers to bring the lineup cards to home plate so they can start the game.

Sporting a shiner, home plate umpire Anson Arroyo accepts the Rangers’ lineup card, saying, “Hello, Joc. Are we gonna have a peaceful game tonight?”

Anson does a double-take as Sparky LaFlamme and the other umps laugh hysterically.

“Is that you under those pillows and that make-up, Rowdy?” Anson asks.

Cam would later write, “I’ve never seen one man diffuse a volatile situation as quickly as Mr. Mustache did.”

***

Led by a barrage of MacDonald Valentine home runs, the Rangers take a commanding three games to one lead over the Philadelphia Phillies in the World Series, needing to win only once in the last three games to become champions.

In a desperate attempt to mount a comeback, Phillies manager Gunther Kilgallen announces his pitchers will walk Valentine for the rest of the series, taking away the Rangers’ most effective weapon.

When asked what he thinks of Kilgallen’s strategy, Joc Leiter replies, “That’s why they call Kilgallen ‘the Brain.’ Mac has fourteen hits in sixteen at-bats with six home runs. That’s an .875 batting average. The Phillies’ best hitter has a .285 batting average. If I were Kilgallen, I wouldn’t pitch to Mac either.”

Overhearing Joc’s comments, Rowdy charges into the conversation, screaming, “The Commissioner should fine that fat fool for making a mockery of the game! Kilgallen is a coward! I bet he’d pitch to me!”

Cam adjusts his toupee. “Are you sure you want me to print that? His pitchers would fight each other for the opportunity to strike you out.”

Rowdy woofs like an angry dog. “Let ‘em try.”

When Cam relays Rowdy’s comments to Gunther Kilgallen, his blue eyes turn ice cold, and his amiable personality darkens.

“He’s got a lot of bleeping nerve. Robinson may call himself a baseball player, but he isn’t one. I’ve managed and won two World Series. He doesn’t know which end of the bat to use. What’s he know about winning? What’s he done? He’s collected dust at the end of the bench for most of his so-called career. Robinson couldn’t hit water if he fell out of a bleeping boat.”

***

With the Rangers losing 1-0 with three outs to go in the last inning, Dickie Diamond singles. He awkwardly rounds first base, twisting his ankle.

Joc calls Rowdy to his side.

“Run for Dickie.”

“What? I’m slower than him.”

Joc points at the team trainers helping Dickie off the field.

“Not right now, you’re not. And don’t get picked off.”

A disbelieving hush travels throughout the stadium when Rowdy is announced as a pinch runner.

Kilgallen moves to the top step of the Phillies’ dugout, pointing and laughing at Rowdy.

“That’s the only way you can get on base, bush leaguer! You can’t hit your way on!”

The Phillies’ pitcher, Carmen Kracowski, rubs the stubble on his face, laughing at Rowdy.

“Take a lead,” Speedy Corrales, the Rangers’ first base coach, says.

Rowdy moves off first base.

“More,” Corrales urges. “But be ready to dive back. Carmen has a sneaky pick off move.”

Rowdy inches further away from the base, smirking at Corrales.

“I’m like lightning.”

Kracowski looks toward home. Winding up, he suddenly spins, throwing the ball toward first base.

“GET BACK!”

Rowdy dives, hitting the dirt, realizing he’s too far away from the base to reach it.

The first baseman chuckles, tagging Rowdy out.

“Lightning, eh?” Corrales says.

His head down, Rowdy jogs back to the Rangers’ dugout.

“What a clown!” Kilgallen raves. “It’s like he’s playing for us!”

Rowdy’s teammates turn away as he takes a seat at the end of the bench.

The Rangers lose 1-0.

Rowdy leaves the stadium before the end of the game to avoid an onslaught of reporters, particularly Cam Collier. He receives hundreds of emails calling him everything from a bum to the anti-Christ. He’s forced to take his home phone off the hook and ditches his cell phone.

The following morning, Cam’s website runs a caricature of Rowdy dressed like a clown and holding a daffodil, while lying in a coffin labeled, “R.I.P. Texas Rangers World Series Hopes.”

***

Rowdy takes his seat at the end of the bench for the deciding game of the World Series. The game remains deadlocked until the last inning, when the Phillies push across a run to lead 5-4.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, the Phillies' normally sure-handed third baseman makes an error, putting the tying run on base. All the Rangers have to do to win is score two runs.

The fans utter hushed prayers as Wylie Womack, hitless throughout the series, wobbles up the dugout steps.

“Hold it, Wylie,” Joc calls after him. “Rowdy, hit for Wylie.”

One of the players mutters, “It’s over,” under his breath. Another says, “Coach must have a bus to catch,” and a third utters, “This’ll nail our coffin shut.”

MacDonald Valentine notices Rowdy looking at the bat rack with confusion.

“Come on, Rowdy. You’ve seen a bat before.”

“I haven’t had to swing a bat for so long that the equipment guys threw mine out.”

Valentine pulls out one of his bats, handing it to Rowdy.

“It weighs a ton.”

“That’s part of the secret to my success. I hit a small ball with a big bat.”

A smattering of applause, muffled curses, and gasps from the fans greet Rowdy as he walks to home plate.

“Conceding defeat, Cam?” Kilgallen yells from his dugout.

Rowdy digs into the batter’s box to face six-foot-six-inch reliever Lon Reed, who throws a hundred miles an hour.

Reed smiles like a snake zeroing in on lunch.

Rowdy swings through a blur.

“STRIKE ONE!”

Reed hurls another hundred mile an hour pitch. Rowdy swings late again, missing.

“STRIKE TWO!”

Reed smiles slyly. Rowdy takes a deep breath, knowing Reed is going to throw another fastball.

Rowdy swings from his heels. He stands still for a moment, watching the ball land in the left field bleachers.

Rowdy pirouettes as he runs the bases and is mobbed as he steps on home plate with the winning run.

***

Smoking a celebratory cigar and drinking from a bottle of champagne, Rowdy holds court in the Rangers’ dressing room.

Cam approaches him, bowing humbly.

“You hit the most dramatic home run in World Series history. What were you thinking as you were rounding the bases?”

“Don’t trip.”

“You proved you belong in the Major Leagues, Rowdy.”

“Does this mean you’re going to spell my name right from now on?”

“I’m going to spell it H-E-R-O.”