"Trevor Effing Plouffe"

7/29/2019 "Trevor Effing Plouffe"

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Trevor Effing Plouffe

By Tommy Smith

I.

They amped themselves up for the Twins game with some classic Megadeth,

head-banging to the thrash-metal bands blazing-fast song Mechanix, as they rolled

into a parking ramp near Target Field, five deep in (dont tell Mom) Lukes dads pickup.

Lukes dad was scoring major points. He proceeded to give them all back when, before

the song had even ended, he went all 90s MTV news anchor on Luke and his friends

about how Dave Mustaine formed Megadeth only after getting kicked out of a then-

unknown Metallica.

Luke told the old geezer to take a nap in the car. He would bring him a hotdog at

the seventh-inning stretch.

Lukes dad said that was a good one. The proverbial apple didnt fall far from the

proverbial tree.

Luke said the proverbial dad thought losing the proverbial glasses made him one

of the proverbial cool kids. But he was still the same proverbial dork.

Lukes friends had a good laugh. All together. Like hyenas. They were like that.

Lukes dad didnt mind so much. And really, how could he? It was a beautiful

day for baseball in an open-air stadium, still new enough in Minnesota to be a novelty.

On the way to their seats, he drowned Luke and his friends in Trevor Plouffe love.

The former first round pick, relegated to near irrelevance after years of failing to live up

to the hype, was having a season for the agesmade all the more spectacular by the

unexpected way he was doing it, as an extreme all-or-nothing slugger who looked more

like a hippy than Paul Bunyan. The gangly third basemens two-month power surge had

cemented him as a local legend, and the feel-good storyof a late bloomer, all but

written off at the start of the season, playing out of his mind on a small-market team

fighting to stay out of the basement of the divisionwas finally starting to seep into the

national spotlight.


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Trevor Plouffe was going to hit three dingers that day. Lukes dad could feel it.

Sure enough, Plouffe went yard on the first pitch he saw, dumping a fat cookie of a

curveball into the leftfield seats.

Lukes dad squeezed the crap out of his son and asked him if he could believe it.

Trevor effing Plouffe. That was what he was talking about. One. Zip. He told K. C. to

eat it and Bruce Chen, their starting pitcher, to get that soft-tossing, wily-vet yarbage

out of here.

Luke asked his dad what yarbage was.

One of Lukes friends said it was dad-speak.

Trevor Plouffe let Lukes dad down in his second at bat. Bruce Chen took his

soft-tossing yarbage to Plouffe, painting the corner on the first two pitches, before

getting him to weakly fly out, with the score all knotted up at 1.

Luke asked his dad what was wrong with his boy.

He told his son to relax. It was a long game. He gave him some money. Cuban

sandwiches. For him and his friends. And one for his old man, too, while he was at it.

Luke just looked at him.

Lukes dad said from Tony Os. Where else?

Luke took the money and left with his friends. They came back a couple innings

later. Without the sandwiches.

Lukes dad didnt notice. He was too busy having an aneurysm. Kansas City had

put a crooked number up on the board. And that goddamn Chen was cruising. Sub-90s

fastball and all.

Luke, feeling kind of sorry for his dad, tried to conjure up one of those father/son

moments. That Kirby Puckett, he said. He played some pretty mean centerfield.

There was a crack of the bat, and the crowd came to their feet. Lukes dad was

right with them, desperately trying to will the ball past the centerfielder. He kept telling

it to get out there. And it did. The ball flew just over the centerfielders glove and went

all the way to the wall. When the dust had settled, the light-hitting rookie Brian Dozier

was standing at third with a leadoff triple.

Lukes dad looked Luke in the eye and said Kirby would have caught that.

Luke asked his dad why he didnt name him Kirby.


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Lukes dad said because, sadly, he wasnt conceived in a bathroom stall in the

Metrodome.

Luke said and all this time, he thought he was a blumpkin baby.

Lukes dad shushed Luke. From the edge of his seat, he said the squeeze was on.

Indeed, it was, and Denard Span, the Twins best bunter, laid down a beauty.

Lukes dad, making giant Pete Townshend guitar windmills, waved in Dozier himself.

The run cut Kansas Citys lead to three. He made sure Luke and his friends knew it.

They had two more outs. This inning was just getting started. Chen was going down.

Four batters later, Chen was on the ropes. He had given up a three-run homer to

Josh The Hammer Willingham and was hoping to escape the inning with a tie.

Luke told his dad his boy was up. Trevor effing Plouffe.

Lukes dad said it, too. Trevor effing Plouffe. Only, he shouted it. And added a

fist pump. Because Plouffe had done it again. Another first-pitch solo shot for the lead.

Lukes dad was shaking his head. He said goddamn. Trevor effing Plouffe.

Plouffe was magical. He was a goddamn unicorn. Just like the Twins. 87. 91. Could

a World Series be any more magical? You bought teams, you didnt get this shit.

Yankees fans didnt know what they were missing. Luke wasnt even a bun in the oven

in 91, so he didnt know, either. But he would. Theyd get back there. Improbably.

And win it. Just as improbably. Because they were charmed.

Luke said skol Twins.

Lukes dad, selectively hearing go, said that was his boy. They had quite a

game now. Didnt they? And Plouffe still had another round-tripper in him. Lukes dad

told Luke he was going to get him a Plouffe jersey. Probably be worth money someday.

Luke told his dad to go do that.

II.

It was late. The game was over. Luke had crashed at a friends house. Lukes

dad was having a drink in the kitchen with Lukes mom. He said the Twins won. Plouffe

hit two out.

Lukes mom said that was pretty good. Wasnt it?


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Lukes dad snorted. Then, he raised his glass and said Trevor effing Plouffe.

Lukes mom said it, too, but less like a toast and more like a curse.

Lukes dad said god, he loved baseball. Even when he was too young to know the

rules, he loved it. A lot of thingsa lot of sportshe couldnt just listen to and enjoy.

Like football. But baseball. All he needed was a radio.

Lukes mom said it was late. He was losing her. She was drifting.

Lukes dad said Trevor Plouffe was doing something really incredible this year.

Something damn near historic. A nobody. Then. Homerun. After. Homerun. After.

Homerun. Who couldnt get into that?

Lukes mom said her. She couldnt. It was late.

Lukes dad said if only Luke was here.

Lukes mom said she used to like baseball.

Lukes dad said oh, really?

Lukes mom said well, enough to sign up for little league, anyway.

Lukes dad said probably just tee ball. Coachs pitch, maybe.

Lukes mom said no. She played longer than that.

Lukes dad said what happened? Lose interest?

Lukes mom said she wasnt very good.

Lukes dad said he could imagine.

Lukes mom said she quit the year they made the playoffs. The coach made her

bunt every time she got up.

Lukes dad said that was kind of a dick move.

Lukes mom said was it?

Lukes dad made a ton of racket fishing the rolling pin out of the silverware

drawer. He told Lukes mom they were going to work on her swing.

Lukes mom told her nutty husband to get away from her.

Lukes dad said they were going to do this. They were going to put this thing

bed. Exorcise this demon.

Lukes mom said if he gave her that rolling pin, she was going to hit him with it.

Lukes dad said that would be healthy. That would be cathartic.

Lukes mom hit him.


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Lukes dad said that was it. That was the stuff. He told her to let it all out.

Lukes mom hit him again. Harder this time.

Lukes dad stopped her from hitting him again and said she was ready for some

live BP. He got a bag of clementines out of the fridge.

Lukes mom let the first pitch go by.

Lukes dad said where the eff was that? Right in her wheelhouse. That was

where.

Lukes mom let another one go by.

Lukes dad said she was killing him here. Right down Broadway.

Lukes mom bunted the next one.

Lukes dad said he was running out of balls. This was serious business.

Lukes mom said she was going to bed.

Lukes dad told her to stay up and have a clementine with him.

She didnt.

III.

Three weeks later, Luke and his friends were getting their underage drink on with

the choicest of chicken-hawks when his phone rang. And rang. And rang. Luke finally

picked up and told his dad to stop hounding him.

Lukes dad thanked god he reached him. Had he heard? Plouffe got pulled from

the game. They were calling it a thumb injury. Nothing to worry about. Day to day, at

worst. Day to day, his ass. He asked Luke if he heard that. It was just the sound of yet

another Twins fairy tale getting flushed down the toilet. Hand injurieslingering

bastards that they werehad a way of derailing promising seasons. Why? Why? Why

Trevor effing Plouffe? Why? Why not the golden boy, Mauer?

Luke tried to tell his dad about the power of positive thinking.

Lukes dad said he loved young people.

Luke told his dad to shut the tv off and enjoy Hawaii like a normal person. He

said he was hanging up. And he did.

The chicken-hawk Luke had his eye on asked him what that was all about.


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Luke said oh, nothing. His dad just had one kid too many.

The chicken-hawk did some snooping in Lukes closet and came out with the

Trevor Plouffe jersey. She said what was this?

Luke said it was his dads.

She said his dad was a baseball player?

He said not just him. He came from a long line of ballplayers. He asked her if

shed ever heard of Babe Ruth.

She said he was putting her on.

He said what? With these guns?

She said her drink was empty.

When Luke came back with a refill, the chicken-hawk had put the jersey onand

taken everything else off.

Luke said, Whatcha doing?

The chicken-hawk said she was getting him all hot and bothered.

Luke said that was why thered never be a girl in the big leagues.

"Trevor Effing Plouffe"

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