In Dean's playing days the high school was still in town, but otherwise, nothing had changed. Old Coach Grayson was still at the helm and probably always would be. The title "Coach" was so branded to the old man that few ever considered he had a first name. The "old" was a natural-he'd never see 70 again. The man had an additional distinction. Coach Grayson was the only resident of Parkside who had ever played major league baseball. This distinction granted him the position-nay, the obligation-of coaching Parkside High Baseball, and so he did, for as far back as anyone could remember. Consensus held he had taken an abominable collection of losers and quickly honed them into perennial also-rans. The exception was this year when Parkside had a legitimate shot at success.
Dean once looked up Coach Grayson's professional record in the Baseball Encyclopedia at the Parkside Library. Unfortunately, someone had torn out the page. Curiosity got the better of him and later, on a trip to Philadelphia, he checked the city's library. Coach Grayson, first name Henry, had gone oh-for-four, lifetime, in just two games for the Boston Braves in the late forties. He apparently was given a whiff of the bigs in a losing September when a few fortunate minor leaguers get a peek of how the other side lives. A moment in the sun for a lucky few prior to a life of obscurity in the Parksides of the world. Dean never mentioned this bit of detective work to anyone, but he could guess who had torn the page from the Parkside Library edition.
Coach Grayson wouldn't have remembered David Dean even if he hadn't been busy with piloting his crew and glanced Dean's way. There was absolutely nothing memorable in Dean's baseball career to give reason for lasting impressions.
The scene brought back a flood of memories to Dean. Just making the Parkside High baseball team had been a miraculous ascension from being the-you-take-him-we-don't-want-him-boy when the kids chose sides in sandlot games. Never mind he spent three years constantly riding the bench, hoping against hope for a miracle, as he practiced, cheered and hustled with unbridled enthusiasm. He meticulously kept his stats, listing his infrequent ups with the care of an accountant. He could still remember them. Seven hits in 41 plate appearances for a lifetime bating average of .171. All seven hits were singles and all were in routs, usually by the other side. He had scored once, in his junior year, producing one-third of his team's production in a 13-to-3 lapper for Easton High. But all his disappointments, if not forgotten, at least were put on hold when he qualified for a Varsity letter and the right to wear the maroon sweater of the Parkside Bulldogs. He began humming the school song as he watched the play.