“I promise to get you a huge Nike deal once you graduate,” Tom said to ease the sting.
◊◊◊
Mr. Morris negotiated an agreement with the NCAA. It included the amateurism clearance I needed and a waiver for acting and modeling, including the promotion of movies I acted in. It also included wording about not being able to work for a company who sold either football or baseball gear, even if the ads were not related to either sport. That would, of course, preclude my work with Range Sports
In exchange, I agreed to grant the NCAA, my future school, and their conference the rights to my name and image while I was an eligible athlete in college. But those rights were limited; they applied only insofar as they directly related to football and/or baseball. I stressed, for example, that anything related to my modeling or the movies I acted in, as well as any commercials, were off-limits to them. I didn’t commit to PSAs, committee membership, or being the poster boy for the NCAA. To appease them, we agreed that I would be open to considering requests from the NCAA in each area. To me, ‘considering’ something didn’t mean I had to say yes.
Something Mr. Morris insisted be included was language that if there were ever a dispute over the agreement or any of its terms, standard rules of contract interpretation would apply. Later, he explained he didn’t want the NCAA trying to say their interpretation of any language should have precedence because of their role and experience in regulating college athletics. He also negotiated a ‘get out of jail free’ card for anything I’d done up to this point. The NCAA couldn’t come back later and say that my fundraising for Washington and the subsequent baseball game were found to violate any rules.
Mr. Morris was happy but warned me I needed to be vigilant, and we should prepare for them to break their word. He said that when they did, having the waiver in hand would give us a strong position when we ended up in court. He made it sound like a foregone conclusion. I guess I was naïve because to me it felt like we’d worked everything out. Mr. Morris said he expected we weren’t out of the woods yet. He hadn’t steered me wrong so far, so I listened to his counsel, and Dad authorized him to prepare for the worst.
Caryn received the happy task of letting all the recruiters know I had my letter of eligibility for amateurism. That, combined with my SAT scores, would allow them to assure my eligibility. They would have to wait until after my fall grades were in to get the final word. But with my current grades and SAT scores, I wasn’t really at risk of not qualifying at most schools.
◊◊◊
We drove to St. Joe for my baseball game. They’d declined to do a doubleheader at State on Saturday. From my perspective, that ended up being a mistake. Fritz had to park three blocks from the high school because of the crowd, which meant that we had to navigate that to get to the athletic facilities. Fritz acted like a fullback to punch a hole in the crowd so I could get to the locker room.
“Glad to see you decided to join us,” Moose said when I walked in.
“Did you know there are people here?” I asked and blinked at Moose.
“Get dressed,” he ordered, unamused.
Everyone else thought I was funny. When we came out to warm up, Moose had to send the autograph-seekers packing. He promised there would be time for signing after the game. Coach Haskins told us that people were upset because they couldn’t get in. The St. Joe police were out in force, but it looked like they had their hands full. The bleachers were full, and it was standing room only around the baselines and outfield. Their bleachers might’ve held a hundred people. I would guess we had at least a couple thousand fans circling the field.
As visitors, we got to bat first. After the national anthem, I smiled when the first notes to AC/DC’s Thunderstruck came on; apparently, someone had gotten the memo about my theme song. I looked into the stands, and our fans were on their feet. It appeared we had a large contingent of college scouts here to watch the game. Everyone got up when the music began to rock, and the fans sang along with the intro. That many voices … well, it was impressive.
St. Joe’s team seemed a little shell-shocked when I stepped into the batter’s box. Their pitcher looked around like he wasn’t sure what to do. I had a huge smile when he grooved one right down the center of the plate. That ball jumped out of the park in a hurry. I put my head down and ran around the bases. It was bad enough I had theme music; I didn’t need to show the kid up.
It shook their poor pitcher up because he threw two more pitches that were knocked out of the park before their coach pulled him from the game. I’d hate to calculate how that outing would ruin his ERA.
Their next man up was good. When I came up to face him, he didn’t give me anything to hit, which meant he walked me. He had a good move to first and made me eat dirt. I watched to see what foot he would lift and took off when he lifted his front one. He panicked and balked, which awarded me second base.
I had him flummoxed when I began to dance around at second like I planned to steal third. He balked again, giving me third, and that brought his coach out for a talk. I smiled when Coach Haskins called for the bunt. St. Joe played it well, and it was a bang-bang play at home. I was called out, but my aggression on the base paths was evident, and it fired up our team. We ended up winning 7–2. I went three for three, drove in a run, and scored one.
When I jogged in and had shaken all the St. Joe players’ hands, Moose handed me a Sharpie and sent me to sign autographs. Even though it was a colossal pain in the butt, I knew this was part of it. I gave some of the St. Joe guys shit when they got in line for me to sign stuff.
◊◊◊ Friday April 8
I was backstage getting makeup put on when Halle found me.
“There must be two hundred people out there,” she worried.
“Two hundred and fifteen,” I said confidently.
“How do you …”
“That’s how many the theater holds,” I interrupted. “There’s a little placard on the wall by the main entry door that tells you.”
“Oh.”
For an actress who was supposed to be good with words, she worried me sometimes. She seemed more than a little rattled. Then again, this was our first live performance. I’d been nervous when I first agreed to do the play but figured what the heck, how bad could it really go? High schools across the country survived productions of Our Town. We would survive this.
“In act two, when am I supposed to come in?” I asked.
Halle scrunched her forehead and then told me. I asked her a series of questions about my lines, which irritated her more. But soon she was no longer worried about how bad she would do, she was now concerned I was about to make a fool out of myself. I smiled inside when we heard it was time. We crept to the side of the stage to listen to the Stage Manager deliver his opening monologue.
I didn’t make my appearance until the middle of act 1. Halle was on as Emily before I was. The crowd began to clap when Halle first appeared on stage. She and the others on stage had to wait to say their lines. Finally, Halle and Dana, playing Emily’s mother, got to have their on-stage conversation.
I was on right after that when the scene switched to me speaking to my mom. When the lights turned on us, the crowd began to clap again. It was a little annoying that they would interrupt the play, but we waited until they quieted down. Then it was time for me to say my lines. I think I nailed it.
◊◊◊
Time flew, and I couldn’t believe it when we reached the final scene in act 3, Emily in childbirth. During practice, we’d hammed it up and made light of the final scene.
Emily talks to her fellow dead when George appears. I dropped to my knees, and my shoulders shook. I surprised myself when I was able to create real tears for the scene. The look of sorrow on Halle’s face about did me in. Somehow, she managed to get through her lines, allowing the Stage Manager to come out and do his final monologue.