Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike Read Online Free PDF Page A

the alarm go off. The time was 10:05am; I was already 35 minutes late.
    I raced down the stairs and hit the street on foot. The only thought on my mind was how strict my coach was about being late; my strides grew longer. I needed to devise a scheme to make my tardiness permissible; otherwise I was a dead man walking (or in this case, running).
    My only way out was by going in the training room and telling my coach I was getting medical treatment; there was a glimmer of hope, I thought.
    When I finally arrived, drenched in sweat, my hope was crushed – the training room was closed.
    Now it was official, DEAD MAN WALKING. I put my head down and shuffled down the dirt path towards the baseball stadium. I thought of every stopgap measure I could use on my way but nothing was feasible.
    My head coach was waiting for me the second I stepped foot inside the locker room. He was dressed in full uniform with a stone cold look on his face. He swallowed, causing his Adam's apple to jump out of his neck, and pointed towards his office.
    I sat down on the other side of his desk, like a movie director with the script in hand – I already knew his next line.
    "Brad, you know how I feel about my players being late. I'm sorry, but you are no longer a member of the ECU baseball team."



Cape Cod Part I

    A few weeks later, Justin was drafted #1 overall in the MLB draft by the Arizona Diamondbacks. He was 17 years old with a multi-million dollar check waiting in the wings. I was still in North Carolina, so I called to congratulate him.
    "What's up player?" he said, clearly in a good mood.
    "Congrats!" I yelled.
    "Thanks man. Hey, I have to do an interview, let me hit you back."
    This was something I would get used to; his life was in the midst of a drastic change.
    What he didn't know is that this day changed my life as well; his success inspired and motivated me to not give up on baseball. Sure, I recently endured a self-inflicted setback, but I was going to get up and keep swinging.
    A few minutes after getting off the phone with him, I called my coach at ECU. I signed a contract earlier in the year to play summer ball in Wilmington, NC and I planned on asking him to honor it.
    "Coach, I know I messed up, but I don't want this to be the end for me. Will you allow me to play in Wilmington?" I asked, determinedly.
    "Brad, you're lucky I like you. I will call the coach and tell him you're on your way."
    He ended the call and I was beaming from ear to ear. I packed my bags and set out for a second chance on–what was to me–life.
    Wilmington was very much akin to ECU; pretty girls in every direction and parties' in every place. This time, I was cognizant of these distractions and decided to avoid them at all costs. I didn't want history to repeat itself but it was going to be tough because we were right on the beach.
    Three weeks into the season and so far, I was squeaky clean. Then I spotted a tall athletic brunette girl scaling the stairs to the front office a few hours before the game. She was dressed in skimpy shorts, a tightly fitted team t-shirt and bright white sneakers. Her legs were long, lean, fit and each step she took brandished the firm definition in her thighs. I was in a trance, briefly induced back to my alter ego, the female assassin, and I was going in for the kill.
    I walked into the office and isolated the target.
    "You're very pretty, what's your name?" I delivered, with a side of charm.
    "Nicole," she receptively replied with a smile.
    "Well, Nicole, I think we should hangout. I have to get back to the field but I don't think it would be proper to leave without your number."
    I didn't. She came over that very night, and each subsequent night until it all changed with one missed phone call.
    We were next to one another, in bed, when her phone rang. After reading the caller ID, she gave me a weird look.
    "What?" I asked.
    "You don't want to know who that was," said Nicole.
    "You're not my girlfriend, so I don't really