Kasey

He found the glove in the makeshift loft, located in northeast corner of the garage. He had gone up there to pout and air his grievances to the long legged spiders that inhabited the dark edges of the elevated space. Ironically, in times of emotional distress, he consoled himself in places that he also feared. The rooftop, the large tree in the front yard, the attic and, in this instance, the loft. When confined to his room, he would retreat to the upper shelf of his closet.

The mitt was very old, dark and dry. Having never held one before, it was curious that it fit onto his right hand, which, being a young child, was confusing, as he would have to remove the glove to throw the ball. “Why would they make it like that?” He brought it to his mom. She explained that it was his father’s, and that he was left handed.

It had never occurred to Sandy, to share the details of her ex-husband’s success on the baseball field with Kasey. Until, this moment, Kasey had never shown any interest in anything related to the sport his dad loved so much. Roger had left them three years prior, for another woman, to start another family. It was only recently, that Sandy had convinced Kasey, that Roger was not coming back. She had re-married, earlier that year, to a man who ran a local print shop and also, serendipitously, coached little league baseball.

Jim was 30 years old, fit, and friendly. He had two daughters from his previous marriage. He loved them very much, but, having a son, was an experience that he looked forward to. Jim was a hunter and fisherman. He worked on cars, and never had to call a repairman for anything that was needed around the house. So, it was a slight disappointment, that Kasey, had no interest in any of those activities. He was content to play with his “Star Wars” toys and kick the soccer ball against the side of the house.

The glove became a catalyst for a special bond between the two. After work, Jim would go over the mechanics of pitching with the boy. Kasey had reasoned, that since his dad had been a pitcher throughout elementary school, high-school and college, he might be able to do so as well.

It was a rough start. Kasey had no physical attributes that would assist him in his pursuit. He was the smallest one in his class. Thin, dainty fingers, more suited for penmanship than physical endeavors. However, time passed, and ever so slightly, there was improvement.

December 15, 1982

The blows were forceful and successive. His head ricocheted off the edge of the table. His vision blurred, but, he could still see the figure, towering above him, shaking with rage. It turned out that not all eight year olds cry out or run away under such a barrage. Some, simply, sit, look up in confusion, and then drift off to sleep.

The promotion from T-ball to Little League can be less than seamless. Instead of the ball sitting there, waiting to be whacked, it would be coming at all sorts of speeds and angles, designed to avoid the swing of the bat. For most kids, it is daunting, but, this is what Kasey had been training for, every day, for the past three years. Although, still undersized, the hours of practice paid off. He made the All-Star team. The youngest one in the league to do so.

August, 21, 1986

Kasey kicked his feet and turned his arms over and over again, desperately, trying to reach the rock in the middle of the river. The current was more powerful than he had anticipated. He woke up, being dragged out of the water by his friend, Doug.

It was rumored that some scouts were going to be watching the high-school playoffs. Exciting as that was, it was not what was on Kasey’s mind. His father had learned of Kasey’s prowess on the diamond. It piqued his interest. As such, he advised Sandy, that he would be attending the upcoming game.

As his turn on the mound neared, a sense of dread began to envelope Kasey. He broke down. His teammates and coaches were confused. They had never seen him like this. They tried to reason with him, but, he was inconsolable. Mumbling, again and again, “I can’t…. I can’t do it… I can’t.” His adrenalin was red-lining his entire body. The boy inside his head was revealing what all the hours of practice were about. The drive. The obsession. The sheer will that had made it possible to overcome all of his shortcomings and transform him into a top prospect. All of it, was about this moment. The irrational child within him, was convinced that if he were good enough, talented enough, special enough, his father would return.

Research shows that there are several, physical requirements that must be met in order to be able to throw a baseball 90 MPH:

- “Momentum Potential”- height in inches x2.5= Minimum Ideal Body weight

- “Force Production”- deadlift of at least 400lbs for 1 rep

- “Force Transfer”- chin-up 250lb for 1 rep

Kasey Thompson lacked them all.

Scott Everson was captivated by the book, “Outliers”, by, Malcolm Gladwell. It details how anyone can become a “master”, by allotting 10,000 hours toward their chosen field. Scott wondered what he could have become, had he or his parents been aware of this potential fact.

He was having a child, and was infatuated with the limitless potential that might be attainable for him or her. Predictably, many argued, that Mr. Gladwell was wrong. They were convinced that abilities are “god given”, and that no amount of time or effort would enable an individual to circumvent that fact.

The development of the “Simulated World” program, changed everything. This new technology allowed Scott and his many backers, to test Mr. Gladwell’s theory. Specifically, it was calculated that Kasey would have to average 2.5 hours of practice, per day, between the ages of 6 and 17, to reach the 10,000 hour mark.

Great care was taken when setting up the simulation. To push an individual in a certain direction, you cannot merely, “command it”. Much thought was put into the environment, family, friends, and, of course, the test subject. Depending on the study, how highly the subject is “motivated”, is crucial. In this case, motivating the Kasey, was everything. In general, people who are not initially adept at an activity, tend to shy away from it. To truly test the validity of “Outliers”, the subject had to possess an insatiable drive to be successful in an area for which they had no natural ability.

It was decided that manipulating the child’s innate need of love and acceptance from his father would work best, toward instilling the desire necessary for the best possible outcome. Premature death, however, was not accounted for. First, when he was accidentally beaten to death by a visiting relative. Some felt, that an alcoholic uncle, would serve as a cautionary tale for Kasey as he got older, to avoid substance abuse and keep focused on his goal. Second, when he drowned at age 12.

Each death brought the experiment to a momentary halt. They had to splice him back in, to proceed. That process was not without error. Kasey’s eyes were more gray than blue after the assault, and his scar from that incident, ended up slightly closer to his hairline, after the drowning. Not perfect, but, far from anything that would cause someone to question their reality.

Kasey, if you are reading this, it means that you are on the catwalk that runs beneath the 800 foot bridge that connects the two halves of your hometown. You have located this little black book, detailing the truth of your existence, on the center beam of this abandoned walk way. It means that you pitched in that play-off game. It means that you pushed yourself beyond your physical limitations, and ruptured the tendon in your elbow.

They debated about how to end this. How to end you. It was argued, that since you are not “real”, they had license to lead you to this bridge and off of it. I was opposed to that idea. The life you have experienced is no different to you than mine is to me. The binding of this book contains a Honus Wagner baseball card, valued at $3.25 Million Dollars.

I downloaded your simulation onto another server.

They will never find you.