Golden Boy — A Short Story
When Tom Catalano walked into the locker room, even his teammates paused to look at him. Though he did not wear all the jewelry that they preferred, and though no tattoos whatsoever scarred his body, his mere physical presence impressed them all.
His neck muscles and his biceps stretched the material on his short-sleeved, purple polo shirt. His short, blond hair was slicked back like a cascading ocean wave, and his easy greeting to everyone reflected his California surfer background: “Dude!”
As he walked to his locker in the far corner of the room, he fist-bumped his teammates, and teased them like brothers: “You paid for that haircut? Seriously?
“You know those colors don’t match, right?
“Whoa, is that your belt, or is that the equator?”
To be insulted by the “Golden Boy” was a badge of honor; it meant the teammate had earned the Captain’s approval, the rookie had arrived, and the newcomer had been accepted. Tom was the unquestioned leader who held meetings when needed and who held the team together with both his talent and his personality.
The girls couldn’t resist “TC,” and on this day, he was trying to convince a teammate to help him out. “Look, after tonight’s game, please take Lisa back to my place, so I can spend some time with that new reporter from the…
