When Brock Holt woke up one recent morning after another spectacular performance, he was thrilled to see his mother's name on the caller ID as his phone rang.
"Hi, ma!" he said enthusiastically.
"Hi, son," she replied. "You were great again last night!"
"Thank, ma," he said.
"Realistically speaking, son," she replied, "how long do you think this will last? How long before you're back in Pawtucket?"
"You too, ma?" he said, annoyed. "Hey, I plan to be a starting major leaguer for years to come."
When his mother's laughing wouldn't subside, Holt unceremoniously hung up on her. Such has been life for the unheralded prospect since his major league career began. Holt has done nothing but shine in the field and hit like a phenom. And absolutely nobody thinks it's going to last.
"I hope it lasts a little longer, 'cause his t-shirts are selling like hotcakes," said a smiling Larry Lucchino recently. "We might have a Brock Holt Night, because it'd be the only way we sell any tickets with this miserable team. But I think his chariot will turn back into a pumpkin pretty soon."
While Holt continues his all-star caliber play, no one seems to believe in him. "I give kids autographs and they ask me when I will start to suck," he said sadly. "They tell me they want to sell my baseball card now before it becomes worthless."
Yesterday, Holt called his former manager, Pawtucket's Kevin Boles, for a vote of confidence. "You're hitting the hell out the ball, kid, keep it up! Great job!!!"
"Thanks, Skip," he replied, encouraged.
"But I've got you pencilled in as our starting third baseman three weeks from tomorrow against the Rochester Red Wings!"
