Midnight in San Diego. The phone rang. Vannessa looked at the clock, frowned, then picked up the phone

"This had better be good," she said sleepily.
"Go to the airport. You're coming to Mesa."
"Dad?" Vannessa sat up, "it's midnight."
"I wish I could have called you earlier, but nothing doing," Donald North said apologetically to his daughter.
"Is something wrong? Is Jean okay?" Vannessa rose, and began tossing clothes into her suitcase.
"Nothing is wrong. It's an opportunity, and we must seize it," he replied, "You're going to report to the training camp at noon."
"You're kidding."
"No, honey, I'm serious. There is an open tryout tomorrow, um today, at noon for any and all shortstops. They're desperate."
"Desperate enough to let a girl try out?" Vannessa's eyes narrowed and she frowned again.
"It'll work. Don't you want to try?"
"You know I do, dad."
"Wear baggy sweats and tuck that beautiful long hair of your up under your cap," Donald replied, "your flight leaves in 90 minutes, so get going. I'll be waiting for you at the airport when you arrive."
"That's cutting it fine; how will I get through security that fast?"
"Don't bring a carry on. Dump everything into your suitcase. Now go!"
Vannessa heard her father hang up. She sat down on the edge of the bed, "what is he thinking?" she said.