The event was set. 3 weeks out. Broadcast rights sold. Ticket sales crashed the website in 11 minutes. Back on the South Side, inside the crumbling cage, the real work began.
Earl had 3 weeks to prepare Wesley for the most important 45 seconds of his life. He trained the boy with a ferocity that bordered on cruelty. Not because Earl was cruel, but because Sullivan was still Garrett Sullivan. 55 years old, but still training 4 days a week. Still had the hand speed and eye coordination that made him a legend.
Underestimating him would be suicide. Earl studied Sullivan obsessively. Old MLB footage, charity game clips, the training videos Sullivan posted to intimidate Wesley. Hundreds of at-bats mapped. Swing mechanics cataloged.
The data pointed to one critical flaw. Sullivan committed early on off-speed pitches. His career strikeout numbers confirmed it. His hands were fast, but his discipline was emotional. When he decided to swing, he swung with everything.
He couldn't hold back. Earl built a three-pitch sequence like an architect builds a bridge. Every piece load-bearing. Pitch one, fastball. Establish speed in Sullivan's eyes.
Force his brain to calibrate. Pitch two, cutter. Same arm motion, but the ball breaks 3 inches laterally at the last moment. Shift Sullivan's eye level. Plant doubt.