Third Base (The Boys of Summer 1)

“That’s good. I’ve spoken to your professor, and he’s assured me that he’s taught you everything from the course, so tonight after the game you can speak to the media if they ask for you.”

I can’t hide the grin that I know is plastered all over my face. I stand and shake his hand, elated that he has enough faith in me to not screw up. I hope that I don’t make a fool out of myself when given the opportunity and that I do something tonight that will be newsworthy.

“I heard about your secret project,” Stone says, causing me to sit back down.

I run my free hand through my hair, trying to decipher if I’m in trouble or not.

“It’s a nice thing to do – to help out like that.”

I nod and say thank you, hoping that what I’ve done doesn’t cause upset or fall on deaf ears. Frankly, I’m out of options. Stone dismisses me, but not before telling me that his wife’s parents are in attendance tonight. Why he felt the need to say this is beyond me, but he loves taking every jab he can to remind me of who he’s married to and where they sit.

I opt not to work-out, but to start changing for the game. The routine is the same: Socks, cup, jock strap, Under Armor and finally my pants, but not my jersey. I’ll change into that later. I leave my cleats untied and sit on my stool, waiting. My thoughts return to what Stone said, about how it’s nice to help out. I don’t know if what I’ve done is a good thing or not, but it’s the only thing I can think of to get Daisy’s attention. If it’s successful, I owe the ladies in the main office lunch, roses and a day of pampering.

The clubhouse opens for the media and I find myself sitting tall and proud. As soon as the reporter from NESN comes over to me, I know I’m ready.

“Ethan, care to chat today?” That has been their standard question every day since I joined the team. I nod eagerly like a damn buffoon.

“Great. Your batting average is one of the highest in the league and there’s chatter that you’ll be a shoo-in for the batting title. This is only your second season, are you surpassing your personal expectations?”

What the fuck is this noise? Why didn’t media training train me on how to answer these types of questions instead of worrying about my relationship status on Facebook?

I pretend that there’s something fascinating on the floor and bend sideways to pick it up before answering. This sly move gives me only seconds of a reprieve before the microphone is being thrust into my face.

“Each day that I go out there, it’s to win for Boston and my teammates.” The reporter smiles and thanks me for my time. I close my eyes and mentally kick my ass for being so fucking dumb when it comes to this shit. It makes me want to call my college coach and tell him to mandate that a class like this be taken.

As soon as it’s time, I’m out of the clubhouse and onto the field. I find myself looking for Daisy every chance I get, only to find her seat empty. When we start stretching out in centerfield, I angle myself so I can spot her when she starts descending the stairs. My stalking levels know no bounds right now and I’m ashamed of myself.

By the time batting practice is over, she’s still not here, which is late for her. We head back into the clubhouse to change and meet with Diamond and the other coaches to go over the game. It’s hard to predict how a game is going to go. If pitching is tight, but batting isn’t, the game could be a battle. End up with a shitty night of pitching and swift bats – we could be putting up matching runs. Ideally, you want your strong pitcher to out duel theirs and let the bats do all the talking. The guy we’re facing tonight gave me my first grand slam last year. I thanked him by having him sign a game ball since the one I hit over the wall was taken by a fan. It probably wasn’t very nice of me, but I needed the memento.

We come back out to do some more game prep and to start the pomp and circumstance that goes into every game. As I step out, the music is a bit louder and the fans are filling their seats. Looking around I see people stuffing their faces with hotdogs, nachos and popcorn, with beer being the chaser. It’s been so long since I’ve been a spectator at a game. I miss those days.

My eyes finally land on Daisy’s seat and, much to my surprise, it’s empty. I try not to let this bother me but it does. Meyers slaps me on the back as he passes, reminding me that standing here looking like an idiot isn’t doing anyone any good.

I take my spot on the track and take off my hat. Everyone is instructed to rise for the playing of our National Anthem. I keep my eyes focused on the flag while I sing the words in my head. The moment the singer has finished, fireworks go off, signaling the start of the game. I turn away from where Daisy usually sits, unwilling to see her seat still empty, and head to the dugout to grab my glove.

We tell each other good luck and then we all pat Hawk Sinclair on the ass as we go by him. He’s in the zone and doesn’t pay us any attention. Once he gets the first batter under his belt, he’ll loosen up.

The moment my cleats touch the warning track, I’m looking left. My feet halt in their tracks and my heart stops. Sitting in the seat next to Daisy is her grandfather, and it’s my grand gesture, as Sarah calls it that put him there. After my calls and texts to her went unanswered, I had to come up with something to let her know that she’s important to me; so I made arrangements to have the Renegades staff do what they could to bring her grandfather to the game, and it looks like they’ve succeeded.

I should walk over to her and say hi, but I don’t. I need to let everything settle and see if she comes to me. I’ve extended the olive branch - hell it’s a fucking tree - and if she wants to be with me, the ball is in her court now.

After a tough week and a half on the road, the BoRe’s started a five game home stand with a win over the Texas Rangers, besting them by one run.

Tonight’s game was a nail biter; down to the ninth inning when with two outs, short stop, Easton Bennett, hit a solo shot deep into center, putting it out of reach of Delino DeShields.

The bats were decent for the Rangers, who were leading the game from the first inning. However, solid batting from Branch Singleton and Ethan Davenport kept the BoRe’s on the cusp most of the night.

Welcome home, Boys! Boston missed you.

GOSSIP WIRE:

Congratulations to Easton Bennett. Not only did he have the game winner, but his on-and-off again girlfriend gave birth today to a son. No word from the Bennett camp on who the father is and considering Easton was busy playing… well you can fill in the blanks.

The BoRe Blogger

The hot water warms my sore shoulder muscles, allowing me to rotate my arm with ease and prevent injury. There was a slight chill in the air that I didn’t prepare for during tonight’s game and I’m afraid I may end up paying for it tomorrow when I wake up.

All night I watched Daisy’s grandfather observe the game. You could tell by the way he participated between innings that he was in his element. If given the opportunity, I’d like to sit him down and ask if he played when he was younger. Some people enjoy the game, but those who grew up playing ball in streets until the streetlights came on, they love the game. It’s a different kind of love than the kind one has for a family member or friend – it’s hard to explain. For me, the game means everything. As for Daisy’s grandfather – well I’m not sure I’ll ever know.