Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1)(57)
If I swing, it has to be full on through the hips with a follow through so hard that the bat is smacking against my shoulder blades. I need to make him pay for giving me the fastball I love so much, the one right down the middle.
The motion of my bat is automatic, as if it knows it wants a piece of that white-leather-red-stitched ball flying toward us. My eyes follow the ball as it smacks hard against the grain of my Louisville. The deafening crack has the catcher saying, “Oh shit.” I let out a battle cry as the bat hits my shoulders before it slowly comes back around and hangs to my side as I watch the ball fly to dead center. The Oriole outfielders are running back, both left and center, wondering which one is going to catch it. Meyers and Bainbridge are tagged and ready to run on the catch; Bainbridge will score easily.
The crowd is hushed as we all watch the ball sail through the air, no doubt each of us wondering if it has enough height to clear the wall. The centerfielder crashes into the wall just as the ball clears the boundaries. Everyone erupts as I drop the bat and take my required run around the bases, slapping hands with our first and third base coaches when I run by them.
After a homerun, stepping on home plate is something different. Your team is there to meet you, to celebrate with you. When you turn to see the scoreboard, what was just a zero now reads three. We’re now only down one run and we need to hold them so we can come back and win this thing.
We’re pumped when we return to the dugout, cheering Singleton on. When he takes the first pitch and hits it out of the park into right field the announcer is yelling, “BACK-TO-BACK HOMERUNS!” and now we’re meeting him at home plate. That’s when I glance at Daisy and John who are both cheering, right along with everyone else in the stadium. She doesn’t see me staring, giving me a brief moment to just look at her.
There’s a soft glow about her, which could be the overhead lights, but I don’t think it is. I think she looks happy and I hope it’s because of me.
We lose.
Singleton’s homerun was as close as we got. We gave up two more runs, losing four to six. And now I’m sitting at a long table, dirty and sweaty, waiting for a press conference to start. Right now I’d like to go back to the time when I didn’t have press access so I could be in the shower or resting in the whirlpool instead of here.
My name gets called, and I take a drink of water, waiting for their question.
“How did the homerun feel tonight?”
Who comes up with these questions?
“Uh… I guess it felt good. I mean it brought in some runs and built some momentum.”
The next question goes to Bainbridge and the following question to Manager Diamond. I sit there, wondering why the hell I’m here. I can’t provide an eloquent answer and honestly, all the cameras make me slightly nervous.
“Ethan, are you looking forward to the All-Star break?”
“Yes,” I say into the microphone. “It’s a good time for us to regroup and have a little fun.”
Diamond excuses Bainbridge and me from the press conference while he stays to finish up. Surely, they’re going to attack him more than they will us. They know if they’re not nice, we’ll stop speaking. Diamond, on the other hand, doesn’t have a choice. It’s his job, whether he likes it or not.
The temperament in the clubhouse is somber. Everyone is quiet and a few of the guys are already gone. I don’t blame them for bailing after the game. It’s what I wanted to do. No one wants to hang out right now because we’re all feeling the same. We’re all tired of getting so close, only to lose.
I throw my shit into my locker and kick my stool across the room, lucky that only a few of my teammates are still here and I didn’t hit anyone with it.
“You’re not the only one who’s pissed,” Jasper Jacobson, our catcher, says as he starts getting dressed. “We’re on the same team here, Davenport. Sure, you brought in the runs, but it’s a f*cking team effort.”
He’s slamming shit around and muttering under his breath. I realize in this moment that I need to keep my mouth shut because bringing up his stats probably wouldn’t be a good idea right now. One of the runs tonight was on a pass ball that he let go through his legs and I felt that the effort put in on his part was lacking.
Unfortunately, he sees me smirk and is now in my face.
“You have a problem, rookie?” he spits out, going chest to chest with me.
“I’m not a rookie,” I say, stepping forward, showing him that I’m not going to back down from him or anyone else who wants a piece of me.
“You’re a cocky son of a bitch, that’s what you are. You think your shit don’t stink, but let me tell you something sophomore, punks like you are a dime a dozen.”
I’m not even sure what his problem is. I kicked my stool across an empty room and it landed nowhere near him. He plays a different position, so it’s not like he’s backing me up. My batting average is better than his and maybe that’s why he’s jealous. He could want to be in the third spot in the rotation and if that’s the case, he needs to speak to Diamond about that.
“If we’re a dime a dozen, you’d think we’d be all over the place. I don’t know what your problem is, Jacobson, but it’s not me.”
“What the f*ck is going on in here?” Diamond says, as he walks in.