Third Base (The Boys of Summer, #1)(33)
There are those moments, when you’re in the lead and the outfielder makes an amazing catch, and you give props to your teammate for hitting it deep enough that the outfielder has to work to stop the run. But then there are times when you don’t speak about the almost homerun that would’ve put your team within two runs rather than three down. This is the time when you just ignore the “what could’ve been” and let your teammate stew.
Jasper Jacobson, our catcher, is up next. He takes the first swing and hits a grounder right to the short stop. Jacobson is fast and has the ability to beat out the throw to first, but not today. Next, second baseman, Bryce Mackenzie, steps up to the plate. The crowd is still somewhat loud, but has died down considerably after the last two outs. Mackenzie takes the first two pitches without even flinching. The third pitch is also a ball, giving me hope that the pitcher is tiring and maybe we can wear him down in the next inning, as long as his relief doesn’t come in.
Mackenzie swings at the next pitch and I’m thinking it must’ve been a damn meatball because he was ahead in the count and now the right fielder is taking a few steps in to catch his pop-up. The inning is over and we’re still down by three runs. We take our sweet time coming out of the dugout as the music starts to play and the Jumbo Tron lights up with the Kiss Cam. I’d love to take Daisy to a game and get on the Kiss Cam. It’ll never happen though, unless we go to a Celtics game, because there is no way in hell I’ll stand out in the freezing cold in Foxborough to watch the Patriots. Checking out the Bruins, on the other hand, would be on my list of things to do in Boston.
After taking our warm-up grounders, the heart of the Yankees line-up steps up to the plate. I take a step back and get into position. My eyes are steady on his bat, watching every wiggle that it takes. He starts the rotation and the wooden weapon comes around, smacking the white leather ball toward me. I move into position, ready to use my body as a shield to stop the ball. It bounces nicely into my glove and in one swift rotation, the ball in and out of my mitt, into my hand and being thrown accurately to first base.
It’s a three up, three down inning; in fact, the rest of game is played out like that with us losing five to eight and dropping yet another home game to the Yankees. This loss puts us even at fourteen and fourteen – a shitty way to start the month.
Our cleats clank as we walk down the corridor to the clubhouse. The press is already there, waiting for interviews. The mood is subdued. It’s not just the fact that we lost, but that we have put ourselves in an early hole and holes in the majors are hard to climb out of.
“Ethan, care to give us a few words?” Yes! I’d love to talk about my homerun or the outs that I made, but I’m not allowed, not yet at least. I want to talk about how well we play together as a team and how I support our pitching staff. I know I can answer simple questions with canned answers.
I smile my normal half grin, half grimace and wave. Media training starts tomorrow at the University of Boston, with a ten a.m. class. I thought about complaining, but it means I can see Daisy earlier and maybe even eat lunch with her while I’m there. That thought, alone, makes me turn in my man card. It should be the other way around. She should be asking me for time, and yet here I am mapping out when I can see her, eat with her and just be near. I’m turning into such a girl.
When we are traveling, I’ll take the class via live feed. It’s not ideal, but I want to be able to give interviews and this is what the GM thinks is best. I only have to take the course for two weeks and let the class interview me before I’m cleared for press interviews.
The vibe in the clubhouse is subdued. No one is talking and the only noise being made is by us when we undress. I suppose there isn’t much to say. We lost, yet again, and have to face the Tampa Bay Devil Rays tomorrow and the following two days before we have an off day and fly to Toronto.
“Do you have plans tonight?” Kidd asks, as he stands next to me in nothing but a towel around his waist, which he is holding together with his thumb and forefinger.
I shake my head and pull off my shirt, tossing it in the laundry bucket. “Sleep.”
“With your girl?” he waggles his eyebrows, and steps away before I can punch him in the shoulder.
“No. I have class tomorrow. I thought it’d be best if I showed up without any bags under my eyes.”
“Man, I can’t believe Stone is making you take media classes.”
“Yeah well, when you tweet out your address like a fool, management starts to wonder how f*cking smart you are. Clearly, I’m an idiot.”
“You said it, not me.” He says as he slaps my back. “What are you going to do about your girl back home?” he asks as he waits for me to head to the showers.
“What do you mean?” Truth is, I haven’t even thought about Sarah for a few days, especially after my epic date with Daisy. She’s been the only one on my mind and between the phone calls, texts and seeing her for a few minutes after the game; she’s all I’ve had time to think about.
“Don’t you have, like, a standing hook-up deal?”
His words cause me to freeze. My mother knows about Daisy, but I’m sure Sarah hasn’t read up on it, or saw us online because she’s busy training to become a doctor. Sarah will be expecting to hang out. I’m now in a situation where I don’t know what to do. Any other time, it didn’t matter because I haven’t had a girlfriend since Sarah. Do I call Daisy my girlfriend? Do I give her that label?