They call my name. I wave and smile like I’ve been instructed and enter the clubhouse. It’s chaos in here, but it’s expected on game day. The Renegades are high energy, unlike some of the other teams out there. I’ve heard rumors that some clubhouses are quiet zones, the ‘zen’ zone. We tried that once last year and most of us fell asleep before the game started. The idea was quickly nixed and since then the clubhouse has been a mecca for craziness.
On any given day, this room is filled with towel snapping, raunchy jokes and guys running around bare-assed with only their jock straps on. The one rule we have in here: No women, no wives, no girlfriends, etc… Not because we walk around naked, but because we’re disgusting and our antics will give off a bad impression. We want the women to remember us for what we do on the field, not the shit in here. Besides, the wives have a pretty stellar lounge that they can hang in until the game starts.
I change quickly, slipping on my long sleeved jacket before heading back onto the field for warm-ups. It’s still downright cold in Boston. There are a few cheers as we start coming out of the dugout as season ticket holders arrive early. Kids line every available space in hopes of getting a high-five or to snag a fly ball from batting practice. After a while, you start to recognize the same faces. I look for one in particular that I’ve been looking at since the midway point of last season. She usually sits parallel to third base, behind the enemy. When I look over in between plays, I swear she’s staring at me. I can’t always tell, though, because she wears her Renegades hat low and I can’t see her eyes.
She’s always in a black and white BoRe baseball shirt with her long hair pulled back. I’ve noticed that she changes the color from blonde to brown depending on the season, but it’s always long. She’s always in the same seat for every home game, which leads me to believe she’s a season ticket holder, even though, by all accounts, she seems too young to be able to afford tickets this close to the field. It also hasn’t escaped my notice that the seat next to her is always empty. It should also be noted that I look for her each time I walk out of the dugout and walk to home plate, or when I finish warming up in between innings. There’s just something about her that keeps me interested, even though I don’t know her name, or anything about her.
What I do know and like is how she’s at every home game, wearing her Renegades gear. I really like that she’s a baseball fan, but more importantly that she never brings a guy with her, leading me to believe she’s single. I also like that she’s a mystery - I know finding out who she is wouldn’t be hard. I could send an usher to get her, or ask the office who the seats belong to. One of these days I’ll hit up the usher because asking the front office seems like a bad idea. I don’t want the ladies teasing me, and even though they’re nice and motherly, they’ll tease the crap out of me for showing interest in someone.
As soon as I step out onto the track, I’m looking in her direction. Her seat is still empty, but it’s early. We have two hours before the first pitch. I won’t start to worry yet. I’ve grown accustomed to having her there, even though I know in the back of my mind I’m making up most of the subtle looks I get from her.
“Looking for your girlfriend?” Travis Kidd, our left fielder, slaps me on my ass as he walks by. He turns and makes a lewd gesture with his hand and mouth. I throw a ball at his head, but he dodges it easily and starts laughing as he walks toward centerfield for warm-ups.
Each game, we meet out in centerfield to stretch for fifteen minutes as a team before breaking off into individual warm-ups. By team, I mean mostly starters and a few of the pitchers that will be working tonight. The rest of the guys linger in the clubhouse until it’s time to work on individual stuff.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, as I catch up with him. He puts his arm around me and makes stupid eyes at me.
“I see you looking at her, grabbing your meat diddler in between batters.”
“There are thousands of people in the stands, I could be looking at anyone. Besides, every time I look back you’re touching your schlong dangler, so don’t even think about giving me any shit.”
He shrugs. “I see her looking at you, too.”