It’s the bottom of the fifth and I’m on deck. The score is Renegades, zero – Orioles, four. We need five freaking runs in order to win. It’s harder than one might think, a come-back like this, but it can be done.
Bainbridge is currently on second, stuck in no man’s land unless one of us can single and move him to third. Kayden Cross went down swinging, giving us our first out of the inning. Preston Meyers is in a pitching duel right now, hitting foul ball after foul ball and barely staying alive. Baltimore is still using their starting pitcher who hasn’t slowed down and continues to throw heaters down the middle at ninety-eight miles per hour. One always hopes that by mid-game starting pitchers begin to wear out, allowing us to get the bat around quicker, but it seems as though Cross is just getting started.
Meyers hits a line drive toward the shortstop, freezing Bainbridge on second. The throw to first isn’t in time to get Meyers, making him safe. The fans cheer, but the Skipper for Baltimore comes out of the dugout, clearly not happy with the call. While the umpires get together to discuss it, I wander over to Meyers to chat for a minute.
“Nice hit.”
He shakes his head, taking off his batting gloves and handing them to our first base coach, Shawn Smith.
“He’s throwing heat, but its garbage. His slider sucks right now. Wait for the fast ball.” His words are quick and rushed, trying to keep our conversation to ourselves without their first baseman rushing off to tell his pitcher.
The instant replay airs on the Jumbo Tron, much to the delight of the fans. Meyers is safe by at least one full step and the umpires agree after they review the footage over by the dugout. The home ump calls the game back into play and my music comes on.
I can hear John heckling the pitcher. It makes me smile that since the first time I made sure he could get to a game, he hasn’t missed one yet and has even taken to talking about my stats when I come over for lunch. I know Daisy’s happy he’s getting this opportunity and thanks me every opportunity she gets.
In two weeks she’s meeting my parents. I know it’s early, but my mom is right when she says you just know when you’ve found your “one”. Since I’ve been with Daisy, my nervous twitch has lessened. So much so that even our General Manager has asked about it, wondering if I needed to take a piss test to see what kind of drugs I’m on.
When I look at Daisy, I don’t see a summer fling or someone I’m with just to pass the time. I see someone who I can come home to every night and wake up with each morning. I see the woman that I want to spend all my free time with and when we’re not together I count the hours until we are.
And now, when she’s yelling at me to keep my eye on the ball and to swing through, instead of being mad at her heckling, I want to kiss her and thank her for being the support that I need.
Standing in the box, I stare down the pitcher, showing him my bat. I dig my right foot into the dirt and move some away with my left before resting it on my shoulder. My first two pitches are high and outside, and well out of my strike zone. I step out of the box and readjust my batting gloves while the catcher jogs out to the mound. I can’t imagine they’re intentionally walking me with my batting average being less than stellar right now. I’m not a threat up here and they’re better off pitching to me. With my luck it could be in their favor and I’d hit into a double play.
As much as I want to look at Daisy right now, I don’t. My focus needs to be on the game, my bat and mostly the pitcher. Meyers’ words are on auto play through my head as I step back in, repeating my ritual.