It’s usually hella fun, and bonus, it earns the Fireballs points with local parents, who may be enticed to bring their whole families out to more games than they normally would, which keeps the stands packed in ways they weren’t two years ago.
Especially when I sometimes crash those birthday parties I’m invited to or talk my buddies into crashing when they’re requested.
But today, when I step into the suite overlooking the field where we do the filming, everyone does a double-take.
Am I glowing that bright today?
Is it that obvious?
Can they tell I got laid?
Inappropriate, asshole, I remind myself.Head in the damn game, Rock. Let the vibes flow and ignore the rest of it.
I lift my brows. “Ah, man, do I have a coffee bean stuck in my teeth again? Hate it when that happens. Hey, Sally. Morning, Keisha. Got good questions for me today? Let’s rock these kids’ worlds.”
The next hour is hilarious. I love these kids’ questions.
Cooper, what would you do when your teacher makes you do homework and you don’t want to? Cooper, what do you do when your best friend stops talking to you? Cooper, how do I get over my fear of spiders?
Full disclosure—that last question was courtesy of Zeus Berger, the large-and-in-charge former defenseman for the Thrusters.
I don’t call the PR and social media team out on using Zeus.
He’s basically a big kid himself.
A big kid who now has baby quadruplets at home with his wife, but still a big kid. Also, yeah, Miles is cuter than all of the Berger quadruplets put together.
Don’t tell Zeus I said that.
He’s one of the few guys who really could crush me if my mouth ran away with me and saidfight me.
Once I’m released from PR duty, I head back to the locker room, bullshit around with the guys, clean up the stress balls, saving a couple boxes to send to various places around the world where I either owe someone a random foam phallic-shaped mascot as a prank-back or where there are pockets of Thrusters fans who’ll flip over them, and yeah, some for Waverly because she’ll think it’s hilarious that I got attacked by a bunch of four-inch foam dicks, and then it’s time for warm-ups.
And then it’s time for the game.
And then it’s time for my first at-bat.
I’m grinning as I leave the on-deck circle. The crowd starts cheering. The home plate ump gives me a once-over and sighs. The catcher mutters something that sounds likeoh, shitand repositions himself.
Trying to fake me out.
Make me think they’re throwing me a curve ball.
First rule of baseball: Don’t ever swing on the first pitch.
But I know this pitcher.
He knows me.
He thinks he’s smarter than I am.
He’s probably right.
But the Rock is riding a high today, and I know the moment that ball leaves his hand that he’s giving me a pitch he thinks I won’t swing at merely because it’s the first pitch.
Sucker.
I swing.
