“Sure did. His name’s Cooper and one day I hope you’ll seehim on the field.” I can hear him in my earpiece the same way I can hear the broadcasters.
“He’s not a kid, Miller. How’s he going to be playing baseball?” I speak to Miller through the mic.
“Not playing. Training him to be the bat dog.” The echo of a ball hitting his mitt behind home plate rings in my ear as I respond to the announcers.
“Don’t let him fool you, guys. That dog is a little terrorist. Didn’t he try to eat your mitt last week?”
“Rook, shut your pie hole and field this ball.” Laughing, I catch the grounder and throw it to first for our second out of the inning.
“Team chemistry is really important in these long seasons—would you say the team is gelling and has great rapport?”
“What do you think, Paul? We won the division and are playing for the conference title,” Miller chuffs.
“That’s three. Let’s go boys.” I pump my fist and jog to the dugout so we can bat. We watch Palmer strikeout and then Miller takes his spot in the batter’s box. Once he makes it to first base, he starts talking smack to the first baseman when I step up to the plate to bat next.
“I’m about to run, boy. Can’t catch me. I’m fast. I’m gonna run. I’m gonna run, boy.” Miller taunts the first baseman, and I wonder if the pitcher can hear him too. He leads off the base and I take a strike so he has to go back. “I told you I was gonna run. What are you doing over there? You’re just gonna watch me.”
“If you don’t shut up the pitcher is gonna try to throw you out, dingbat,” I say after the ball passes outside over home plate.
“You have the most stolen bases for this year in your rookie season, and you have ten home runs. Are you going to hit another home run tonight? How are you feeling?” Paul asks in my ear while I wait for the pitcher to throw the next pitch.
“Well, I hope to hit a home run, but you never know. Right now, I just wanna get on base.”
I grunt when the ball crosses the plate and I swing the bat.The sound of it connecting rings in my ears and I take off running for first base. The ball drops short in the outfield, but Miller makes it to second and I make it to first before they can throw us out.
“Let’s go,” Miller shouts and I clap as well.
With Miller in front of me I won’t be able to steal, so I have to bide my time at first base.
“Hey Mills, you gonna steal a base?” I ask when he takes a short lead off second.
“I’m trying.”
“Try harder.”
“Is he gonna throw a strike or a ball?”
It’s weird to have a full conversation while on base, but it also makes it more fun to fuck with the other team.
“I’m betting he throws a ball,” Miller says as the pitcher throws a strike that Fields misses.
He cups his hands over his mouth and yells at Fields, “Come on, Gramps, hit the ball.” Fields steps back in the box, shaking his head at Miller. The pitcher throws a curveball and Fields swings, hitting the tip of it sending it foul. Miller and I retake our bases.
“I think he’s gonna hit this one. What do you think, Mills?”
“Oh yeah, he’s got that look in his eye. He’s going to. He’s gonna hit this one.” Miller crouches low as he takes a heavy lead off second and I do the same on first.
The pitcher tries to get away with throwing a fastball, but Preston smacks it. I run toward second base, tracking the ball as it goes deep into centerfield but falls short of the wall. While the centerfielder scrambles for the ball to throw back infield, Miller rounds third base and I round second turning up my speed right behind him.
“Run faster,” I shout, gaining on him. We can both score if he moves it.
“I’m not The Chaser. I can’t run that fast.”
“Run faster Mills. I’m gonna catch you.” I laugh as I speed past third and head for home plate.
“This is as fast as I can go.” He turns his head back to yell at me.
“Better fucking run. I’m right here,” I almost say directly into his ear. The third base coach calls out behind me that the ball is incoming.
