He nods. An agreement not to talk about it.Itbeing the shoulder that has been giving me problems for six months, and the fact that if the pain continues, I don’t know that I’ll ever see the Major Leagues. Jack knows better than anyone the rolebaseball has played in my life, and that I don’t really know who I would be if I were set on a path without it.
“There are rumors Hammer management will be there tonight,” I say quietly. Glancing at my watch, I see my pregame time slipping. “I’m nervous.”
As kids, Jack and I spoke of little more than playing in the Majors for the Atlanta Hammers. Eventually, his dreams shifted. The brain injury he suffered at one of my games all but changed the trajectory of his life: Gram asked him to take over Petals, he met his wife, Dinah, and now they’re parents to the cutest baby girl on the planet. And though there was so much suffering along the way, I don’t think he’d go back and change things to ensure his future included baseball. He’s happy. Content. Thriving.
If I were to step back and take a look at my life and accomplishments—if the same tragedy had occurred in my life—I don’t know that I could say the same. Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. My friends… My FRIEND.
But, I mean, I actually get paid to play a game for a living.
Physically, emotionally, spiritually, I’m healthy and fulfilled. But there’s a real part of me that worries I’ve poured everything I have into my pursuit of baseball, yet no amount of confidence, prayers, and grit will ensure I ever get to the Majors. I can’t help worrying that the Hammer managers will see me play tonight, as they have during games past, and still decide I’m not enough.
“One pitch at a time,” Jack says softly, like he can read every doubt passing through my head right now. Repeating the mantra our Dad has used since coaching our little league team, he says, “One pitch. One inning. One game, Owen. That’s all you can do.”
“And we’ll be cheering you on for every one of them, bud. You may be terrible at hiding your feelings forShe Who Shall Not Be Named, but you are better than average at baseball,” Winnieadds, throwing a wet towel in my face before sprinting to her apartment upstairs, cackling the whole way as I chase after her.
Jack’s words and my sister’s playful encouragement are what carry me through Friday afternoon traffic to Badger Stadium. After parking my Bronco and making my way down the tunnel, I hear the guys hollering in the film room.
“Come on, man, you know Peach can’t keep up with Wario!” Brennan, our new left fielder and switch hitter, yells in his thick Puerto Rican accent over the familiar sounds of the Rainbow Road map of Mario Kart. “She’s weeeeeaaak.”
When I push through the door, Titan gasps. His hulking body is curled over the controller, jerking left and right as if he and Princess Peach, who he notoriously always chooses, are one. “Take that back! You know she’s my girl.”
“She’s a cartoon,” Drew says, matter of fact, then uses a red shell to take the lead. “And she’s too heavy in the car you chose. Her drag is all wrong.”
Breezy gasps, clutching at his bare chest as if he’s been personally affronted. “You hear that, T,” he elbows Titan in the ribs as Donkey Kong, his avatar, slides into second place. “I’m pretty sure Drew just called your girl…big, bro.”
Titan pauses the game, and the rest of the guys groan. We all take our pregame Mario Kart tradition pretty seriously, and no trash talk against our characters—Titan’s Princess Peach, specifically—is permitted. “She’s a princess, and she is perfect.”
Drew rolls his eyes but knows the rules to the game well. “Titan, I’m sincerely sorry. Though I think your combination is off, Peach is… fine.”
Titan must be satisfied, because he silently nods, unpauses the game, and drops a surprise lightning bolt, bypassing DK and Wario just before the finish line. His win brings another round of groans, but soon the guys are hopping up from their respective seats and heading to the locker room.
“Can’t believe you missed our pregame race, Jones. You know it’s bad luck… and on a night like tonight,” Breezy slaps my bad shoulder but doesn’t notice my wince of pain when he pulls me into a quick hug before we follow the rest of the team down the hall. “Hammer’s here already. Coach has them in the press room.”
Listen, I know, logically, a ritual game of Mario Kart before I play baseball has nothing to do with whether or not I perform well. Nevertheless, nerves instantly flood my body. I silently repeat my dad and Jack’s advice, again, like a pregame prayer.
One pitch. One inning. One game.
“You know I’m not really superstitious.” I whip off my shirt and throw my jersey on quickly, hoping to get out on the field for warmups sooner rather than later.
“But I am a little stitious,” Titan quotes Michael Scott, then bows proudly in his hulking, six-foot-four birthday suit when the guys cheer.
“If I had Jones’ super sexy good luck charm, I’d never show up for Mario Kart. I wonder what kind of pregame activities you and that girl of yours get into?” Brennan winks at me. I know he’s my teammate, but I’d like to punch the smirk right off his face.
I don’t need to though, because Drew slaps the backside of his head and gives him a less than playful shove. “You may be new here, but you aren’t going to talk about Brooke like that here or anywhere. She’s Badger family, and she’s Jones’ girl. Understood?”
The other guys have gone quiet. They all know Brooke and I have never dated, but not a single member of this team has given her a second look outside of casual once they realized what she means to me.
Brennan throws his hands up in surrender but nods. “Yeah. Got it. She’s off limits.”
“Unless you want a haircut,” Breezy adds with a flourish before Drew polices him, too, with an elbow to the ribs. As if I didn’t know she’s been secretly offering discount cuts to them for years. He manages to grunt, “Not… that I… would know, though. From personal experience.”
“Right.” I ignore the tightness in my chest and throw everything I need into my bag for the dugout.
“You ready, Jones?” Titan asks, now fully clothed and following me towards the exit. We were assigned to the Badgers straight out of college, where we both played for four years with me pitching and Titan playing catcher. Our pregame warmup is a ritual I am thankful for, especially today. “You know I’ve got you.”
“I know, man. I’m ready,” I promise, trying my best to believe it myself.
3
