The mood in the locker room was somber following the game. No one celebrated, other than to quickly congratulate the guys who helped us earn the win as they headed to the showers.
We kept waiting for Stu Ackerman to come storming in to scream at us, but it seemed he was sympathetic to the fact that Eric’s sudden departure had thrown nearly every player out of his typical routine. Whether they’d admit it or not, every man had his own pre-game ritual, and his play suffered when it was disrupted.
It was shortly after five in the afternoon and the next game wasn’t until the following evening, which meant most of the guys planned to hit the hotel bar or nearby clubs for drinks and debauchery. If nothing else, copious amounts of tequila would help them forget today’s disastrous outing.
Jason invited me to go for drinks with the older, mostly married players and I turned him down the same as I did every other night. It was yet another reminder that Eric was already on a plane headed west.
Not in the mood to party, I pulled my cell phone out of my duffel and tried calling Mason. A low-key night at his condo with a six pack and a pie sounded perfect. The call went straight to voicemail, which meant it was still turned off from before the game.
I followed the rest of the guys out to the bus back to our hotel, even though I knew exactly where I’d find Mason and I could grab a ride with him.
After a day like today, it was best not to piss off Stu.
2
Mason
I fucking hateddays like today. There was no reason for our shitty showing, other than the fact that our team was so green it surprised me we didn’t lose anyone in the meticulously groomed outfield. After Ray gave us a thorough dressing down, most of the guys cleared out as soon as they showered and changed into street clothes.
Not me.
I needed to ground myself, to get back in harmony with the park. No one understood why I did half the shit I did, but they didn’t give me a hard time about it, because it worked for me.
I snuck into the dugout after everyone had left and watched the grounds crew raking the sand. Watching them drag their rakes along the baselines reminded me of the small Zen garden my mother built in our backyard when I was a kid. She’d sit out there for an hour every day, working until the lines were perfectly straight.
“Mason, someday you’ll understand the peace to be found in the simple things,”she’d tell me when I gave her a hard time about it.
Now, I got it. I understood what she meant because all of the tension seeped out of my body as I watched them work. When I closed my eyes, the soft scraping of metal across sand steadied me.
As the last groundskeeper finished for the night, he looked to the dugout and gave me a quick wave. I’d rather they not know to look for me, but such is life when you’re struggling to get through the season.
I was far from the only problem child on our team, but my problem wasn’t talent, it was that my head wasn’t in the game. My life was unrecognizable compared to last winter, and I was getting tired of trying to juggle my personal issues with my job. Teresa seemed content to make my life as miserable as possible right up until the minute she signed the divorce papers.
When I was younger, I had this delusional idea that I’d have it all by the time I reached thirty: the wife, a house, a career they’d be talking about for decades to come, and maybe even a kid or two running around in the backyard.
Now, a few months shy of that benchmark, I had nothing I dreamed of. Instead, I had a soon-to-be ex-wife, a rented condo in the city, a career that seemed to be fraying by the day, and wasn’t sure I’d ever have a little boy to teach how to throw a ball. It was unsettling, to say the very least.
I stood from the bench and leaned on the railing, looking out over the silent stadium. The sun dropped behind the outfield wall, signaling that it was time for me to pack it up and head home. To my empty condo. I’d get a dog, but then I’d have to hire someone to keep an eye on the damn thing when we were on the road.
The more I dwelled on it, the more miserable my life seemed.
I waited until I was in my Jeep before turning on my cell phone. It was a habit, more than anything else, to not have the distraction when there might be some kid straggling behind to get me to sign something for him. I remembered all too well what it was like to be young and have the men I idolized blow off the kids at the fence. I promised myself long ago that I’d never be that guy.
There was a text message waiting from Sean with nothing more than a room number. It was a call for help, and I turned the opposite direction from home as I left the parking lot. I figured both of us needed a night to forget about the stinker of a game we’d just played.
Seriously, there were rec leagues out there that could’ve whooped either of our teams.
A few of Sean’s teammates waved to me as I made my way through the lobby of the Westin and I returned the gesture. The groupies were already circling like sharks around chum and I chuckled, glad that wasn’t me tonight. I used to be the guy who’d gladly take a girl to his room for the night, but the luster of that wore off before I’d even met Teresa.
It was a shitty thing even to think, but I should have never asked her to marry me. There was a time when she and I got along. Hell, she was one of my best friends for a time, but it was never the type of relationship that led to happily ever after. Before her own career took off, she was always there for me.
I married her because it was what I felt as though I owed her for putting up with my tantrums after bad games, the stresses of extended road trips, and all of myeccentricities, as she referred to them.
“Excuse me, sir.” I looked up to see a bulky security guard blocking me from pressing the elevator call button. “Are you a guest at the hotel?”
“No, I’m here to see a friend,” I told him.
He crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest, as if daring me to try to go around him. If I hadn’t been so busy wallowing, I would have asked Sean to meet me down here.
