Davis has been at the center of an entirely separate wave of attention in recent weeks after news broke that he is expecting a child this year with Callie Carlisle, sister of Colts catcher, Hayes Carlisle. Neither Davis nor Carlisle took questions about their relationship, but the pairing has become a favorite topic for fans and commentators alike, with clips of Carlisle in the stands going viral after recent games.
Then came the moment that will likely be replayed all over social media for weeks to come.
As Davis walked out of the media room, shoulders tight, he paused near the hallway entrance where Carlisle stood off to the side.
Davis didn’t hesitate.
He pulled her into his arms and held on for a beat longer than necessary. It didn’t seem performative, not for the cameras. Carlisle’s hand weaved through his hair. His eyes shut briefly, as if her presence was the only thing that made the room stop spinning.
When he let go, Davis didn’t look at the reporters. He didn’t say a word to anyone.
He just took her hand and kept walking.
Love looks good on Foster Davis.
Epilogue
Decker
* * *
Losing sucks.
We had a great season, an excellent second half. We all thought we had it.
We fought hard each game for it to come down to the seventh game of the World Series.
As we walk off Webber Field, Toronto runs out, all of them cheering and celebrating, jumping around and congratulating one another.
It’s a hard thing to watch when we came so close. But we should be proud we gave it our all.
We all file into the locker room where there is no champagne. The lockers aren’t covered with plastic. There aren’t any reporters waiting to interview us. They’ll get around to us after they’re finished interviewing the champions.
We all go to our lockers, and even Drew doesn’t say a word.
We’ve been here before. Sure, not in a series like this, but in other big games that didn’t go our way. You reevaluate every play, every at-bat. What could we have done differently? What caused the loss?
Ripley comes out, gives us an inspirational speech about how proud he is, that we have a great clubhouse, and we’ll work hard in the offseason and come back stronger and better next season.
It’s a good speech, but at this point in our careers, we know the drill. Some of us will be here next year. Some of us won’t. Changes always happen in the offseason, and each season’s team is never exactly the same.
We all get into the showers then get dressed. There’s a contemplative mood in the locker room, not a celebratory one.
An intern rushes into the locker room, stopping short and frantically looking in all directions. “Foster!”
At the tone the intern uses, my brother bolts up from packing his bag. It’s clear it’s something big, most likely involving Callie.
Game seven wasn’t the best timing with Callie being in the last week of her pregnancy. Of course Foster told her to stay at home, and of course she said over her dead body. They agreed on her sitting in a suite. See? They’re learning to compromise.
“Is it Callie?” Foster grabs his bag and jogs out of the room.
Easton, Hayes, and I share a look, each of us grabbing our bags and following. Suddenly, the loss of the series doesn’t sting so badly.
Foster’s already at Callie’s side, and someone brings a wheelchair, which is good. Otherwise Foster would probably carry her out of here.
“Someone call an ambulance,” Foster says.
“No… no.” Callie shakes her head. “We can make it to the hospital.”
