Again, those darn eyebrows rise. “SoHo? Really? Lily tells me you’re from a small town. Didn’t expect you to be living in SoHo.”
“Where did you expect me to live?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Oh, I don’t know. The rent for a tiny New York apartment is a lot higher than most houses in Upstate New York.”
I couldn’t say if that was true or not, but I don’t think she cares about being corrected. “Well, I guess I got lucky.”
“I guess you did.”
She bites into one of the olives and slides it into her mouth with her teeth. I ignore her stare and focus back on the game instead. The appetizers arrive shortly afterward, and I don’t bother with any of them. The game is a close one and many of the other bar patrons have gotten into it now too. The ladies order their mains and I order one too.
By the time the food arrives, it’s the bottom of the seventh and the commentators are talking about Casey again.
“Coach has him warming up. I don’t know, Tim. I still don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I agree with you, Dennis. I think putting Tucker in a must win situation might be too much for a guy who’s been on the Injury List for nearly three months.”
“Shit, if the Jets put Tucker in, they’re idiots,” says one of the guys at the bar. “He hasn’t played since that ball knocked him out cold. Scariest shit I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Yeah. I wouldn’t do it, either,” says his friend. “They should put Garcia in. At least he’s healthy.”
Casey is healthy, I want to scream but bite my nails instead.Come on, baby. You’ve got this.
But the guys are right and the coach puts Garcia in instead of Casey. His face doesn’t show it, but I know he must be disappointed.
“Sage, do you want some dessert?” asks Lily.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You would think you’ve got money on this game or something,” says one of the women.
I don’t have money on this game. I have something much more valuable than that invested. My heart.
It’s the top of the ninth inning. If Garcia can get these three batters out, the game is over and the Jets go on to play in the World Series.
But the first batter Garcia faces hits the ball hard into center field for a base hit. He doesn’t have much luck with the second batter either as he hits a double into left field. Fortunately, he strikes out the next guy but then walks the one after that.
“Shit. Garcia isn’t looking good. They should pull him out.”
The coach signals the bullpen and the crowd goes wild. He’s calling on Casey to pitch.
“Well, we’re about to find out if Tucker is ready to play in the big leagues again,” says one of the commentators. “There’s probably never been a bigger moment than this in his career.”
The lights in the Jets’ stadium go down and Casey’s pitching song comes on. He doesn’t jog out of the bullpen but walks confidently to the mound instead. He’s taking his time, grounding himself, and preparing for this moment. Just like we talked about.
I practice some mindful breathing and hope I don’t pass out while I watch Casey pitch.
Garcia has put the team in a bad position. The bases are loaded and only one out. If Casey lets even one run in, the Jets will have to tie it up in the bottom of the ninth. But if he can get two outs here, they win and go to the World Series.
“Come on,” I whisper.
“Are the Jets winning?” asks Lily. “That’s who you’re rooting for, right?”
“They are. They just have to hold onto their lead.”
After a few warmup pitches, the umpire signals for the next batter. He stares down Casey and Casey doesn’t flinch. His shoulders are straight, his focus is unwavering; he looks ready.
“And here comes the first pitch from Casey Tucker, and it’s a strike,” shouts the commentator.
