“Yeah, that’s a pretty good fastball right there,” says the other commentator.
Casey throws the next pitch, and the batter fouls it off. “Oh, that one was close. Any closer to the middle and that ball would have left the ballpark. I think Tucker may have gotten lucky with that one.”
Casey gets ready for the next pitch. It’s a 0-2 count. The batter must swing and not risk looking at strike three, a cardinal sin in baseball even in little league.
“Here comes the next pitch… a ground ball to short… Vesia is out at second… and can they turn this into a double play? Yes, they get Green out at first.”
“Yes!” I scream while jumping out of my chair. A few guys at the bar look back at me but I don’t care. Casey did it. He got them out of the inning with only four pitches. Incredible.
“Does this mean they won?” asks Lily.
“Yes,” I say, nearly breathless. “They won. And they’re going to the World Series.”
26
Casey
It’s chaos in the locker room after the game. There are at least six cameras and reporters surrounding me, and I squint to adjust my eyes to their bright lights. I haven’t had a chance to shower yet; I’m still in my uniform when the first reporter sticks a microphone under my nose.
“How does it feel to be back, Casey?” he asks.
“It feels good. My arm feels healthy and I’m just hoping to stay that way.”
“Can you tell us if you’ll pitch in the World Series?”
“Well, that’s up to the coach,” I say. “But I am ready for whatever the team needs me to do.”
Another reporter shouts a question at me, but Brett stops him. “Tucker needs to rest. You can forward any more questions to my office.”
“Brett, who will Tucker be signing with after the season? Will he stay with the Jets or go to Philly?”
“You will be the first to know, Perry, as soon as we sign the deal.”
“Come on, give us a hint!”
“I can tell you that it will be the biggest deal baseball has ever seen.”
I sneak out from the scrimmage and head to the showers. The warm water feels good and relaxes my muscles. I don’t have a headache, and the new cap wasn’t a distraction at all. It all felt good, and I can’t wait to get out of here and call Sage.
“Nice job,” says Coach Neuman. “You looked great out there, kid.”
“Thanks,” I say, putting on a clean shirt. “I appreciate you giving me the chance to prove I can do it.”
“Oh, I knew you could do it. I just wanted to give Garcia a chance before we brought you in. But you proved that this team needs you. I hope you’re going to stay here in L.A.”
Neuman has never talked to me about this. “Honestly, Coach, I don’t know where I’ll be. There’s a lot to consider.”
“Yeah. I get it. Just remember, you’ll always have a home here.”
As Neuman leaves, I think about what he said. Home. Where is home for me anyway? I used to think it was L.A. It’s where I’ve lived for most of my adult life. But lately, I keep picturing something else. It’s not a house exactly but a feeling.
As I get into my car and back out of the parking lot, my phone rings and I smile.
“Hey, Dad. Did you see the game?”
“Of course, I saw it. Your mother and I didn’t move a muscle the entire time you were on the mound. How do you feel? Is your head bothering you?”
“Nah. I feel great.”
