Maxwell’s gloves clap around it. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the chains move and the bench erupts.
First down.
My heartbeat settles into the same cadence as my steps back to the huddle. Steady, measured, and controlled. This is what the face-painted fans screaming themselves hoarse will never grasp. Beneath the violence and spectacle of the game lies a chess match played in heartbeats and breaths.
At halftime the locker room is louder than I want it to be, but I’m not going to take away the team’s energy. Portland is leading Omaha fourteen to nothing and if listening to a little music during halftime is what the guys need to keep up the good plays, who am I to complain?
My phone buzzes beside me. I lift it to see a notification from the Haynes Brothers thread lighting up my screen.
Kill
Did you just throw that sidearm pass or am I hallucinating?
Hop
He did. I rewound it twice.
Seb
Mom texted me asking if he’s eating enough protein.
I smile despite myself.
Me
We’re up by 2 TDs. We’re fine. More than fine.
Hop
Good then you can tell us what’s going on with the bartender chick.
Kill
Real smooth, Hop.
Seb
He took her to food truck alley.
Hop
No, you did not!
Kill
OMG did you have the tacos? I think I hear my stomach growling already.
Hop
Right? But did he go there to eat tacos or…you know…eat one taco in particular?
Me
It wasn’t like that.
Kill
Well, how do we know if you won’t tell us? Come on, man! Feed us a little crumb here! Us baseballers are feeling left out.
