Page 135 of Mom Ball

Of all the games we’ve played this season, including tournaments, today is the most pivotal. It’s not the cheesy rings or even ending the year on a win that’s my motivation. It’s beating Jeffrey’s team.

He needs knocked down a few notches.

Morgan steps toward us with a value-size bag of off-brand cheese balls. She holds it up for me, but I wave it away. “I haven’t even finished my coffee.” I take a sip from the cup in my hand.

She shrugs and lifts a fistful of puffs to her mouth. Andrew and Timothy file off toward the batting cages.

“We’ve got a lot of work to do. Where is everybody?” She scans the parking lot behind us. “I told them to be here at nine.” She eats more puffs, then turns to me as she chews. “I want to practice so we can beat those snobs.”

I let out a huge sigh.

As if right on cue, Jeffrey and his entourage of overgrown idiots march our way. Morgan wipes cheese dust down her leg and rolls up the bag. By the time they reach us, her arms are crossed so tightly, she’s crushing the puffs.

Jeffrey rips his Pit Vipers off and narrows his eyes. Between his smoldering stare and the dramatic reveal, it’s like watching a Michael Jackson music video.

“Are y’all ready to get this over with?” His voice is soiled with sarcasm and a dash of confidence.

“Excuse me?” Morgan snaps back.

Easton and Aniston come up with their wagon.

“What’s going on?” Easton grins.

Either he’s oblivious to the tension or he’s playing dumb for amusement’s sake. Knowing Dr. West, it could be either. Whatever the case, it causes Jeffrey to stand down and continue toward the concession stand, minions following.

“Let’s get to work!” Morgan throws her hands up, dropping the cheese puffs.

Easton and Aniston nod. We hurry to the batting cages and find Andrew pitching to Timothy. Easton takes over pitching, and the rest of the team trickles in a few minutes later.

I chug my coffee, and the last drop hits my stomach like a bolt of lightning. Maybe I should’ve taken Morgan up on those cheese balls. Empty stomach or not, I know it’s my nerves.

I watch the rest of the kids hit, then take our cooler to the dugout. Jeffrey has his arsenal on the home side, which leaves us with the less desirable visitors’ dugout.

Bradley comes out of nowhere, hands on hips, cowboy hat tilted down, like he’s a Western gunslinger, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.

“Has anyone flipped a coin?” He looks at me, then across the field at Jeffrey.

“Not to my knowledge.” I answer.

Jeffrey stays silent.

“All right, since Jeffrey made his team home, looks like your team can be home next game.” Bradley tips his hat to me.

Jeffrey cackles and returns to his dugout. He doesn’t even have to say “like there’s going to be a next game.” His laugh says it for him.

I try and ignore him and hope for a miracle. Our kids hit well in the cage. They’re now warming up in the outfield with Morgan, Easton, and Carlton.

Bradley puts on his protective gear to umpire, then reattaches his sheriff’s radio. The crowd starts filling the bleachers, making it become real. This could very well be our last game of the season.

I pull out my phone and hover over Nate’s contact. I’d texted him congratulations late last night after their win. He texted me back “Love you.”

I wanted to call and talk to him about it, but decided to wait. He didn’t pitch but two innings, and the game ended pretty late. I’m sure he’s tired, and I don’t want to bring up anything that might upset him about not finishing the game.

Baseball is stressful! Especially when you have two different guys playing on two very different levels at the same time.

Bradley calls Morgan and Jeffrey to the pitcher’s circle and lays out the rules of the game. I snatch her cheese puffs and eat a handful. They taste like cardboard dipped in parmesan. I frown and grab a Gatorade to wash them down.

We have first at-bat since Jeffrey weaseled his way to being home team. I stand by first base, a ball of nerves with every play. The game goes by in a blur.

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