Page 163 of Chasing Headlines

“We may need a right-hander. You've done a hell of a job. Might be a reliever after all.”

“Bite me. And fuck off.” He seethed. “I don't need your pep talk. Just go back to being the self-absorbed tool you've always been. What do you want anyway?”

“You've got your hat on the wrong way.” I grabbed his cap from his head, turned it inside out and handed it back. He gave me a tired look and put it over the loose strands of sweat-slicked hair. “Come on. Be part of the team. You're done for the night.”

“I told you I can still go, asshole.”

I shrugged. “Right now, It's rally time. We need runs.”

Bottom of the eighth. One out. The top of the order came up again. Azocar held out his bat and dug into his stance at the plate.

The Arizona pitcher wound up and threw. His motion consistent, but not as sharp as earlier in the game. Ball one. A smattering of claps and cheers. “Way to watch, way to watch.”

“Good eye.”

“Come on Azo!”

I liked to watch the pitcher. Helped me understand their delivery when I was at the plate. It also helped me know how to time my baserunning, when I was already onboard.

Pitchers were creatures of habit. They had to be. Needed to be able to deliver the exact same pitch in the exact same spot in the exact same way. They were also superstitious.

This guy rocked back and forth three times on the pitching rubber before he went into his wind up. He sent a change up over the plate, but it dropped too low. Azo held up his swing, ball two.

“He may be done,” I muttered over my shoulder at Meyers.

“He's dog assed tired. That's a Texas term.” He nodded with a hint of a smile.

“Wonder how long they'll leave him.”

He squinted one eye. “Part of a new pitching platoon. They're still testing his limits.”

Pain shot through my head, behind the bridge of my nose. I closed my eyes and gritted out: “Good for us.”

“Better be. I did my job.”

I let out a sigh.Always been a prima donna. No doubt always will be.

“You know I heard this rumor.” Fendleman swiped at Meyers' cap, turning it backwards on his head. Hair everywhere, he pulled the thing off. He shot the captain a scowl after tucking hisflowback in his collar.

“Yeah?” Meyers grumbled. “What's that?”

“It's called a team sport because none of us win or lose on our own.”

“Up yours Fens.”

“You sound just like this asshole,” Ryles said and jerked his thumb at me.

Pretty sure the whole team had called me an asshole at this point. Maybe there was a reason.

Maybe they were right.

The stadium crowd grew lively. Azocar jogged to first base on ball four.

“Woo, Azo!” Jimenez moved and tossed a baserunning helmet to Nevins, the first base coach. Azocar swapped out his gear. Scuffed his cleat against the bag, then took his lead off the base. Pitcher looked his way. Azo leapt back to first. This was it, the start of our rally.

I could feel it.

The crowd continued to cheer as Kinsley, centerfielder, walked up to the plate. Kins swung the bat low, back and forth a couple of times before raring back into his stance. A curveball caught the low outside corner for strike one. He worked out his arms and then drew his arms back, keeping the bat a bit lower than shoulder height. The next pitch, if I had the sequence down, would be a breaking ball.

---