Page 47 of The Third Baseman

As with every game when we were up to bat, there were twenty-five of us – plus the coaches – watching, monitoring, and observing our opposition. The twenty-sixth? Well, he was on home plate.

Right now that was Tanner Simpson, our shortstop.

“Shit, that was a fucking good catch,” Stone grumbled as he pulled on the peak of his cap then sat forward as the entire bench watched Tanner stop dead as he passed first base, and instead make his way off the field.

The Pittsburgh crowd was cheering so loudly I wished I’d brought earplugs. Even though we were still only two weeks into the season, the Pirates had been having a worse time than us, so a win for them here would be a big deal for them in the standings. A low chorus of ‘bad lucks’ sounded as Tanner stepped into the dugout, threw his helmet down on the floor then took a seat, head in his hands.

“Shake it off, Simpson,” Coach Chase hollered over his shoulder without turning around.

Tanner Simpson – our resident rookie. This was his first season in the major leagues. He had talent, and he’d go far. It didn’t make getting robbed of a hit any easier though.

He nodded to himself, caught a Gatorade one of the guys threw to him, and focused back on the game.

I was also trying to concentrate, but I was sitting next to Stone, and it was becoming next to impossible. He’d laced his fingers closed, then open, then closed, and was now rubbing his hands together. By the time Lux Weston, our center field, had reached home plate for his turn at bat, Stone had placed his palms on his jittery, tapping thighs… then sat back again; then forward.

“Will you stop fucking moving! You’re twitching like you need a fix,” I snapped.

“I do need a fix. I need to win this game.”

“Just fucking chill, will you? It’s tied at one in the fifth inning. There’s a whole game to play for.” We stopped talking as Lux smashed the ball on the first swing. It didn’t get a home run, but it did get him enough to make third base, and let Parker King come home safely. I turned back to Stone. “See?”

I rolled my eyes as he let out the long breath he’d been holding.

Tensions were all running slightly elevated today, even more so than they had been over the weekend. We’d won the game against the Marlins, we’d lost the next one against the Reds, and now we were in Pittsburgh before we went back to Miami this evening for our final game tomorrow… then home. We were a team made up of elite players, none of whom were used to playing for a team at the bottom of the overall MLB standings, and all of us were antsy.

We were currently second from bottom.

If we won this game and the Tigers lost against the Royals, we’d move up to third from bottom. And we all wanted to keep moving up, including me, but it didn’t help when Twitchy McTwitcherson next to me started panicking.

I had my own process, which right now was trying to stay as still as possible and concentrate on the game, specifically on the Pirates’ current left fielder, who seemed to be limping. I’d been watching him for the last two innings, and now as I squinted, I noticed he was definitely doing something.

The way he kept popping his hip didn’t look right.

I leaned into Stone. “Look at left field, I think something’s up with his leg.”

Stone pulled off his sunglasses and scrunched his eyes up like I had; leaning forward like being a foot nearer would get him a better view.

“Yeah, what is that?”

“I dunno.” I shook my head. “He seemed to get round the bases okay, but I’m sure whatever it is has gotten worse. I reckon it’ll get you an inside-the-park home run if you aim for him. I can’t see him catching anything right now if he has to jump.”

Hitting a weak spot… was that dirty? No, that was baseball. Looking for an opponents’ disadvantage – it could be nothing, or it could be everything. Their manager saw fit to put him in the field, so it was all fair game.

“Okay, you’re up.” I passed Stone his helmet as Lux made it off the field and back into the dugout following a perfect line drive courtesy of Boomer Jones, The Lions’ first baseman. “Go for left field.”

He made his way out, grabbing his bat from the first base coach on the way. The coach leaned in and whispered something which earned him a solemn nod in return, before Stone took to the field looking way more relaxed than he had a minute ago.

I cupped my hands around my mouth and hollered, “LEFT FIELD!”

A subtle raise of the bat over his head told me he’d heard.

As he stepped into the batters’ box, The Lions’ fans who’d travelled the distance to support us cheered even louder than the Pittsburgh fans had. For so early in the season, it was amazing to see just how many had made the journey. I was still used to Dodgers fans who weren’t known for traveling far, but there were usually so many spread across the United States that it didn’t really matter. Tonight, in fact, this entire stretch, our Lions’ fans had been out in full force, easily filling about twenty percent of the stadium.

This could have had something to do with Penn Shepherd, because since he’d taken ownership, along with the inordinate sums of money he’d spent, he’d made a promise to the fans to bring the glory back to the club. As part of this, he’d provided discount travel and accommodation costs to all away games, hoping to get as many fans attending as possible.

It was working, though it likely also had something to do with the fact The Lions were no longer bottom of the standings for the first time in over a decade, and there had been a renewed enthusiasm about the club.

Stone hit the first pitch foul and got into position again.

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