Page 140 of The Future Play

This season has taken a toll on me in more ways than I could’ve imagined. I got on the scale this morning while I was brushing my teeth, and I was shocked to see I’d lost ten pounds.

I feel like the absolute worst version of myself, and I don’t know how to climb out of the hole I’m in.

I have to try to get my head on straight before the game tonight, though.

Remember why it’s fun. Why I love the game.

But that only goes so far. I’m too disengaged. If anything, I want to get on the mound this afternoon and completely tune out the world.

My last game was a disaster, and if there’s one thing I have to do, it’s tune that out. I hate the shift toward matching pitchers up with teams; it means either small gaps or massive gaps between pitching. It’s been almost two weeks since I last pitched, but my next game after this is in two days.

Whatever. Maybe I need to lean in to how crappy I feel today and focus on getting my head straight for the next game.

When have I ever thought that before?Who cares if it’s a crappy game?No. That’s not me. I rise to the occasion. I figure out my shit. I overcome. I’m going to do that. It’s timeto get back on track.

I’m not backon track.

This game hasn’t been an absolute shitshow like the last one, but I’m still struggling. I’m the definition of phoning it in right now, desperate to make it through this game without screwing anything up too badly, but I’m far from doing well.

We’ve gone back and forth between winning and losing all game, with several innings at a tied score. We’re ahead now, in the top of the sixth, but I already walked one batter—and not on purpose.

Fuck, I’m a mess. As I wind up and throw the next pitch, I’m not sure where my mind goes, but not where it’s supposed to because not only is my pitch way off, it catches the batter in the arm.

I put my head in my hands and grumble to myself as the catcher jogs up to the mound. He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Are you okay? You don’t seem like you’re here.”

“I am. Sorry.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile, then smacks my shoulder. “Get your head in the game. You’ve got this.”

Then he’s gone. Not the most useful conversation, but I haven’t put the time into getting to know him like I should have. Yet another way I’ve failed.

What would Miles have told me? Somehow, he’d have read my mind and given me some sort of prophetic statement to get me through.

I look over at the family section of the stands, and the emptiness weighs on me.

I can’t think about that right now.

Sucking in a deep breath, I get ready, then throw the first pitch to the next batter. Who hits a perfect double, allowing the guy on second to score and the guy I hit to get to third.

Fantastic.

Marc might as well pull me at this point, because I’m only going to keep making things worse.

“Excellent game tonight,”our first baseman says derisively as he walks by me. Dude is an asshole on a good day, but he’s not wrong tonight.

We won, but barely, and only because our reliever pulled it together. My game was shit.

“And you had so many shining moments tonight,” Declan says. “Like when you fumbled what should’ve been a perfect double play.”

“Ignore him,” Ryan says to me. “We all have rough games. Keep your chin up. Let me know if you ever want to work on anything. I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks.”

Beau slaps me on the shoulder. “That’s it. We’re going out after this. You need alcohol and greasy food to cleanse the system.”

“That’s the opposite ofcleanse,” Declan says.

“Come on,” Beau prods. “What do you say?”

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