Page 163 of The Future Play

Though the profile piece hasn’t been published yet—they’re waiting to see how far the Metros make it in the playoffs first—we got to read it, and it’s a beautiful piece chronicling theups and downs of the game, the highs and lows of the first season on a major league team, the importance of mental health, and the tenacity and grit it takes to make it in professional sports.

Reading it made me even more proud of Jamie—and how far we’ve both come in the last month.

We all stand for the anthem, then watch as some person I’ve never heard of comes out to throw the first pitch. I don’t know you. I don’t care who you are. I want to see my man.

As Jamie finally takes the field, I’m on my feet and screaming. When he gets to the mound, he looks for our section, then his eyes land on me and he winks.

That confident-cocky smirk dances on his lips, and no matter how this game ends, I’m going to be on my knees celebrating him tonight.

With a lingering look, he turns away, and I watch as he sets everything aside and channels all his energy into the game.

My heart is beating out of my chest with pride.

Then he throws the first pitch, which lands with a smack in his catcher’s glove. I cheer louder than I need to, but I don’t care. I’m a goner for this man, and I want the world to know it.

Jamie

I’mthe starting pitcher for the last game of the Wild Card series. At one win a piece, this is the game that decides whether we move on to the divisional series.

And I’m the starting pitcher for the team I dreamed of playing with for years.

It was a rocky start, but I know I deserve to be here, and I will fight with everything inside me to play the best possible game of baseball.

I throw my second pitch, another strike, and smile to myself. Not out of cockiness, but out of comfort. This is where I’m supposed to be, and this is what I’m supposed to be doing. I’mproud of myself, and that’s something I couldn’t say a couple of months ago.

Third pitch. Another strike. There’s nothing like starting a game with a 1-2-3 strikeout. I channel that energy and soak in the feeling of the breeze on my skin and the sense of control I have on the mound.

One batter down, two more to go.

The worst partof being the starting pitcher is having to leave the game, especially when I’m pitching well.

Today’s game has been tight, but we’ve held on to a lead all game.

The first game of the series, we won easily by a landslide. The second was back and forth and we lost in extra innings.

It’s the top of the ninth now, and even though we’re up by two runs, one inning can change that. Sure, we’d have a chance to come back, but to lose it now, when we’re this close? I’m going insane, and I know the rest of the team is too.

“I don’t know if I want to watch or look away,” Ryan says.

“Same,” I say, but my eyes are glued to the field.

When I’m out there pitching, I can breathe because at least I’m in control. Being out of control right now might give me a heart attack.

The batter fouls off the ball, and we all groan.

There’s one out and one guy on base. I’m digging deep and trying to throw all my calming pitching energy to our closer. He’s good, but I’m sure the stress is getting to him. He throws another ball, and this one is a strike.

We all breathe a collective sigh of relief. Two outs.

One more and we win.

The energy here is intense, but there’s a camaraderie too.We’re in this together, win or lose. But fuck if we don’t want the win.

My mind goes to the stands. I swear I can sense the intensity of Aaron watching from here. We’re not playing together anymore, but it still feels like he’s a part of this team too.

Amanda, I’m sure, is watching with bated breath, and looking hot as fuck in my jersey and a Metros ball cap.

The crack of a bat hitting the ball draws my focus back to the field.

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