Page 6 of The Art of Catching Feelings

Thanks to him. No one had said it directly to his face—it takes a team to win, it takes a team to lose, et cetera, et cetera—but everyone seemed fine giving him his space.

Or at least they had been. Randy Caminero, the Battery’s twenty-five-year-old shortstop, slid next to Chris, nudging him with his elbow.

“They’re crazy back there, man,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“You still down about the game? Don’t be, man, it happens.”

Chris felt like the only thing he could think to say was another lacklusteryeah. So instead he stayed silent. But the thing aboutRandy, for better or worse, was that he’d never met a silence he wasn’t afraid to power right through.

“What did that chick say to you anyway?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, as if he had a headache. Hell, maybe hedidhave a headache. It was hard to tell. This might just be how he felt now.

Christopher Robin. He didn’t want to think about it.

That moment was onSportsCenter, people were talking about it on social media, tomorrow there would be any number of sports analysis shows debating the natural passion that came with playing versus athletes needing to get over themselves versus overpaid crybabies versus toxic masculinity versus who knew what else. Already his phone had been blowing up with text messages, calls, notifications—mostly people in his life who were well-meaning, but who had no particular claim to any insider information. There were only two phone calls that mattered, and he’d ignored both of them.

His father had followed up by text with a terseCall me, while his agent had at least left a voicemail.Chris—it might make sense to talk some strategy, given what’s going on. Here for you.

His agent wasn’t a bad person, but she didn’t even know what was “going on.” And Chris wasn’t naive. His agent was “there” to protect her asset as much as she was there to support her athlete.

Randy seemed to understand that he wasn’t going to get an answer to his question, and moved on. “Hey, I got a buddy in LA who’s got the hookup on some hot spots around town. You want in?”

Thirty-two wasn’told. But it felt old, especially in baseball. Chris tried to remember the last time he’d had the energy to make late-night plans during a road series in the middle of the week. His usual routine after a game, whether he was at home or away—maybe hit the weight room, stretch out with the trainer, get a shower, grab some food, head back to his condo or the hotel. Days could pass by in a monotonous blur of routines, the onlydifference being what color jersey he was wearing and which pitchers he faced and whether or not reporters cared to talk to him after the game.

Maybe going out with the guys was exactly what he needed.

“Sure,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Oh, shit!” Randy said, so loudly that Chris startled a little in his seat. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect you to actually be down.”

Great. So it had been a pity invite. “I don’t have to—”

“No, no, no.” Randy cut him off with a shake of his head. “This is sick. What kind of music you like? Techno, house, hip-hop, trip-hop…You know what, don’t worry about it, I got it covered. We’re gonna take this series and then we’ll have some fun, am I right?”

Chris hoped he was right. But he had a sinking, superstitious feeling nonetheless, like maybe he shouldn’t actually say it out loud. He settled for a short, noncommittal laugh before picking up his phone again, scrolling through it like he was looking for something in particular. Eventually, one of the guys in the back called for Randy, and the younger guy went off to join them, leaving Chris alone again.

Checking social media would be the absolute worst thing to do, like touching a stove you knew would be hot. So of course that was the first place Chris went. He had over three hundred notifications from the last time he’d checked, and a quick skim confirmed that most were people tagging him into their hot takes on what had happened at the game earlier.

if I was batting .173, I’d cry, too

watch them make some “mental health” thing out of this #snowflakes

that bitch should’ve been thrown out of the game

Chris frowned. As much as he didn’t love reading all the hate directed his way, he didn’t want it directed toward that fan, either. As far as he could tell, no one had identified her to make her name part of the public conversation, and he hoped it stayed that way. Intellectually, he didn’t blame her—he’d been heckled way worse before, and would probably get heckled more in the future, especially if he continued on the slide he’d been on lately.

Emotionally, though…

Christopher Robin. It had been what his brother used to call him, when they were kids. He hadn’t yet started to shorten his name, because their mother hadn’t liked it—I named you Christopher for a reason, she used to say. Back when she’d still been a part of his life anyway—she’d left when he was barely in elementary school, and he’d had very little contact with her since. ButWinnie the Poohhad been one of his favorites as a toddler, so it had been an obvious nickname. He hadn’t heard it in years,decades, but the minute he’d heard it shouted by that fan it had immediately brought him back. To a time when he was young, and hopeful.

To a time when his brother was alive.

He clicked over to Instagram. Normally, he didn’t find it particularly restful to scroll through a bunch of people’s random pictures, but right now he welcomed the distraction. A friend he kept up with had posted a few photos of him and his girlfriend hiking in Zion National Park, so he liked those, which would probably have him spinning out since Chris so often only lurked on social media. His agent had all his password information and occasionally posted a photo to his own feed, usually one provided by the team’s Publicity Department or a repost of local media coverage. She always sent him a text, asking him any caption he wanted to include, but he rarely answered.

His DMs would be a cesspool just like his other notifications,but he opened them up anyway. No one he knew sent him messages via social media, because they were aware that he rarely checked it. There actually weren’t as many message requests from today as he might’ve thought. It seemed most of the people who wanted to yell at him were over on other sites and hadn’t yet thought to cross platforms. He started from the top and swiped to delete each of the unread messages, until one caught his eye.

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