Page 116 of Diamond Ring
December
Jake
Gordon holds the screening for his documentary at a historic movie theater on a sunny Oakland afternoon. He does the full red-carpet thing—press and paparazzi-style photo pit—that Jake would think is slightly corny if not for it being actually pretty fun. Alex bristles at it in a way where he probably looks even hotter on camera, and gets a broad, knowing grin when Jake whispers that to him.
Unsurprisingly, the theater is packed, a who’s who of players from the past two decades, enough that Jake gets briefly caught up in nudging Alex with aHey, remember that guy?every time someone vaguely familiar walks past.
Other Oakland players roll in—the entire championship team and guys from years before. Reid and Charlie arrive, trailed by a few private security personnel in black shirts and coiled-wire earpieces, whose company info Charlie forwarded to Jake, saying it was precautionary until the press died down.
Mostly, he and Alex just silenced their phones to anyone but known contacts. Jake directed everyone else to call his agent and Alex directed everyone else to fuck off. Jake did get a text from an unknown number written like an email and beginningHi Jacob—Zach’s mom, who wanted to invite his parents to dinner—and a voice mail from Reid’s grandma, all thick New Jersey accent and praise for his pitching.
Those he kept, along with congratulations and support from guys around the league—and dumped almost everything else.
Inside the theater, Alex drops into the seat next to his, feeling for something in the pocket of his jacket before being satisfied it’s there. “How bad do you think this is gonna be?”
“Depends on what you said on camera.”
“Well, fuck,” Alex says, and Jake laughs.
Eventually the theater lights dim. Two director’s chairs are seated onstage, one soon occupied by Gordon, wielding a mic, the other by Toni. Gordon clears his throat to settle the crowd. After a brief greeting, he thanks his wife, his family, the Elephants organization, his teammates throughout the years. “Particularly Charlie Braxton, who’s been with me through most of it.” With that, a scattering of applause and a few appreciative hollers from the collection of Oakland players in the front row.
“Guess it was lucky my last season turned out so eventful,” Gordon says, semi-facetiously. “You all want to see this?”
That gets an even louder cheer. The lights dim, a curtain withdraws, and the Elephants start playing on screen.
The movie is, after all this, a sports documentary, beginning with Gordon’s childhood in Florida before tracing an abbreviated route through his career.How interesting can something be when you already know the ending?A slightly cynical thought, though Jake finds himself watching with focused attention.
Especially when they cut to the start of the Elephants’ season. Jake, on camera, agitated and trying to hide it semi-ineffectually, when Toni asks what he’s learned from his years away from the Elephants. His “Don’t lose a world championship if you can help it” draws another cheer.
A montage of their season follows—highs, lows, intercut interviews with current and former Elephant players.
Zach, clearly uncomfortable on camera, though he smiles broadly when Toni brings up his years in Oakland. “They were good. Maybe in ways I didn’t appreciate at the time.”
Eugenio—who texted to tell him congrats and no hard feelings about the series—sits expansively in his chair. “If it wasn’t for Oakland—for Zach and Gordon in particular—I don’t know where I’d be. Gordon let me stay at his condo likeno big thing. As a rookie—even as an old rookie—here was John Gordon giving me house keys and telling me not to wreck the place. I didn’t if that helps.”
Another clip of Zach, who’s squinting like he’s trying to parse a question. “Gordon’s condo downtown? It’s pretty nice. Why?”
Alex nudges his arm. “You think something’s going on there?”
“Uh, yeah.” Jake lowers his voice. “Zach sent me a draft of their engagement announcement that’s going to run in theTimesnext month.” A picture accompanied it, a candid taken in a garden at night, Zach smiling while Eugenio presses a kiss to his cheek. Something sweet and relatively unremarkable, if not for the text that included their cumulative All-Star selections. “The wedding’s next January.”
Alex looks momentarily surprised. “Cool.”
It’ll probably be less cool when Alex finds out Jewish wedding ceremonies can take more than an hour. At least the food will be good.
Another clip: Reid, brash on camera, with footage that must have been shot after the championship, the caption announcing him as a former Oakland pitcher and Charlie’s fiancé. “I guess being retired makes the whole coming-out thing easier. Unless I’m standing next to Charlie, I’m not exactly famous.” A shrug, grinningly self-effacing. “No one ever recognizes relief pitchers when we’re not in uniform.”
More clips—games, practices, guys laughing and chirping one another. Then the ramp-up to the postseason, Alex asking, “You ever know when you have a last shot at something?” A sequence that ends with Gordon’s hit against the Gothams, the team screaming in victory on the field,thepicture of Jake and Alex in the shadow of the dugout.
A picture the team released at their request that Jake thought he might get sick of seeing—but hasn’t. Not with the careful wrap of Alex’s arms around him. Not with their faces tilted slightly away from the camera. Not when Evie sketched them a version, something vital and breathing in her pencil lines.
Alex has his face tucked against Jake’s arm. “Is it over?”
“Almost.” Jake draws a hand over the shorn spikes of his hair. “You’re missing the good parts.”
He can feel Alex’s smile more than he sees it. “No,” Alex says, “I’m not.”
Alex
