Page 8 of The Problem with Sports
Was she for real?
“Doing what you so obviously are failing to do,” I informed her. “Someone needs to set this young man straight about his baseball facts.”
Her chocolate-colored eyes widened.“Excuse me?”
“I was out on my balcony, minding my own goddamn business, when I heard voices spreading fake news.” I glared down at her son. “Specifically, a male voice.”
“It’s not fake news,” he argued. “It’s researched opinions.”
I narrowed my blue eyes at the kid. “What’s your name?”
“Grant,” he supplied, narrowing his little green ones right back.
“And where is your father, Grant?” I asked before glaring back at his mother.“Someoneneeds to right this wrong.”
“He’s probably at home,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not wrong.”
“Oh, but you are,” I informed the poor little confused dude.
“Opinions can’t be wrong,” he flung back. “They’reopinions.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” his mother said. She peered at me with those brown eyes of hers and you could see her visibly take a deep breath. “You need to leave, sir.”
“Mom,” her son rushed out, “you can’t kickNathan Hayesout of our house.”
She turned to face him. “I’m pretty sure I can, Grant,” she said, breaking the news to him. “I don’t care who he is. He doesn’t just get to come into our house and…and…” She looked at a loss. “…challenge you on your right to have your own opinions.”
“I’m not challenging his opinions,” I lied. “I’m trying to set the kid straight since you obviously don’t care enough to do it.”
Her brown eyes narrowed at me, the threat in them clear. “It’sjustsports,” she spat. “We’re not talking about the fate of humanity here.”
Did she just…?
Did she just say…?
Just sports?
I pointed a finger at her. “I’m going to go,” I announced. “But only because I can’t even look at you right now.Just sports?Really?”
“He’s got a point, Mom,” Grant said, the precious, adorable child that he was.
“Oh, sweet Heaven,” she mumbled.
“I’m going to go,” I repeated. “But I’ll be back.” I pointed towards Grant. “I am not going to just stand by and let you…leave him to his own devices.”
“Are you insane?” she asked.
I ignored her uncalled-for question and looked back at Grant. “This weekend-”
“I’ll be with my dad this weekend,” he said, cutting me off. “I go with my dad on Thursdays and don’t come back until Sunday. When I’m going to school, I go with him on Fridays and come back on Sundays.”
“So, he’s the one who takes you to games?” I asked.
Grant shook his head. “No,” he replied. “We’ve never been to any games.”
“Baseball games?”
He shook his head again. “No. No games. For any sport.”
