Page 19 of The Road to Home Base
A new, familiar song then blasted from the stadium’s loudspeakers. “Roam” by the B-52’s blared, the entire crowd clapping and singing as Romolo Moretti stepped up to the plate. The camera zoomed right in on him, a calm and collected handsome face splashing across the jumbotron.
And yes, I clapped along and hollered, “Ro-mo! Ro-mo! Ro-mo!” with the entire crowd.
His statuesque height, the weight he carried, the determination on that sun-kissed, Mediterranean face. The way his eyes targeted the pitcher, his entire bodychargedwith energy that I could feel up in the box seats. I held my breath. Willed my desire for him to do well through the air, fed it into his mind, his soul.
I actuallycaredabout the situation. I wanted nothing more than for Rome to hit well enough that Garcia made it home.
The pitcher wound up. Fired down the line…
Rome swung with such power and ferocity. A delayedcracksplit the air as the sound traveled to us, a fly ball to left center field that kept going, going…
Gone. A home run!
I leaped to my feet and cheered wildly like I was the only one in the stadium that Rome could hear, Joe right beside me. Rome flipped the bat toward the Brawlers’ dugout and jogged along the bases as Garcia and Harris each hit home plate. The jumbotron zoomed in on Rome as he moved, a big ol’ smile on his face. I had this odd sense ofhey I know that guyas the screen followed him around the bases.
He’s amazing, I thought as Rome hit the plate. Three more runs to the Riders for that one. I wanted to text Rome right then and there and marvel at his ability. The way he slugged that fuckin’ ball right into the stands. It was sexy as hell. That spark in me grew into something bigger, a desire for him swelling, fueled by a newfound wonder for the game.
I stayed on my feet as the next hitter, Martinez, stepped up to the plate. He doubled on a sharp line to center field. Wright came up next and singled on a line drive to right field. Martinez sprinted, kicking up dust as he rounded third and then scored—then Wright stole for second and made it. The score was now four to seven. Seven!
Kaminski hit next and doubled on a line drive to left field. Wright hit the dirt hard and scored. We were now at eight. That’s when the Brawlers made a pitching substitution and it paid off. The next hitter, Turner, struck out, the first one of the inning for the Riders.
The next hitter, Bridges, lined out to right field. Damn—two outs now. My hands wrapped around the railing before me, knuckles running white. It was only the bottom of the fourth and it felt like the last moments of the game. I fed off the energy of the crowd, who undulated with excitement. The others in the seating area stared at me as if I had never seen the game before, which…
Baker was back up again and doubled on a sharp fly to center field. Kaminski, still on base, made it home, scoring us another run. We were at nine.
Garcia hit a single and Baker made it to third. The next hitter, Harris, singled on a ground ball to left field. Baker on third scored and Garcia passed by second to make it to third. The score was four to ten.
Ten. I told Joe the score, as if he couldn’t see it for himself. He nodded with a smile, clearly delighting in my newbie exuberance.
But a pitching change came again. The last time that happened, the batter struck out. The next hitter was special, though.
His walk-up song played and I sang along again. He switched positions from righty to lefty. The confidence he exuded didn’tdiminish a fraction; it remained just as strong as when he hit the homer earlier.
That confidence. For a moment it hit me like raw sex. The power in those arms when he swung, the charging muscle of his thighs as his legs pounded the dirt when he ran. I wanted, Ineededto see him hit another home run. For New England. For me.
The pitcher wound up, threw the ball…
Crack. This one not as strong as the last time. Rome struck the ball and hit a grounder, then sprinted like a charging lion out of the tall grass. I watched him beeline it to first. But the grounder reached the shortstop, who threw to the second baseman and tagged Harris out as he left first and ran to second.
Damn.
Joe called it a force-out. I felt dejected by it, but looking at Rome from my lofty height, he didn’t seem to mind as he left first and walked back to the dugout.
The fourth inning closed and I collapsed into the chair. I looked over at Joe, exhilarated and exhausted all at the same time. “We were four and two when the inning started. That means we scored eight runs in a single inning. That’s good, right?”
Joe chuckled and bounced his legs as he folded his hands across his lap. “Yes, Alex, that is very good.”
I ran my hand through my hair. “Rome is incredible. Does he score a lot of home runs?”
Joe’s eyes rolled to the top of his head. “I think he’s at… two sixty-five right now?”
I nearly came out of my seat. “Are you serious? That’s… his whole career, right?” Joe nodded. I leaned back. “Wow. He’s good.”
Joe had been staring at me while I replayed the inning in my head. I wanted to find a highlight reel online and watch Rome’shomer again, that elated grin as he rounded the bases. The claps and chest-bumps from the other players when he walked back to the dugout. Even the announcers remarked that it was an incredible inning for baseball that night.
I finally caught Joe’s stare as he watched me internally replay everything. “What?” I asked.
He shrugged. “We don’t get a lot of people like you these days. It’s fun to see.”
