Page 62 of The Road to Home Base
A horde of bodies pressed against us, blue on red, a churning mass of testosterone fueled by an age-old rivalry that started for who knows what reason. Hiroshi made a hole as my wits returned to me. I realized my fist ached, my stomach even worse, but mysoulfelt bruised beyond repair. Had I actually done that? Had I thrown the first punch to get this mess started? My father would be ashamed.
Hiroshi got us out from the rabble, only for us to come across an umpire screaming with a face redder than a Brawler jersey.
He ejected me from the game.
I had a perfect record. Not once had that happened to me. I was a gentleman on the field. I was known for it. Mr. Amicable had just been thrown out.
Someone guided me away from the field. Stadium security had wedged their way into the fighting and while the noise sounded something fierce, the physical confrontations abated. My escort helped me down the dugout stairs and into the tunnel.
“Devin,” I realized as he walked with me. “I… I don’t even know what happened.”
“Did that first baseman say something to you? It looked like you two were arguing.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. The cacophony of the roaring stadium traveled down the tunnel and hit us as susurrous whispers. “I’m not a violent person, Devin. I swear. I’ve never punched a person before in my life. I’mnot—”
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said and grabbed me by the shoulders. “I know you’re not. You don’t have to worry. You’re not Ricky, all right? You don’t need to worry about that right now. Come on.”
He redirected me away from him and helped me down the tunnel and into the locker room. He turned around and went back toward the stadium when he saw Joe standing there in the silence of the room, his arms crossed.
“What happened?”
?
The four-hour drive home felt more like four days. Joe drove a black Audi RS 3, something his slightly smaller frame could fit in but mine could not. My knees bunched up the whole time and I knew I’d have cramped and wobbly legs by the time we reached Lexington. Joe had morphed into an agent-like entity after finding me in the locker room. He convinced the coach to let me leave entirely instead of staying until after the game for a post-mortem.
Joe stayed politely quiet while I spent a solid hour on the phone with Alex explaining in detail what had happened. Iapologized profusely as if it were Alex on the field that I hit and not Quinn. Everything within me needed Alex to understand that I was not a violent person, that my reaction was borne from a sudden prejudice I had never before faced.
Blessedly, he understood. He said we’d talk through it more, in private, once I got home and that he’d be waiting with dinner ready. Joe declined an offer to stay.
A buckle around my chest had unstrapped itself after speaking to Alex. Knowing that him seeing me fight on the field didn’t impact the safety of our relationship meant more to me than I realized. Joe congratulated me in a tongue in cheek manner after I let vent a jet of steam that carried the weight of the world with it.
“First time ejected from a game in your MLB career and you’re worried what your boyfriend thinks,” Joe said through a laugh. “Classic Rome.”
We got to laughing about that. Joe kept digging at me and I let him just so I could enjoy the humor of it.
That came to a full stop when my phone rang and I saw Emma’s name pop up. I slid my thumb to answer the call, then put her on speaker. “Emma, hey. I’m in the car with Joe. He can hear you.”
“Hi Rome. Hi Joe,” she said.
“Emma,” Joe added.
She let out a short sigh. “Okay. So. Let’s hear it in your own words before we dive a little deeper.”
I told the same story for the third time in just as many hours. I had perfected the tale by then. Emma only gave me the perfunctory “uh-huhs” and “yeps” as I spoke. When I finished, she let out another sigh.
“Unfortunately, none of the boom mics were pointed at you. Cameras were, but reading lips isn’t provable. Which means it’s Quinn’s word against yours.”
“Quinn is a jerk,” I said. “He’s been ejected from games before for fighting. I’ve never been ejected. My track record is way better.”
“I understand that. But for whatever reason, the umpires and officials are siding with the Brawlers on this one. It doesn’t matter what he said.Youthrew the first punch. I can’t believe I’m even saying this to Romolo Moretti. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”
I grunted. “So what’s the punishment?”
“Five game suspension.”
The car went deadly quiet. Joe toggled between following the highway and looking at me. I let her words bake in my mind.Five games. An absurd number.
But she was right. I threw the first punch. I started it. It didn’t matter what bigotry Quinn threw at me. I should have had better control over my actions.
