Third Base (The Boys of Summer Book 1) (19 page)

“Because journalists support freedom of speech.” She’s out of my car, slamming the door before I can even say anything. My only comeback is the squealing tires of my car which I hope she hears as I pull away from the curb.

The only place I can go to try and get my mind off what just happened is the stadium. Once I’m there, I hit the gym. I want to lift weights and punch the shit out of the bag that hangs in the corner, but I’m too pissed and that’s a bad idea. I can’t afford to tear a muscle right now. My game is the most important part of me. That and my integrity, which is something Daisy doesn’t seem to understand.

The whole “journalists support freedom of speech” thing is bullshit. I’d support it too if it were the truth and not some made up gossip to stir the pot. And where does the BoRe Blogger get his information? There must be someone on the inside that leaks it because we didn’t even know about Bainbridge, his wife and a potential mistress, until we read about it in the damn blog. Guys talk in the clubhouse – there’s a code that it doesn’t leave – and nothing has been said. But again, if I were cheating on my wife, I probably wouldn’t tell anyone. No one can keep a fucking secret anyway.

I step onto the treadmill, put my ear buds in and push the speed button until I’m in a steady run. My heavy metal playlist blasts into my ears, blocking out my thoughts of Daisy and the fucked up conversation we just had. Our weight room looks out over the field, reminding us why we’re busting our asses in here – so we can bust our asses out there for the fans, the town and our team.

The grounds crew is out, mowing and fixing minute holes in the dirt infield. When I was in college, I followed the grounds crew around to see how they did everything. It fascinated me and I thought if I couldn’t make it in baseball I get a degree doing that instead. This way I’d still be with a team, in a stadium and part of the atmosphere. My advisor thought I was stupid for thinking about it and talked me out of it. I ended up with the standard communications degree, guaranteeing me a telecasting job when I retire or become washed up.

Still, watching these guys out there, lying on the ground making sure each blade of grass is the same length, making sure the Renegades pattern is perfect and brushing the dirt in the proper direction amazes me. Everyone who works for a baseball club takes their job seriously, from concession stands, to souvenirs, to laundry. It’s a high-end operation here and if there’s ever any trouble, we never hear about it.

The treadmill next to me starts up. I glance over to find Bainbridge starting a slow jog. I push the button to slow down and pull out my ear buds, but leave the music playing. As far as I’m concerned, he’s my mentor and I feel like a shit for bothering him with the bullshit weighing on my mind, but I need help.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“So you know how I have an issue with that blog?” he nods, so I keep going. “Well, I’ve been seeing this girl and I’ve asked her not to look at it.”

“Why?” he asks, without breaking stride.

“Our second date, or meeting, she brought up something about rumors she’d heard and I told her that not everything she reads online is legit and that if she had questions, she should ask. Then, somehow, the blog came up in a conversation and I asked her not to look at that shit. Today, when I surprised her at school, she was looking at the website and when I asked her about it, she flipped out on me.”

Bainbridge sighs and I have a feeling I hit a sore subject. “I don’t blame you, but that shit is addictive to them. Lisa has emailed that blogger before about crap in our marriage even though I’ve asked her not to. Whatever happens in our house needs to stay there; she knows that, but she loves the attention.”

“Daisy says all journalists support freedom of speech.”

“The first part of the blog is great. I enjoy his critique of the game. He’s a real fan. The gossip part though – that shit has no place in baseball and takes away from the point of the blog, at least that’s how I feel.”

We continue to jog for a few minutes without talking. A few of the other guys come in and out of the gym, but lift weights or hit the massage room, leaving us alone.

“I think that whatever was going on with Daisy is effectively over.” Saying that out loud actually hurts. I really like her, but need to have her respect in regard to something as simple as not indulging in a blog she knows pisses me off. It all seems so petty now that I think about it, but I can’t help how I feel.

“You’re too young to be tied down, Davenport.”

Bainbridge steps off the treadmill and presses stop. He looks at me, pain masking his features. I stop running so I can give him my undivided attention.

“Lisa was a fan. I hit her with a foul ball in college. I felt bad and took her out to dinner and we hit it off. But she’s insecure and freaks out if I don’t answer when she calls or I don’t call her right back. Anything longer than five minutes and I’m screwing the secretary, the cashier or the waitress. God forbid I get up in the middle of dinner and take a shit because she accuses me of texting my girlfriend or looking at porn. If I try to make love to her, she’s accusing me of trying to appease her because I’m having an affair. Frankly, I can’t handle my wife, let alone a girlfriend.

“She wants to move home, back to Indiana – I don’t blame her. She’s alienated herself from the other wives and girlfriends, but I’m not ready to give up on my time here in Boston. I love it here. I love the team. I hear the rumors about Cooper Bailey and they scare the shit out of me. He’s young, has fresh legs and a killer arm. But I’m not ready to quit.”

He wraps his towel around his neck and shuts off his machine. “If I were you, I’d forget the girl. You’re young and chicks are eager to get to know you. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t have had a girlfriend when I started playing in the majors. The only things I don’t regret are my kids – the rest I could honestly live without.”

Bainbridge walks off, leaving me stunned. He doesn’t open up much, but when he does he pours it all out. I’ve always asked him for advice, but to hear him say that he wished he never married his wife is a bit of a shock. Now I know why he’s never introduced us, and why he either shows up to events solo or cancels.

I feel like my pleas have fallen on deaf ears!

After dropping three to the Yankees, the Renegades could only pull out one win with the Devil Rays. One would think that playing in Boston, the Renegades would have the advantage over a team who plays in the tropics. Apparently, one shouldn’t assume.

The Renegades are starting a ten-day road trip that begins in Toronto and ends in Seattle (home of Ethan Davenport) with a stop in Oakland on the way.

Seattle is historically bad, although new management is trying to rebuild the team. Let’s hope Robinson Cano isn’t bringing his A-game while we’re in town, even though we love him from ditching out on the Yankees in favor of the Mariners.

The Renegades are 15 / 16 going into the road trip. If they plan to make it to the post season, they need to start winning. Yes, it’s only May, however the clock is ticking.

Our run count is now – 160 / 149. For those keeping count – we scored six runs in the last three games, giving up ten. That’s backwards, Boys!

GOSSIP WIRE:

It seems the romance is over for Davenport and his super fan! Sources say he’s been leaving the stadium by himself these past few games instead of having his number one on his arm. It makes me wonder why it’s over so fast? Maybe she has a thing for Cooper Bailey...

The Renegades put on quite a show for the Children’s Cancer Ward at Beth Israel. Sources close to the team said the guys had their make-up done, fingernails painted, and many selfies were taken.

Hadley Carter, the wife of General Manager Ryan Stone, recently accepted an MTV Music award for best video. Congratulations, Ms. Carter, even if you
are
a Yankee fan. Ick!

The BoRe Blogger

I
love baseball. I love women. What I don’t love is women and baseball together. Since Daisy and I argued, my game has sucked. My batting average has dropped, my on-base percentage is almost non-existent and when I
am
hitting the ball, they’re foul or I’m dropping my shoulder and they’re pop-ups. Six out of our ten away games are done with a record of three and three. In those games I didn’t drive in one single run. Not even a sacrifice. At least my defensive game is still intact. I can’t imagine how I’d be feeling if I were committing errors and letting my team down by not being present on the field.

My head is all jacked up with thoughts of Daisy. I’ve been trained to block this type of shit out, but apparently it’s not working. The game should be the only thing on my mind. Even now, as I walk along the hot tarmac to our plane at the Oakland International Airport, I wonder what the hell she’s doing. And as I board the plane and see the same flight attendants I have known since I joined the team, my thoughts should be about tomorrow’s game but they’re not. I’m stupidly wondering why Daisy hasn’t called or texted and I need to stop. This was too fast, too soon for me.

Never again will I allow a female to consume my thoughts while I’m working. My focus from here on out will solely be on baseball and the pitchers I’m about to face; about the teams we need to beat to at least be a wild card team this fall. I’m going to close my eyes and visualize myself at the plate, swinging my bat to kill the ball. From here on out there will be no worrying about how someone feels, or whether someone is looking at me… and no more going the extra mile. I don’t need to.