4. LION
Chapter four
LION
It’s game day, and Mary Beth and I eagerly follow the stream of people headed to find seats, and I’m even more thankful for the allocated seating that comes with the Big Banana Season pass. It’s a little chilly, but the sky is clear, and the smell of hot dogs and nachos fills my nose as we make our way to our seats. The stands are packed and some of the players are still out, snaking their way through the crowd, taking photos and signing autographs. I already have the only autograph I need. Tim’s. He signed the back of my vet’s business card last year. It’s in the shape of a cat and has King’s last check-up appointment time written above it, but it still looks super cute framed and on my hall table.
The speakers above us crackle before the music starts, and we pick up our pace. I almost trip on the last step before our row but grab the back of the chair on the aisle just in time.
“That was nearly your season over,” Mary Beth laughs, and I scoot in front of an older man and woman wearing OG jerseys to reach our seats.
They’re not as close as the ones I had last year in the final game of the season. I was right near the front then. It’s how I got Tim’s autograph. We’re about seven rows up this time, but we’re also right over the dugout, so it has its advantages.
The general manager, Bart Erricson, walks onto the field wearing his signature yellow pinstripe suit and patent leather yellow shoes.
“Welcome to another incredible year of Banana Ball.”
The crowd erupts in cheers, and he gives them a moment to settle before he continues.
“There is no other place in the world we would rather be kicking off this year’s tour than right here with you, Savannah.”
The crowd goes wild again, but this time, Bart doesn’t worry about waiting for them to finish blasting their voices across the pitch. He turns, and as he does, three objects start to inflate on the field in a row behind him. They rise quickly, and before we know it, three giant inflatable baseballs are sitting on the field.
“Let’s get this party started!” he cheers, jogging off to the side. Anyone who was sitting is now on their feet and as the OG players jog out onto the center field, the baseballs roll forward, and standing in their place is the pop group, Rising C’s.
Were they inside the balls?
I don’t really have time to ponder how they got there because the band kicks off, and after the OG teams perform their number, the Funky Monkeys and Animal Control take to the field. I don’t care how many times I see them perform; there’s just nothing I love more than watching Tim. He spins and cartwheels across the grass, laughing and moving into place for their next number, and when he waves toward our section, my stomach flips. I wave back, hoping he’ll see me, and when he smiles, I’m pretty sure he did.
The performance is over far too quickly for some, but it’s game time, and tonight, the OG’s are up to bat first, and Tim jogs out to right field to take his place. He’s fidgeting with his glove, bouncing on his feet side to side, his stare locked on the hitter. Waiting for that moment, the crack of the bat, and when it comes, he takes off to the right at full speed.
“Wooo, go Tim!” I cheer, and he slides onto his knees, skimming across the grass, scoops up the ball and immediately sends it toward second baseman, John Morley.
John’s ready for it and the game kicks off with the first out.
***
“Well, that was good, even if we didn’t win,” Mary Beth says, linking her arm in mine as we stroll toward her car. I would have ridden my bike down like I do most other games, but Mary Beth said it looked like rain. It looked like a regular, cold, but clear-skyed February day to me. It’s dark now, though, and I can see a few stars have come out like glitter above us. I climb in her Prius. It’s a tight fit, partly because my legs are so long and partly because I can’t push the seat back any further because Mary Beth has boxes of cafe stock that she picked up on the way to get me taking up the entire back seat.
“See, I told you.” She beams, nodding toward the windshield.
“Told me what?”
“That it looked like rain.”
“But it didn’t.”
“It’s raining now,” she says, waving her hand at the dots peppering the glass.
“Yep, good thing we drove or I’d be soaked by the time I got home. I hope Chip is inside and not out visiting again, he hates the hair dryer.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely, you should have seen him last time he slipped into the bath and I had to dry him off. I needed stitches and antibiotics after that. Look, I think you can still see the scar,” I say, holding out my left arm for her to see. But there isn’t really enough light coming from the streetlights outside to really show much.
“Not about Chip, about the rain.”
“What about the rain?”
She sighs. “Never mind. Do you want to grab dinner?”
“I thought you were going out with that guy again.”
“I decided to cancel.”
“Why? He seemed nice.”
She looks over at me for a moment, then returns her attention to the road ahead. “When did you meet him?”
“At the cafe last week, he was waiting for you out front when I left. He liked my bike.”
“He also likes his wife.”
“He’s married?”
“Yep, his wife decided to join us at dinner.”
“Oh, so he wanted you to date both of them?”
“No. Why would you think… he said he was single. She showed up when we were eating the lasagna and threw my wine in his face.”
“So, not a poly thing?”
“No, not a poly thing. I’m struggling to find one good guy to date, I can’t imagine how I would find two.”
“They have apps for that, too. You just have to filter your search.”
“How do you… never mind. Anyway, it was a bust, so I am now free for dinner. How about we grab something from the bodega, a bottle of wine and watch Bake Off?”
“Okay.”
While Mary Beth heads into the bodega to grab our food, I bring up my socials and skim the feeds for mentions of Tim. There is only one shot of him on his own. His first catch sliding across the grass on his knees, a look of sheer determination on his face. Better than the last shot of the teams shaking hands afterward. I zoom in, and his smile is still there, but it’s forced, he’s disappointed in the loss. But it was a close game. He played great. He has to know that, doesn’t he?
I flick through my photos from tonight, looking for great ones to share online. There are plenty to choose from. I’ve got close-ups and wide shots of Tim that I took from my seat, and the ones I got when I was on my way back from the bathroom, and then there are the extra shots I got from against the fence when he was dancing with the team just before the ninth inning. I start uploading a different one to each of my logins with boastful captions about how great he was. I’m sure to jump in and heart and like the other posts I throw up to boost them, too. The Tim and Banana Ball fans do the rest, and by the time Mary Beth comes back to the car, Tim has liked and commented on two of them, too.
***
Game two, and tonight, it’s Animal Control versus one of the OG’s. That’s another thing I love about Banana Ball. They always play a few games in a row in each city. Savannah gets four this year before they move along to Jacksonville. It’s only about a two-hour train journey, so I don’t need to take any time off work to go to all three games being held there. The same for the next week at Charleston. They’re back in Savannah after that for a week, but then they move onto Tampa, and it will take eight hours to get there, so I’ve already booked a B&B for the three nights. Actually, Mouse booked it. She booked the whole season for me, train tickets, flights, accommodation, it’s all sorted. Big sisters are the best.
Tim isn’t playing tonight, but he’s still performing. They all do, and one of the best parts about being here on a night where Tim doesn’t play is that he gets to spend way more time in the crowd with the fans. Too bad my seats aren’t on the far side, because that’s where Tim is right now with Calvin Parks. They’re sitting on the stairs together watching the game and chatting to the right fielder, Arthur Green. He keeps looking back at them. Are they trying to distract him? No, Tim wouldn’t do that. It must be Calvin.
Gordon steps onto the mound. He’s on fire tonight, three hitters have already been sent packing without a single run. He sends the ball, and Ferris Sagon’s bat clips it, sending it high into right field where Arthur Green is thankfully paying attention. Arthur jumps, spins in a full circle, then catches the ball behind his back. An awesome trick play. The crowd erupts. Tim is on his feet immediately cheering and so am I.
I bring out my phone and take a few shots zoomed in on Arthur celebrating with Tim and Calvin cheering behind him in the stands. I crop the perfect shot. Tim’s got both hands raised in the air in fists, cheering with his whole heart, Calvin’s clapping, and Arthur is doing his celebration wiggle. I add the pic to a social post, add the caption: Tim at it again, showing us what a real friend is. #Celebrateyourmates and hit post. Tim started that tag after he posted a clip the year before, when Tony Parks first home run. His brother Calvin is on Tim’s team, but that didn’t stop him boasting about how amazing it was. He even paired the post with a photo of him cheering as Tony jogged around the bases, waving at fans.
Mouse is beside me clapping and cheering, though she doesn’t have a favorite team or player. She’s never been to a game before, not until now. Mary Beth couldn’t come and because my pass is for two tickets, I didn’t want the extra seat to go to waste.
“I can see why you love this sport, it’s actually pretty fun,” Mouse says, sitting. “Can they all do that?”
“Do what?”
“Catch the ball behind their backs?”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen Tim do it a few times.”
“Ohh, right, he’s your favorite. Which one is Tim?”
“He’s in the stands over there,” I say, pointing across the field.
“He’s not playing?”
“Not tonight, he played last night.”
“Oh, okay. So, who is the best player tonight?”
“Tim.”
“You just said he isn’t playing.”
“He’s still the best, even if he isn’t on the field.”
She shakes her head. “I’ll give it to you, baby bro, you’re devoted.”
“It’s not devotion. He really is the best, look,” I say, passing my phone over for her to see the post I just made. “He’s supporting his friends when they play, too. He doesn’t just think of himself all the time.”
“Which one is Tim?”
“The cute one.”
“They’re both cute.”
“Calvin isn’t cute. He’s… a twin.”
“Ohhh. Where is this twin? Are they fully identical? I hope so. I could be the jelly in their cute twin sandwich.”
“Gross.”
“Says you.”
“Says everyone.”
“Like you haven’t been with a guy and thought, wow, this would be even better if there were two of them?”
“Not two that look the same.”
“You’re missing out, baby bro. So, the twin, where am I looking? Is he in the crowd, too, or on the field? Hopefully, he’s not in the box thing.”
“It’s called a dugout, and he’s not in it. He’s over there, center field,” I reply, pointing. She pans the camera and zooms right in and clicks a photo, then returns to Tim and takes a close-up of Calvin, too, then starts swiping back and forth between the photos.
“Perfect double hotness.”
“Give me my phone,” I say, and she reluctantly hands it back but takes out her own and snaps a few pics.
“Oh, I have people lined up for your companion ticket for the next three games. Are you sure you want random people sitting beside you at these things?”
“They’re fans.”
“Okay, are you sure you want random fans sitting beside you?”
I look past her to the guy slugging down his third beer since the game started, then turn my head to look beside me at the woman wearing a Gordon James jersey dress. When they came out with the line of women’s wear, at first it was just like normal jerseys with a more hourglass cut, but they quickly learned the women wanted better than that and they followed up by adding in two different dresses, a tight-fitted one and the other long and flowing, and a pair of knee-length shorts, a skirt and top set, all with pockets. The site crashed when it went live.
“I think that’s a given at any game,” I tell her, and she nods. “Besides, selling the extra ticket covers the money I lose from missing work and helps pay for the hotels and that. It’s win, win.”
“Okay, well, I searched through these guys’ socials and none of them have any serial killer vibes, so I’ll send through the names and numbers, and you can arrange to meet them at the main entry gates.”
I try to keep watching the game while Mouse talks. It’s not easy, but years of practice helps. Mom and Dad should have called her Lion and me Mouse, because she’s always been the loud one in the family. I’ve always been the big one. I was like twelve pounds at birth and just kept getting bigger. Buck is just as tall as me, but he’s lean, or what he calls, lanky. Mouse is, well, Mouse. She’s overprotective as the older sister, thinks I spend too much time at the gym and is forever trying to set me up. I didn’t mind at first, but I’m never quite what the guys she sends me expect. Maybe one day I’ll find that guy who just gets me.
“Thanks, Mouse. I was going to offer the seats up to people who follow the fan page, but then I would have to choose, and then people would be sad or mad, and then I would be worried the whole game about who didn’t get to come.”
“I know. You’re a huge softie. Well, this was better anyway because it gave me a brilliant idea that is going to make us millions.”
“I don’t need millions.”
“Think of how many cats you could own with millions.”
“I didn’t buy them, they found me.”
“Whatever, anyway, I was looking into the guys that I was lining up for your ticket and a few of them thought I was setting you up with them, you know, like a Banana Ball blind date. And I thought this could be a great new dating app. We could call it, Done Playing. People can put in the kind of person they’re looking for, like with any other dating app, but we get them to also input the sports they love to watch and the app can set them up on dates to games.”
“What if they go for opposite teams?”
“Oh, good point. We’ll have to also get their team’s preference, and maybe favorite players, too. There’s no point setting up a Monkey with an Animal fan. I’ll text Buck. I’ve already got him working on the coding.”
Gordon pitches his twelve-six curveball, and it’s hit well by Carry Maves to left field where Stevie tries to make a behind-the-back catch but comes up empty. Carry was watching, and when he sees Stevie miss the trick play, he turns on the jets and books it to second base. Next out is the OG golden boy, Atlas King, and as he dances his way to take his place in the box, wearing a purple cape and golden crown glued on top of his helmet, regal trumpets play him out.
The guy sitting beside Mouse hollers, “The king has arrived. Animal Control are going down.”
The OG’s have more fans in the crowd than Animal Control do, and right now, they’re chanting, All hail the king , over and over. Gordon lines up the pitch, and it’s a swing and a miss. Harrison sends it back, and Gordon sends down another twelve-six fastball. Swing and a miss again. Atlas almost never misses. Gordon has a chance to send Atlas back to the dugout with a donut for the first time in his Banana Ball career. The crowd knows it, too, and their chant softens.
Gordon shakes off Harry’s call for the next ball, then smirks and nods before he sends down a cutter, and Atlas swings. The ball is gone, sailing high, deep into left. Atlas knows it’s a home run. The crowd knows it’s a home run. But while everyone else is watching the ball, my attention lands on Tim. Calvin is behind him, hands on his waist, but before I can blink, Tim is jumping up in the air, Calvin’s hands propelling him higher, and he reaches out, catching the ball. It’s not a foul ball, so it doesn’t count as a crowd catch, and the OG’s still won the inning and got the point. But that catch won the crowd, and Atlas finishes his jog around the diamond to the chant, Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Oi, Oi, Oi.
“Who’s the king now?”