Chapter 8 Cam
EIGHT
Cam
“… thinking that we should maybe head to Thessaloniki first and then spend a few days in Kalamata before we head to Patras for family time.”
I nodded along, not really hearing what Yanni was saying as my sight was locked on the fans filing in to watch the bullpen warm-up session. We’d already completed my pre-pregame routine and were now dressed and ready for the last game of a mediocre season.
I’d dropped a subtle hint into a text to Jari that this was the season finale tonight, so if he was feeling like he wanted to, he could come early and enjoy a night at the field.
Nothing too pushy, I hoped, just a short text suggesting he see the tail end of batting practice, enjoy five-dollar happy hour beers—in much smaller cups than usual—and discounted pizza.
He’d replied with sure, followed by a smiling emoji.
So now I was casually scanning the Iron Horse faithful standing above us, many leaning over the upper rail.
Some came down lower and stood in the corner behind a chain-link fence that got them within arm’s length of the catchers.
Lots of pictures were snapped. The diehard fans loved being close so they could hear the clap of the ball in the catcher’s mitt after a pitch. Many said they could actually feel it.
“But then we could always just skip those hot spots for single men with lots of money and good looks and swim to Atlantis.”
“Sure,” I said, perusing the crowds, lots of kids waving, around the brim of my ballcap.
“Okay, what’s her name?” Yanni gave me a nudge, moving aside to allow the relief pitchers to enter the pen as they always follow the starter out. I shot him a confused look. “Or his name.”
“There’s no one. I’m just looking at the fans. Interacting. Being polite. Smiling. Waving at kids.”
“Uh-huh, so you’re down to swim to Atlantis for some mermaid love?
” He stared at me while I stumbled around mentally.
“Yeah, see, you weren’t paying a bit of attention.
Listen, we’ve got to get the flights and itinerary down so I can tell Mama when we’ll be arriving in Greece.
I was thinking we do the bachelor fun stuff first, instead of after seeing my family, so you don’t find an excuse to leave.
That way we won’t be backed up sexually while dealing with my mother, aunts, and stupid brothers. ”
“You do know that semen doesn’t actually back up, right?
” He ignored me while someone above us shouted down to me that we were losers.
That was nice. Thanks, buddy. “If it did, spunk would leak out of our eyes instead of tears. Also, you have a girlfriend now. Maybe you should discuss travel plans with Athena first?”
“Nah, that didn’t work out. We broke up.
She had turtles for pets. Never mentioned a thing about the fucking turtles in a fucking little terrarium before I showed up to her place to get laid.
I’m half naked, dick out, and I look around the bedroom, and there are two fucking turtles eyeballing my fucking junk. ”
“You need to get over that turtle phobia. One little turtle bites your balls when you were six, and you’re still terrified of them.”
“No, no. I am not scared of them. I don’t trust them. And it wasn’t a little turtle. It was a snapping turtle. Massive bitch. Could’ve taken off my left nut entirely. It was a close thing.”
What did a person say to that? “Okay, well, I’m sorry about Athena.” I slid my cap back and then smiled. Leaning over the rail was Jari and his two linemates. I lifted my gloved hand to wave.
“Meh. Easy come and easy go.” Yanni stood at my side. “So, about Greece. This is our tenth year, so we should do something special. Hitting all the hotspots filled with fine young women and men eager to bed rich jocks with big dicks.”
Jari held up an Iron Horses banner. The other two—I recognized his linemates, Mules and Becks.
One had a beer, the other a slice of pizza.
My gaze lingered on Jari. He looked good tonight.
Relaxed. A week had passed since his episode on the sidewalk.
We’d texted regularly, chatting about casual shit, never mentioning the anxiety attack.
No shades this time, as it was nighttime, but a ballcap, one of ours, which set off his angular face to perfection. God, he was pretty.
“Then we should call up Vin Diesel to join us as we do our version of Fast & Furious through Greece, but instead of hot rod cars we use go-carts and dress up like characters from Super Mario Brothers. I dibs Yoshi.”
“Sounds great.” I gave Jari a smile and a tap of my cap. He did the same thing back.
“Christ, this is going to be a long fucking game,” Yanni muttered, pulled his mask over his head, then down to cover his face, and stalked away muttering in Greek.
I took that to mean that we’d better get my arm warmed up, or we’d be watching a Mario movie.
I really hadn’t been paying attention. Paul Rankowski was already in the pen, observing me, planning out what pitches he felt I should throw to what players on the Philadelphia team.
He, Yanni, and I would get into that after a bit.
I began with some short throws and wrist flicks to Yanni.
Then I moved back, gradually increasing effort and velocity, working in various pitches such as curveballs, changeups, and fastballs.
Yanni was giving me signs throughout the thirty-minute warm-up before the game began.
The three of us discussed how to handle each batter for Philly.
From getting fastballs in the zone, working in sliders, and not giving Hernandez a chance at a high fastball, as he thrived on those.
They talked me up. Told me to breathe, stay calm, and trust my mechanics.
We had a great battery. Confident and connected.
The crowd was lowkey tonight. They clapped politely as the PA announcer called out the visiting team's line-up and then our names, numbers, and positions.
I noticed the stands filling. Taking one final peek, I saw that Jari and his buddies had left the railing and gotten good seats behind the dugout, so with Yanni at my side, we all stopped talking and removed our hats for the anthem.
I threw a few more pitches, rubbed my glove for good juju, and headed for the mound.
The relief pitchers shook my hand and wished me luck.
One of them could be called in later in the game to finish things out.
That was for a myriad of reasons, from analytics to protecting our arms from injury.
The days of a pitcher going all nine innings were a rarity.
Philly wasn’t making the playoffs either, so the atmosphere was one of mild apathy.
Winning or losing wouldn’t make any big difference.
As Paulie liked to say, we were here for the ice cream.
Mostly. I did want to pitch well, go out with a win, and have Jari see just how good I was at this game.
I glanced at the dugout and saw the three hockey players two rows back from where the team waited on long benches.
A fuzzy feeling erupted in my gut. Not the time for fuzzies, though.
The first batter stepped up, a big guy named Bullman—the name fit—who liked to knock the leather off the ball if he could catch a two-seamer.
Right handed hitter. Weak against the changeup.
I took a deep breath, visualized the ball leaving my hand to land in Yanni’s mitt, and took a moment to rub the rosin on my fingers into the pads of my fingers just a little more.
Yanni flashed me four fingers. Yep, he was calling for the changeup, too—great minds and all that.
My body took over. Shift weight to the back leg, lift the front leg, gather energy, dive off the back leg, and perform a rapid whip-like motion to bring the arm forward.
Release the ball at the peak for speed and control.
Follow through with a deceleration of the arm.
I’d done that move probably a million times over my career.
I started playing this game with T-ball, and I was born to throw balls at people.
It was a gift from the sports gods I was thankful for every day.
Bullman swung hard, missed by a mile, and the ump barked out the first strike.
Yanni threw the ball to me and then said something to Bullman that made the big first baseman curl a lip.
Typical. Yanni was a master at getting under a batter’s skin.
His mouth ran steadily, usually with what the hockey players called chirps.
Sharp, sometimes cutting, verbal prods to throw a player off his game.
With that first pitch done, I felt the tension begin to lessen.
The game was underway, and afterwards—if I was lucky—I could get Jari to meet me for coffee and a celebratory burger and fries.
If he would eat junk. My season was nearly over, but his was starting.
We’d see. First things first, though. Striking out Bullman to see him storm off like an enraged… well, bull.
Bottom of the sixth found me with two on base and Hernandez at bat.
Yanni had decided it was time for a mound visit.
I wished he wouldn’t. I disliked it when the coaches or my catcher interrupted my flow.
Yes, the game was tied at four each with no outs for the away team.
Yes, I had been growing sloppy since the fifth.
Yes, my arm ached slightly. And yes, my focus was wavering between this game that meant nothing and the sexy hockey player cheering us on.
“So, when was the last time you jerked off?” Yanni asked when he arrived on the mound. I grunted. “That long. Okay, I got a towel and some hand sanitizer in the dugout, so let's get this asshole struck out, and you can jack off behind the water cooler.”