Page 49 of Left on Base

So I did what he said. I walked away. Told her we needed space, that I couldn’t be what she needed.

And you know what? It was the worst play I’ve ever made.

“Ya seeing what freshie’s calling?” Coach Allen’s voice snaps me out of it.

I nod. Kid’s not doing a bad job, honestly. He’s got good instincts, even if his blocking needs work. But watching him catch for Jameson feels like letting someone else drive my car. Even if they’re doing everything right, it still feels wrong.

“The pressure’s on. He’s keeping it simple,” Coach says. “Not overthinking.”

Is he, though? Or is he just too green to even know what overthinking is yet? Wait till he falls for someone who makes him question everything he thought he knew. Wait till he has to choose between the game he loves and the person he loves more.

He also doesn’t know Jameson’s pitches, so he’s winging it out there, but whatever.

The lights are fully on now, creating that artificial day that only exists in baseball and convenience stores. A moth kamikazes into my eye, and I bat it away.

“I saw your girl’s article about last week’s game was good,” Coach says suddenly, blindsiding me. He knows about Inez. He’s the one who volunteered me to meet her over winter break for that article on the upcoming season. Part of me thinks it’s because he wanted me away from Camdyn, but I can’t be sure.

I try to keep my face neutral. “She’s not my girl.”

“Did you read it?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it was about team dynamics and pressure. How baseball’s a mental game disguised as a physical one.” He takes a long drink. “She gets it.”

She doesn’t, though. She only knows what she’s read, not what she’s seen. To really get this game, you have to look past the surface. Past the stats and scores and rings.

“Yeah, I guess,” I manage, like I’m talking about the weather instead of a girl who knows nothing about me besides what she’s written.

Coach nods. “You know the difference between a good player and a great one?”

Holy fuck. Here we go. Another metaphor. I brace myself, expecting something about keeping your eye on the ball.

But instead, he says, “A good player knows his strengths. A great one knows his weaknesses too—knows when to push through them and when to work around them.”

I look at him, wondering if this is still about baseball.

Before I can ask, Jameson gives up a walk, stomping his way to the mound.

I watch the freshman jog out, see him say something that makes Jameson crack a smile. It’s probably not as good as what I’d say, but it works.

The sun’s almost gone now, leaving behind that deep Texas twilight that makes everything feel more dramatic than it needs to be. Kind of like how Jameson’s glaring at his rosin bag like it betrayed him.

You ever notice how time moves differently in baseball? Nine innings can feel like nine minutes or nine years, depending on your side of the scoreboard. Right now, watching from the bench, it feels like this game started around the Industrial Revolution. I’m still hungry and digging through bags for food. I find Sour Patch Kids in Ollie’s bag and rip them open as Coach Allen walks back into the dugout.

A kid in the stands is waving a sign that says “MY FIRST BASEBALL GAME!” in crooked letters, and I remember when it was all that simple. When baseball was just about hitting a ball and running bases, not about juggling relationships and expectations and the weight of your future riding on every at-bat.

I watch Jameson deliver his first pitch since the mound visit, this one actually catching the corner.

Coach sits down next to me again and I fight the urge to groan. Why can’t he find someone else to bother?

He shifts, probably uncomfortable with showing this much emotional depth at once. “You’re a better player when you’re not trying to be perfect. When you’re just... you.”

The word ‘perfect’ hangs in the air. Perfect game. Perfect season. Perfect boyfriend. Perfect everything. Maybe that’s my problem—trying to perfect things that were never meant to be perfect.

He stands up to walk away, then turns back. “Oh, and Jax?”

“Yeah, Coach?”

---