Page 83 of The Battery
The unmistakable guitar intro to “Thunderstruck” by AC/DC blasted over the speakers. The crowd went wild, screaming their lungs out when they got the chance to scream the lyrics. And I…
I fuckinglovedit. I fed off the energy of it. It infused me like actual thunder. My face hardened like ice, zeroed in on a single need to get Rome and Freddie to home plate. I put a swagger in my step, more than usual, and the crowd went wild with it. My eyes caught the jumbotron. An animation played out of an absurdly muscular Spartan in a red robe and helmet using a thunderbolt as a baseball bat.
Oh, fuck yes, I thought. My new song, along with my own animation. I decided right then and there to buy all the folks in production something extra fancy.
Rome took his lead on second. Freddie did on first. I felt the moment. Felt Archie there with me, standing opposite, mirroring my pose. Out in the crowd, through the screaming, I heard the spirits of my parents.
I’m coming for ya, Uncle Andy, I thought as the pitch was sent. A fastball.
I put lightning into that swing and the solid contact it made with the ball sent thunder through my bones. I knew the moment it touched what it was. I flipped the bat and started a slow jog as my eyes tracked the ball, going, going…
Gone. Beyond the midnight blue wall at the far end.
The crowd ignited in vainglorious fury. Everyone was on their feet as I rounded the bases. My first hit and we scored three runs on a homer. I felt electric from my head to my toes as my cleats tapped each one of those bases. Then finally home, where I jogged back to the dugout to enough ass-slaps and back-claps to send me to the ER. It fueled the strange consternation I always felt in these situations, never earning a smile from me but instead a deeper, more satisfied look. Their congratulations only reaffirmed the weight I carried with me. To get this team further.
“Helluva start,” Cody said in the last of a long line of teammates. He clapped me on the shoulder, an odd gesture but understandable given where we were.
“Gotta keep the momentum going,” I told him. And currently, Cody would be a distraction. “You should get over to the bullpen. Get them amped up. We need good energy all around.”
Cody saluted. He probably understood that I needed to send him away since he would become a distraction. Briefly, I marveled at his ability to separate our two needs.
“Yessir,” Cody said.
The bulk of the game passed with a mix of affable rivalry and grit determination. I leaned out of any attempt from a Diamonds player to lighten the mood. The more innings that passed, the more I focused. The Diamonds continued to put up a fight and didn’t give us a chance to eke ahead to secure our spot in the next Wild Card Series. They managed to score five runs across six innings, and we gained three more after my initial homer. At the top of the seventh, the score was six to five. We had the lead and we needed to keep it.
Which was where Cody came in. As our setup man, he needed to keep us in a good spot for two innings.
We ran onto the field together. It felt natural to jog beside him again. I was hit with a wave of thankfulness and desire. Cody beside me. Taking the field.
We bumped fists per our tradition. Damn had I missed that. The jumbotron exploded with light and pulled our attention upward. The cartoon version of me, the Spartan with the helmet and red cape, locked in a forearm hold with…the hell?
It was an anthropomorphic phoenix, resplendent in flames and wearing a Riders jersey.
“The Spartan & Phoenix” was emblazoned in fiery Hellenistic font. Cody halted in his tracks completely to watch the short clip play out. Sounds of a raging fire accompanied the animation.
“Rising from the ashes, baby!” Freddie shouted as he breezed past us to reach his spot.
The smile that overtook Cody’s face. I wanted to take a picture. I had no doubt every camera was turned on him. The crowd was already on their feet, cheering his new two-syllable nickname. The production crew was ready for his return, the crowd was not, and it undulated through them just like his namesake.
“Looks like you’ve got a brand, Hill,” I said to him. He had been slow walking to the mound, still staring and in awe of the animation as it replayed. The Spartan and Phoenix locked forearms together in a strong grip while screaming at the camera.
“Because I almost died?” he said, incredulous but amused. He shook his head, then jogged to the mound. I wanted to send him a whisper, let him know that he needed to savor this moment.
Damn. Seeing him get ready on the mound. Flames emblazoned the jumbotron behind him like he really was a phoenix incarnate. Smiling. The crowd was going absolutely berserk at their favorite new rookie making his comeback.
I’m in love with a relief pitcher, I thought distinctly and clearly.
I dropped into a squat to throw him a few practice balls. My arm moved mechanically by rote. But my mind couldn’t pull itself from the revelation.
The crowd finally died down as the first hitter for the Diamonds stepped up to the plate.
I called for a fastball. Cody’s first throw back on the field. A classic, something he was good at. It just missed the outside corner and the ump called ball one. Next came a slider that dove low for ball two.
C’mon, baby, I thought.Give me something good.I called for a fastball.
Nasty throw. The hitter swung and touched nothing but oxygen. Strike one. He then swung and missed on a changeup for strike two. A curveball came next that hit the dirt. Ball three.
Then a fastball on the edge. Swing and miss. Strike three.
