Page 2 of Fastball Fever
"Don't worry," Phil informs everyone."We'll take care of Charlie.Right now, he needs an ice pack, so we'll start there.As for the rest of you…get back out there and win the damn game."
The crowd's gone silent.It's weird to hear total silence out there.I guess even the opposing team feels bad for me.I need to get out there and show everyone I'm okay.I'm not, but that's beside the point.
Somebody hands me a bottle of ibuprofen and a cup of water, but I don't bother to glance up.I down the pills and the water in one gulp."I need to get back out there.Just to wave at the crowd and show them I'm not headed for the hospital."
Phil gives me a stern look, then he blows out a sigh."Okay, Charlie."
I still feel a touch woozy, but I insist on trudging out there alone.The second I'm out of the tunnel, I raise my good arm to wave at the spectators.Cheers erupt with even more volume from everyone in the stadium.Their vocal support lifts my spirits, but I know I have a long road ahead of me before I can become the fastball hero again.
Out on the field, Jared Morris jogs by me at a discreet distance, still wearing that conceited grin.He makes a point of not looking at me.
The record-breaking pitch I'd worked so hard for slipped out of my grasp in a single moment.
Soon, the stadium disappears in the rearview mirror behind me, and I'm whisked back to my apartment with Phil as my chauffeur.I close my eyes and pretend I'm going somewhere else.A tropical beach in the South Pacific, maybe.
But nothing will ever erase the memory of what could've been but now might slip through my fingers.
All because of Jared Morris.
Chapter Two
The Ultimatum
Three Months Later
Phil Schreier's office has the charm of a bad hospital room and none of the warmth.He sits behind his desk, all business, as my legs begin to ache in the hard-back chair.There are too many things to look at—stack of papers, an old computer, his grave expression—so I decide to stare at the floor instead.
"Here are your options," our team manager had told me two weeks ago "Improve quickly, or face a trade or demotion to the minors."
The words had hit me like a line drive.I was hoping for a pep talk, but instead, it's an execution.A snort escapes me before I can stop it.These were supposed to be my glory days.Who was I kidding?The fastball king fell from grace and couldn't crawl back up again.
"You doing okay, Charlie?"Phil's voice pulls me back to the here and now.He leans forward, hands clasped."Tough game last night."
Understatement of the century.I nod, letting silence do the talking.My fingers drum a nervous beat on the armrest.
"The injury's healing?"he presses.
Yeah, sure, it's healing slowly—like molasses in January.
"Doc says another couple of weeks."The lie sours my tongue.A couple of weeks until what?I get another meeting like this one?
Phil tilts his head, his gaze narrowing."You're not pitching like before, Charlie."
"I know."My fastball isn't so fast anymore, and it's all I've been thinking about.My shoulder doesn't feel that bad, but still…I can't get anywhere near Nolan Ryan's fastball and or Aroldis Chapman's.Can't even reach my own previous pitching speed.I've lost my game.For good?God, I hope not.Baseball is my life and my passion.
Phil steeples his fingers, scrutinizing me like I'm a puzzle he's trying to solve."You understand what's at stake here, right?"
"Absolutely.I've read this chapter a hundred times.Hero falls from grace big time, keeps fucking it up over and over.No happy ending for Charlie."
He raises an eyebrow, not buying my sarcasm."I need you to be honest.With me, with everyone.But especially with yourself."
A pause hangs in the air, the unspoken words as heavy as bricks.He's gonna send me back to the minors, isn't he?
Then Phil leans in."Improve quickly or face a trade or demotion to the minors.Those are your choices, remember?I like you Charlie, you know that.But we can't carry a guy who's not giving us his best."
I assume I'm supposed to offer up a vow to do better or…something.But my tongue seems to have gotten stuck to the roof of my mouth.Phil waits me out, though, letting the words sink in.Letting me sink or swim, as the euphemism goes.
"I'm working on it," I assure him.What a lame excuse."You know I've still got the fire."
