Page 68 of Spotlight
“Playing for the worst team in the league?” he asks, one brow cocked.
“I didn’t say that.”
“It’s fine. Nothing everyone else isn’t saying about us.” He’s quiet as he stands and grabs his phone and wallet from his locker. I didn’t mean to insinuate that I think the team sucks, but I do wonder how he’s able to show up every day and not dwell on that fact.
“We’ve had a rough few years with injuries and trades, but this is a great group of guys. We have the talent and the heart to do big things. Our time is coming. I believe that.”
“Is that why you’ve stayed all these years?” I ask, keeping my voice low. There’s no way he hasn’t had opportunities to play for other teams over the years. I’ll never understand why he’s stayed as long as he has.
“This place is home. Winning somewhere else wouldn’t feel as sweet.”
“At least you’d be winning though.”
His upper body shakes with a silent chuckle. “Winning isn’t the only thing worth playing for.”
“We’re going to have to agree to disagree on that point.”
He flashes me a smile. “See you tomorrow, Holland. Don’t forget tomorrow is your day to bring food.”
Looks like I’ll be making a trip to the grocery store.
When JT is gone, I pull out my phone and send Olivia a text to see how Greer is doing. While I wait for her reply, I take a quick shower and get dressed. I don’t feel like going home so I go to the media room to watch film of Milwaukee’s last game. I’m starting Saturday and I need to see what I’m up against.
The video equipment is clunky, and it takes a bit of effort to get it to work. I’m cussing out the screen, which keeps flickering on me, when Earl finds me.
Smiling, he walks in and takes over, jiggling some wires and blows the dust off the projector.
“That should do it,” he says as the screen comes into focus.
“Thanks.”
With a nod, he steps back. “Preparing for Saturday?”
“Yeah. I haven’t faced them before. Any words of wisdom?”
“They have some talent over there for sure.” He glances to the video as the first Milwaukee batter walks out to the plate. “That’s Foukes. He likes a fastball, but he has a hard time being patient. Mix it up. Keep him guessing.”
Intrigued, I watch as Foukes swings at the first pitch, a two-seamer that moves a little too far inside.
“Did you already watch this game?” I ask him.
“Nah.” He crosses his arms over his chest as we watch the next two pitches. A beautiful fastball that he lets go by him, then a changeup that he can’t resist but swings too early.
“Damn. You were right,” I say to Earl as Foukes strikes out.
“What else are you holding back on me?” I ask playfully, but as the question lingers, I really want to know.
“Seriously,” I say. “You have any tips for me?”
“You’ve got coaches for that. I’ve already said too much.”
“I know what they think, but what about you? Don’t tell me you haven’t been paying attention because I don’t buy it.” He sees everything around here.
I pause the video and wait for him to answer.
“Your front foot.”
“What about it?”
