Page 10 of The Cannon
And he’s gone. I turn back to the gallery of family onlookers who are now smiling and reacting to what was said. It’s amusing every last one of them.
“Shut up,” I say.
* * *
Didn’t expectour teams to be so competitive. Actually, it’s all him and me. Sawyer is playing the same role I am. Ringer extraordinaire. There’s not one other bowler on either team who knows what the hell they’re doing. Or cares.
But the fact so many are athletes is the saving grace. At least there’s strength and balance and not a lot of gutter balls. Instead, there’s a hell of a lot of rockets thrown. Wouldn’t be surprised if some pins weren’t blasted apart. This is testosterone alley.
Except for Kara, who’s representing the estrogen brigade. She’s made an art of her unconventional stance. No one’s bothered by the creative ways she approaches and releases the ball. It’s never the same twice.
I think that’s the centerfielder who’s chatting her up and enjoying the view from behind. Sawyer follows her in the lineup. He’s as good a bowler as I am. I won’t say better. But just because I won’t doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Damn. I may have been distracted a few times by his ass and it affected my game.
Kara stands poised, ball in hand, for her next run at the pins. Sawyer’s three feet behind her talking with the boy he was helping earlier.
Then without warning everything I’m watching changes to slow motion. As Kara goes into her backswing she loses her grip. The ball flies out of her hand and sails toward where Sawyer and the boy stand.
Like he’s fielding a bad hit, Sawyer’s quick reflexes go into action. He steps in front of the child and takes the hit himself. Right in the face. The nose taking the brunt. The ball slams with a thud onto his foot. Sawyer’s down and out.
Oh shit.
I’m up as the scene resumes real time. Blood is pooling from his nose. There may be a head wound where he hit the floor. Kara’s crying and kneeling beside him. People are starting to react. I go into physician mode.
Chapter 3
Sawyer
Fleming’s Steak House is the kind of restaurant I had to work up to. I remember how out of my comfort zone I was the first time I ate at a fancy place. It was the night I was moved to Double A ball. All of us new guys on the farm league were up for celebrating. Every guy but me had reached a lifelong goal. I stood alone on my pathway. The dream had found me.
Previously, my idea of fine dining consisted of good BBQ around Dallas and Fort Worth. The food was lickin your fingers good. But the atmosphere was more kitschy lamps and plastic cups than low lights and fine crystal.
I’ve come to have a wider vision of life. Most of that’s Brick’s doing over the last year. His watchful eye has led me straight from obscurity to the show. He’s got an ability to see the big picture. From the start he pitched the idea we bank on my unusual story. Build interest. He says that’s where the gold is as far as sponsorship goes.
Tell my unique story of hidden talent. It will make people believe in the impossible. They are already responding. He’s the one who told me not to shy away from my relatively new nickname, but to embrace it. Now all I have to do is deliver on the expectations.
For me he’s more than my agent. He’s like a brother. At least what I imagine being a good brother would be. But I’d never say that out loud. It sounds needy.
“Okay, so you’re going to miss a few practices, a few games,” he says buttering a warm roll. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Sawyer. But don’t let it pull you down. Shit happens in baseball. You know that.”
Brick’s matter-of-fact delivery leaves no room for discussion. Nevertheless, I give it a try.
“I’m feeling good though. Really. My foot’s a lot better. And the broken nose, it’s nothing.”
A pointed look passes from his gaze to mine.
“Don’t be foolish. You want to twist your ankle because you’re favoring your foot? Besides, you have a concussion, Sawyer. The league’s rules and guidelines are in place. It’s final.”
So that’s it. A bowling ball to the head has shriveled my introduction to the fans. They’ll meet a limping concussed bench warmer instead.
“The guidelines tell us to take things slowly. You should be back to normal in a few weeks. But that’s if your foot heals properly and we don’t have any unforeseen complications.”
I’m not even going to ask about those.Think positive. Eliminate the negative.
I’ve waited my entire life to find my sweet spot. But there’s still time till the regular season. It won’t kill me. In the meantime I know something that will take my mind off myself. Bristol. Beautiful Bristol.
According to Atticus and Brick, their sister went into doctor mode when I took the bowling ball to the head.
