Page 12 of Playing the Field
“I’m not saying that. I mean, sure, the fewer PKs we give the opposing team, the better, and we want you on the field, not sitting out games because of red cards, but groomed correctly, your playing style is still the biggest value add we have on the pitch. It’s all in the numbers.”
There’s a round clock on the wall without numbers on it. Small black letters at the top read, “The time is now.” I watch the second hand tick all the way around while I let his words sink in. He’s not asking me to change anything. I’m not here for a beatdown over past mistakes.
Moder shuffles some papers around the surface of his desk, moving them from one side of a leather desk pad to the other and reading something. I can’t tell what he’s looking at from where I sit, but it looks like statistics. Numbers.Analytics.
Second time in two days that word has come up, and I struggle to convince myself it’s a coincidence.
I say nothing, letting him guide the meeting wherever he wants it to go. I’m still damn glad to have a job with this team. But after a few more moments of silence, I can’t stand it. I need to know.
“So when you say value add, you mean you’re studying my stats,” I confirm. “Looking at me, mathematically?”
“That’s one way of putting it, yes. There are a thousand different inputs that involve analysis of hundreds of hours of game footage across the league and spreadsheets from here to Kansas.”
“Analytics.”
“Exactly.”
“I thought that mostly was used for finding undervalued talent. New guys. Players who can be developed over the years for a potential jackpot. Isn’t that the whole point?”
“Undervalued talent, exactly.”
The reality finally dawns. “That’s how you see me? Like a freshman scrub who doesn’t know what he’s doing, but if I’m ‘groomed correctly,’ you can find my untapped potential?” I keep my voice even, but it’s all I can do not to pound a hole in Moder’s glass desk. I’ve been playing this sport since I could walk, and I don’t think there’s any more potential to tap.
“I wouldn’t put it that way. Obviously, you’re seasoned. This is a good thing, Reyes. Where other teams might see baggage, we see potential. The stats and analysis prove it. What if you haven’t even hit your stride yet?”
“At twenty-eight, you don’t think I’ve hit my stride?” I’d like to hit something, but it ain’t my stride.
“That’s what the data shows. And we want you here with the Devils when it happens.”
“And you’re sure of this data.” I have a sinking feeling in my stomach, far worse than at the thought of sharing a kitchen for the foreseeable future with my buddy’s bookish older sister, who doesn’t seem to realize she’s wearing booty shorts.
“Yes, we have a new hotshot heading up that area, and she’s laid out some very convincing data. I’m excited, frankly. Feels like the shot in the arm this team needs.”
He doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t have to. Gracie Albright savedmy job. As it is, I’m doing everything in my power to blunt my attraction to her, but now I’m in debt to her brainy computer skills.
“So does that mean the players will be spending time with the data analysts, or will they do their job in the background?”Please let them work in a separate office. Preferably in a different zip code.
“Mostly the latter, but it’s not my call. Best thing I can do is let the analytics team do their job and do it well.”
Moder rubs his hands together like an excited little kid in front of a hundred candy bins.
So I call my agent and agree to three years of knowing I have a starting spot on a team I love. Knowing I’ll be able to stay in LA. Knowing I can rebuild my house and spend the next offseason training in Lupine Valley.
And I’ll try my damnedest to avoid staring at Gracie Albright every time I see her.
I let out a long exhale and think about the next three years. My deal with the Devils. Literally.
CHAPTER 7
Gracie
One WeekLater
I’m grumpy.
Not the usual grumpy before I’ve had my coffee. This is next level.
“For how long?” I ask.
