Page 22 of Fake Love

This year, this year there is no giddiness, not a single drop.

What is there?

Anxiety. So much fucking anxiety.

Why? I have no idea.

It’s not like it’s my first day in a new school and I'm terrified of meeting new people. I’m not.

Last month after coming to San Francisco, signing my contract and taking my drug test, which came back clean, I flew straight to Scottsdale to report for spring training. I arrived a week late, but that didn’t matter. Every single person I met, whether it had been a teammate or a coach, they all accepted me with open arms. They were glad that I was there.

Everyone being accepting made the nerves I was feeling ease up a little bit. They eased up more when I was able to pitch a spring training game and heard fans cheering for me.

But now as I park in the player designated parking lot, the nerves, the anxiousness is back in full swing.

Maybe because this is a whole different ball game than spring training.

Maybe it’s because my mom is missing my first opening day at home.

Maybe because I won’t even be able to step foot on the field, or the dugout for that matter for another month.

Maybe it’s all of those things.

Whatever it is, it's hitting me hard and making me sweat like crazy as I get out of the car and walk into the park.

It’s early, and given that the team photographers are just setting up as I walk through the gate, I’m the first player in.

“Can’t wait to see you back on the mound, Maddox.” One of the photographers yells out, a smile on his face.

I give him a smile back. “Thank you. Hopefully you won’t be disappointed.”

“Never, man. Never,” he gives me a smile before giving me a nod before getting the picture that he needs and letting me go on my way.

This is only the second time since I signed my contract that I’ve been here. The place is a lot more complicated to get through than the park back in Chicago. Thankfully there are guides everywhere that are more than happy to show me where to go.

After a good five minutes, I make it to the clubhouse, and the second I step through the double doors, the anxiousness from earlier grows.

I should be ecstatic to be here, but yet I’m not fully there just yet.

Maybe in May.

Walking deeper into the extravagant locker room, I see that I was right earlier, I'm the first player here.

I look around the place, seeing the familiar aspects of a baseball clubhouse and trying to take it all in.

Then I come to the cubby hole that holds my name over it.

Bauer, thirteen.

It looks strange seeing my name in orange in black when I’ve spent my professional career seeing it in blue and white.

At least they let me keep my number.

Trying to control my nerves as best I can, I place my backpack in the cubby and take a seat in the chair in front of it.

I guess this is home for the next couple of years.

Unless you mess up and get traded again.

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