Page 43 of The Battery

Cody

O ctober ninth hit with an electrified vengeance.

On the fifth, we traveled to Jacksonville and won our first game against the Barracudas in the second Wild Card Series. The final score was five to four. They fought almost as hard as we did. Almost.

We stayed there for game two, where Jacksonville humiliated us in an eight to two defeat.

Hours were spent afterward and the following morning on our flight back to Boston reviewing every minor infraction of each minute.

Leo and Rome had the entire game memorized by the time we landed.

When we arrived back at the stadium, Leo already had worked out a pitching plan catered to their hitters.

I wouldn’t be playing in the third game, but he still included me in the discussions.

On October eighth, we won our second game against the Barracudas in game three of the series.

We needed three wins to take the series and advance to championship, the glorious pennant.

We had eked out a win, three to two. It was tight, as tight as the first game.

The Barracudas refused to let us ahead as much as we did them.

The fourth game had arrived. If we won, we would move forward.

If we lost, there’d be a tie-breaker game.

We had home field advantage, and the fans were well aware of that.

The game started an hour before sunset and there wasn’t a single empty seat, as if everyone in all of New England showed up for their Riders.

Game four kicked off with a beautiful rendition of the national anthem by a local singer who was big in the pop world.

Her ethereal voice suffused the stadium with a glorious vibration that the crowd returned in kind with raucous applause.

The Barracudas’ starting lineup was introduced to horrific jeering that made every Riders player beam.

Then they announced the Riders. “ Ro-mo, Ro-mo, Ro-mo ,” undulated through the crowd, as it usually did when they introduced Romolo Moretti.

A new cheer ripped through the crowd. “ Spar-tan, Spar-tan, Spar-tan ,” when Leonidas Papadopoulos was called.

I stood in the bullpen and couldn’t see him, but I imagined the fierce consternation that settled on his face at the crowd’s recognition of their new, beloved trade.

One of the Assholes, Shoji, elbowed me for some reason when that happened.

He raised his eyebrows twice, to which I gave him a questioning look. Did they suspect…?

I itched to see his reaction but had to wait until after the game.

I’d pop over to the dugout toward the end.

They intended to use me again tonight as a setup man.

Leo’s strategy for the last game worked well enough and the Barracudas only modified a little here and there.

So long as I prevented them from gaining any runs.

To say the Barracudas put up a fight would be an understatement.

The relief pitchers in the bullpen all lined up along the fencing to watch with rapt attention.

Four innings into the game and no one had scored a single run.

They called these games a pitchers’ duel, each displaying their supreme ability and matching each other.

Our starter was done after four innings and so was theirs.

We each substituted in the same inning and continued to wage war for nearly another two innings without any runs.

The two zeroes on the scoreboard appeared to mock both teams.

Things changed during the bottom of the sixth.

I had already made my way to the dugout at that point.

I’d be up for the seventh and eighth innings and liked to prep myself with the other boys before playing.

I sidled up next to Leo as I usually did.

The only acknowledgment of my presence came at the extension of his leg so that our knees kissed.

Rome was on second base and Kaminski, a short man with cheetah speed, was up to bat. I leaned my elbows on my knees as Kaminski swung and missed, twice. It’d make for our second out if he missed a third time. At the rate the pitcher had been going, I wouldn’t be surprised, only annoyed.

But the Barracudas’ pitcher delivered a fastball on the outside corner.

Kaminski slapped a sharp grounder through the hole between first and second into right field.

Rome ignited and became a blur of blue and bronze as he ran for third.

He’d know the right fielder had to field and make the throw—which he did, targeting third base since that was the concern.

But Rome, with his superior speed, slid into the base with a perfect hook slide.

Kaminski wasn’t satisfied with first, though, and I didn’t blame him. He beat it toward second. The third baseman caught the attempt at a double. He threw to second to try and catch Kaminski, but the throw was off target and sailed into the outfield.

Rome seized the opportunity. He had barely made it up from his slide and was already off again.

I thought he was fast before—now, he became speed.

His sprint for home had everyone in the stadium, and us in the dugout, on our feet screaming.

My hands locked around the railing, Leo beside me, pressing his side into me.

The center fielder retrieved the ball from near the second base line and hurled the ball to the cutoff man, the shortstop, who relayed it to the catcher.

Time slowed, as it always does in those moments.

Rome emptied whatever energy he had left into a final burst of speed, then slid headfirst into home plate as the ball sailed over his head.

Dirt sprayed everywhere at the same moment we could hear the smack of the ball into the catcher’s glove. A single beat of silence swallowed the moment. Then…

“ Safe! ” came the cry of the umpire.

Thunderous applause from the crowd drown out everything, second only to Rome’s booming walkup song over the speakers, the chorus to “Roam” by the B-52s.

Finally, we scored a run. It was now one to nothing, and up to me to see that the Barracudas stayed at nil for the next two innings.

Two batters in a row struck out, ending the sixth inning. Leo had been gearing up and together we walked onto the field, fist-bumped.

“You got this, Hill,” he said to me.

“Risin’ from the ashes,” I said, though it felt silly to say those words. He snorted out a bout of laughter, something that caught me off guard, then elbowed me before we broke to take our positions.

Rise from the ashes I did. The seventh inning passed in a blur.

The closest the Barracudas got was third base.

After two outs from striking out the hitters, the runner on third got impatient.

During a line drive down the center, Freddie got to the ball first and threw to Leo, who tagged the guy out in time.

We ended the inning without allowing any runs.

We jogged back to the dugout. Freddie moved up beside Leo and me and said, “Trying to make a joke about flames, but all I can think of is ‘flamer.’”

I cackled loud enough that the shotgun microphones most certainly picked up on it. “Says the guy with red hair,” I said in return.

“You two,” Leo added while he shook his head. We drained into the dugout. Congrats all around. The skipper pulled me and Leo aside immediately to give us some pointers for the next inning. I listened with rapt attention.

Leo and I were glued to each other during the bottom of the seventh as we waited our next turn.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said in a soft tone. I itched to hold onto his thigh to steady my nerves, but instead I had my elbows braced on my knees while my hands covered my lower face.

I shook my head. “Eager,” I said. “Not nervous.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he said in that commanding tone of his.

“Okay, I’m nervous.” I smiled. Looked at him. “In a good way. Eager kind of nervous.”

“Anticipatory, I believe is the word,” Leo said. I got one of his crooked grins. The sight eased my tension.

“Anybody ever tell you that you have a nice smile,” I said in a careful whisper.

That half smile of his bloomed into a full one.

He looked away, to hide it from me. It gave me a moment to reflect on where we had been a few months ago.

The effort it took just to peek behind the curtain of this man.

Now here he was, doling out smiles like brochures in front of a museum. I marked it down as a win.

Leo shook his head. “Keep your head in the game, Hill.”

I ran my tongue over my upper teeth. “Yessir.”

We didn’t score any runs, despite each player trying their damnedest. Rome was the closest to scoring but ended up closing out the inning by not making it to home base in time.

We maintained one to zero, which now put us again in the precarious position of holding back the unstoppable force of the Barracudas with the immovable Riders battery.

I couldn’t get to the mound without the impetus of Leo’s fist bump.

I was not a superstitious person, but Leo was making me one.

With my foot on the rubber, I couldn’t see Leo’s face through his mask, but in my mind’s eye I saw his cool and consternation.

Unemotional, reliable, steady. A rock that I once found infuriating but had come to need.

I experienced a flash of realization as I stood there waiting for the first Barracudas hitter to step up to the plate.

I had needed to separate my desire for Leo from my reliance on his abilities as a catcher.

But now, I could combine the two. It strengthened our bond and did not diminish my concentration on the game like I thought it would.

My love for him paired with my reliance on his skills made for an unbreakable connection.

Stronger than any other battery because we had something unique between us that no one else had.

How could I not lean into that?

Riding on a high that hit me like a fastball, I did my job as a setup man.

Between Leo’s expert calls and my nasty throws, we managed to, one after the other like dominos, knock out three hitters in a row to close out the inning.

The crowd cheered for us when we left the field together.

Behind me, the jumbotron flashed with our massive cartoon counterparts, the Spartan and the Phoenix.

This time, they were screaming and high-fiving each other.

To appease the fans, Leo and I exchanged a high five as well.

Uproarious laughter from the stands. Leo rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. I beamed.

I sat with him in the dugout instead of going back to the bullpen.

If the Barracudas didn’t score any runs from our closer, we’d win the Wild Card Series and advance to the pennant.

Leo didn’t have many tells and I had come to rely on that solid display of impassivity.

However, now, sitting in the dugout waiting for our closer to kick some ass, Leo’s right knee bounced as his foot gyrated.

I wanted to put my hand on it, to still him, but the nervous tic gave me another, albeit brief, insight into the man’s psyche.

This was a penultimate moment for him. Of course he’d be nervous.

“I’m taking you up north tomorrow,” Leo said suddenly. I took a sharp breath in surprise. Our closer had just thrown for the second out. We only had one more to go. Runners were on first and second.

“What?” was the only way I could respond. I knew he wanted to do something during the break between the Wild Card games and the pennant series.

“I rented us a cabin for two nights.”

He was spilling his guts because of his nerves. He had scooted to the edge of his seat. Our closer had just thrown a strike. Only two more.

“A nice getaway, eh?” I asked.

He stood after the second strike. I had to stand as well. Everyone was quiet. Waiting.

Leo’s grip on the railing before him was like iron. I thought he was going to crush it.

“We’ll make a memory out of it,” he said as the closer winded up for the throw. “I promise.”

He didn’t give promises lightly. Saying those two words were as good as gold for this man. He put everything he had into those words when he said them.

I had been caught staring in surprise. My eyes tracing over the contours of his face as he watched the game.

I missed the third strike. I missed the burst of sudden celebration in the dugout and stands as everyone realized we’d be going to the League Championship series.

All I could think was…

He made a promise to me.