Page 45 of Out of Left Field

Everett gave me a lopsided grin. “Put me in coach. I’m ready.”

I handed him the ball. “Throw some nasty shit and get us out of this jam.”

“Aye, aye Captain!” He saluted me with two fingers. So did the rest of the infield before they jogged back to their positions.

I shook my head as I returned to the dugout. I had to admit, the pirate jokes were fun. Unexpected, but fun. Or maybe I was just embarrassed to have so much attention on me after all this time. Island life was quiet. After a couple of years I became anonymous. No one remembered Isaac Anson, and even if my name rang a bell, the tourist could never quite place it.

Then bam I was front page news. Article after article about second chances and miracles. Just when that excitement started to die down, the pirate stuff took off. It was a lot. Fun, but a lot.

In true Everett form, he annihilated the next two batters, ending the inning without another run scoring. Yates disappeared, sulking somewhere away from the rest of us so his bad mood wouldn’t ruin the vibe in the dugout. It wasn’t an ideal game. We were down three runs and our bats were damn near silent. We hadn’t played sloppy but we weren’t clicking yet either. The rhythm was just slightly off.

Then Everett returned to the mound and annihilated all three batters. The mood shifted. Inspired, Erik Cassidy walked to the plate and belted a moonshot of a home run. The guys erupted in the dugout.

Gordon put something in my hand. “You’ve got to give it to Erik.”

I looked down to find a giant plastic gold coin in my hand. “What’s this?”

“Something the players came up with. Just do it.” He nodded to the field. Erik crossed home plate. Wes stood waiting at the entrance to the dugout. He took Erik’s batting helmet off his head while Hunter placed a pirate hat on instead. Everyone in the dugout growled like a pirate.

“We have treasure, Captain!” Wes called out.

Erik ran down the steps looking at me the whole time. I held up the coin. His grin widened as he took it, then ran down the length of the dugout to where Seth Butler waited with a treasure chest. They hammed it up for the cameras, opening the chest and placing the coin inside.

“We doing this for every home run?”

Gordon nodded once and sucked his teeth. “Coins for solo home runs, jewels for more.”

“And a grand slam?”

He nodded to a container under the bench. I pulled it out and found coins, jewels, gold bars, and crowns inside.

“They’ve really thought this through.”

“Marketing helped.”

Of course they did.

“Do you hate it?”

What kind of asshole would hate something that gave his team this much joy? “No. I kind of love it.”

Gordo nodded once.

Korey, my new data coach, handed me a piece of paper. Korey was young, but what I really loved about her was that she was quick. Whenever she had good data she thought would help, she told me and she told me why. In and out.

I glanced over her notes. “You sure?”

She gave me a look. “Do I ever give you notes I’m not sure about?”

“All right then.” I whistled at Seth who was warming up in the on-deck circle.

“Yeah, Cap?”

I nodded toward the pitcher. “Don’t swing at anything until he throws you a curveball.”

“I hate curveballs, Cap.”

“I know. Just do it.”