Baseball 2

Coach Hannigan rises and conversations cease, "lotta you look hungover."
Laughs.
"Last eight team barbecues, next day games, we're seven wins and one loss. Proof you guys play better hungover than sober."
Howls of laughter.
"Today it's the Timberwolves, only thing tough about them is the name. Bottom of the league, biggest challenge staying awake. Catch anyone nodding off, it's pushups when they're back in the dugout."
No idle threat, he does it.
"Right fielder down with the flu, their Coach got his nephew to stand in. So test him, hit to right if you can. Pitcher arrested for drunk driving. They called up Simpson from Double A. Anyone ever hit against him?"
No takers.
"Scouting report he has a lousy curveball, it gives more balls than strikes. Only uses it to make batters back away from the plate. Never throws outside curves, always inside, right in on your hands. Fastball, good, his bread and butter, mostly keeps it well down; means far more ground balls than flies. Nasty sinking fastball, bottom drops right outa it, you swing a foot too high. But way too predictable. Never uses that sinker except for the out pitch. When you got two strikes, odds are three in four it'll be sinker. Keep your bat down, maybe you can still get something."
He shows vids. Curve is telegraphed. No real difference in delivery between fastball and sinking fastball.
As we file out, I hear a woman's voice, "Quentin, look over here." It's Lata, Indira's cousin, she grins, "bash one for me today."
I blow her a kiss and everyone nearby cheers.
I take position in right field. Their leadoff man smokes a line drive. Fast decision time. Take it on the first bounce, guaranteed he's on with a single; it's a long throw and he's fast. Dive perfect, slide into it, pull it out before it hits ground and he flies out. But if I goof, it bounces over me, he's on with a double or more.
My slide is perfect, I snag it six inches above ground. The stands cheer wildly and I tip my cap.
I've noticed, pull a stunt like that early in the game and it often deflates the opposition.
They are retired one-two-three.
I bat in cleanup position. When I come up, two men are already on.
Simpson is afraid of my reputation, tries getting too fancy, pitching to the edge of the strike zone. I wait him out to a 3-1 count.
His grip musta slipped, fastball comes higher than he would like. I unload on it, placing it in the far parking lot and the stands erupt again.
After that, they're playing catch up ball, meaning mistakes. For them, it's a long afternoon.
I'm invited to Ma's for Sunday dinner.
Ma is relatively unsurprised to see Indira is a no show. It's not like this is the first time.
"Pass the gravy please Ma."
"Son, think back, how was it you first came to like baseball?"
"Back when Dad was alive, took me to games."
"So baseball has pleasant associations? Makes you think of him?"
"Yes."
"Quentin, look at that whole team. Most everyone on it has some sort of American connection. You, born in Canada, but your father and I American."
It starts to dawn, where she is headed.
"Only reason you're all there, you love baseball. In the eight years you've played Triple A, they've never paid salaries."
"Ma, it isn't just love of baseball. Also the dream of making the Bigs."
She laughs indulgently, "go on. What are your odds compared to people playing Triple A stateside? No time for anything real, you all run around doing jobs to make money. Look at you, that CSR (customer service rep) job."
"Bright side Ma, least I know my schedule in advance, when I'm available."
"Back to the main point. If anyone asked, are you pro-American, anti- or neutral?"
"Pro, fairly strongly so."
"Exactly my point Quentin. Now, what do you suppose a person would feel about baseball if they were anti-American?"
Bingo.
She continues, "even mosta the fans, American citizens. This is the fourth time Indira has pulled some stunt to try to get you to quit baseball. What do you think that says? Think of the political arguments she uses."
"Yes Ma, you're right she is somewhat anti-American."
"Somewhat??? Quentin, the word is rabid. Do you really think you and she would be a good match?"
It's well-meaning advice, but not impartial. Ma is a bit of a racist. Regardless of Indira's opinions toward the USA, Ma still would not want me to marry her.

My CSR job is in the telco building. I've just got my Chinese food in the food court, when I hear Lata's voice, "wait up Quentin." I've long since figured Lata's game. A person of moral principle, she would never charge in and steal what isn't hers. But she regards Indira and myself as a hopeless mismatch, positions herself to be first in line when the inevitable happens.
I'll stay away from baseball as a topic, brings out too much hero worship in her. Safer topics are relatives, the news, or our common university experience. She's fitting in classes around this job. Off-season, so am I.
She beats me to the punch, "to the fans, this isn't a big city, more a town. All the players are known by reputation."
Innocently I reply, "and a good thing too, we get zero press coverage."
She laughs easily, "I mean off-field reputation too. Bout half the team is like your road roommate Danny. Never met a groupie he didn't like. That is, if she can fill a size 36 bra or bigger."
"He's just an overgrown teenager, never grew up."
"Other half, the groupies don't ever bother to try anymore, know they are committed to wife or girlfriend."
I won't tell her anything, between Indira and me. Her next comment takes me by surprise, "someone told me you and Danny were homo buddies. I said ridiculous, ask any of the fans, they all know the reputations."
I laugh uneasily.
"The person persisted in these erroneous beliefs. Verrry determined. Then I saw, it's a hidden agenda. This person doesn't actually believe it, but has something to gain by pretending to believe it."
"And this person, is inflamed?"
Totally innocent, angelic look, "let's just say this person has a reputation. Know-it-all. People argue and the person becomes more stubborn than ever before."
No doubt, I think uncharitably, and I'm sure you had fun doing it.
Another totally innocent look, "if this person should happen to cause you grief through these silly accusations, you know where you can find a sympathetic ear."
"The person has already accused me. Could we leave these topic for a week or so?"
"They wouldn't throw you off the team, would they?"
I blush hotly, "Coach is desparate for publicity, would love to see the gay crowd start showing for games. Stave off bankruptcy court."
"So your only loss would be social? Not career?" Her expression clearly says, that would be no loss for you.
"True."
"If you feel the need to talk about this social loss."
Advice, oh yeah, but hardly impartial.
But then why not? Far better than those groupies, completely trustworthy. I would have not one iota of doubt in my mind when away on road trips.