played the best baseball of his life.
Maybe he did latch on to her like she was a talisman from the baseball gods.
Maybe he did use her like she used him.
Whatever. It didn’t matter now, because they were through.
A week after their breakup—and a week in which Kelly didn’t call him even once—the Mets started a series with the Yankees. On the opening night, Parker arrived at Yankee stadium early so he could work with the trainer. While the trainer worked on a tight muscle in his back, Parker watched TV, and of course, the sound bite for Kelly’s new talk show popped up.
It was odd—he’d seen the clip so many times now that it didn’t do anything to him . . . except make him chuckle. It was true—for some reason, lying there on the massage table, actually listening to what she said, he couldn’t help but laugh. Couldn’t catch a beach ball if they rolled it to him. He pictured himself trying to catch a rolling beach ball and laughed.
The sound bite was over, and Parker smiled, put his head down, and focused on the game he was about to play.
That night, he was first up to bat, and as he walked to home plate, some of the Yankees fans were shouting, “Roll him a beach ball!” And again, he chuckled to himself. Ah, how stupid people could be. They had no idea how much skill went into your average game of baseball, how hard it was to hit or catch a major league ball.
And there, without thought of lucky charms or slumps or anything else, he caught a piece of the first pitch and sent it sailing out of the ballpark. Imagine that—Parker Price hit a very rare, first pitch home run—and he laughed as he ran the bases.
The Mets ended up losing that night in spite of his spectacular opening bat, but Parker wasn’t too shaken by it. He’d had a pretty good game, all in all, and had a pretty good feeling about the Mets in general.
The next morning, when his alarm went off, he opened his eyes to the sound of a stadium full of cheers. “I’m serious,” Kelly was saying. “They ought to have him bat cleanup. When he gets his bat on a pitch, forget about it.”
He wondered who she was talking about.
“Yeah, it’s really amazing that this is the same guy who couldn’t hit a beach ball at the start of the season.” Guido laughed. “With the exception of that little slump a couple of weeks ago, he can’t seem to miss now.”
Parker bolted upright. They were talking about him .
“That’s what I’ve said Guido, and you argued with me. But when Price turned it around, he turned it all the way around. Granted, he’s had a couple of bad games over the last few weeks like you said, but when you compare his performance to the team as a whole, the man is responsible for most of their offensive and defensive success.”
This time, Guido cued applause and whistles.
“So then how do you explain the Mets loss last night?” Guido asked. “Your boy came out firing with both barrels.”
“He did, but the problem last night was in pitching. The Mets just don’t have enough depth,” Kelly opined.
Damn straight—Parker had said that more than once—they had too many rookie pitchers. At least Kelly was fair, but it didn’t change a damn thing. He turned off the alarm and got out of bed, heading for the shower.
What needed to change was his morning station of choice. He’d try to remember to do that.
That night, the Mets loaded the bases with one out in the ninth. The go-ahead run was on second base. It looked as if the Mets would win, but the Yankees changed pitchers and brought in acloser who induced a double play and escaped the inning with a save and a game victory.
In the locker room, the Mets were pissed. They didn’t want to go back to Shea without at least one win over the Yankees.
The next day, the mood was tense in the locker room. No one was talking. Over their heads, ESPN ran a teaser for Kelly’s show. In this clip, she lifted a glove and said, “Hey, Parker! Got game?” and then
Maybe he did latch on to her like she was a talisman from the baseball gods.
Maybe he did use her like she used him.
Whatever. It didn’t matter now, because they were through.
A week after their breakup—and a week in which Kelly didn’t call him even once—the Mets started a series with the Yankees. On the opening night, Parker arrived at Yankee stadium early so he could work with the trainer. While the trainer worked on a tight muscle in his back, Parker watched TV, and of course, the sound bite for Kelly’s new talk show popped up.
It was odd—he’d seen the clip so many times now that it didn’t do anything to him . . . except make him chuckle. It was true—for some reason, lying there on the massage table, actually listening to what she said, he couldn’t help but laugh. Couldn’t catch a beach ball if they rolled it to him. He pictured himself trying to catch a rolling beach ball and laughed.
The sound bite was over, and Parker smiled, put his head down, and focused on the game he was about to play.
That night, he was first up to bat, and as he walked to home plate, some of the Yankees fans were shouting, “Roll him a beach ball!” And again, he chuckled to himself. Ah, how stupid people could be. They had no idea how much skill went into your average game of baseball, how hard it was to hit or catch a major league ball.
And there, without thought of lucky charms or slumps or anything else, he caught a piece of the first pitch and sent it sailing out of the ballpark. Imagine that—Parker Price hit a very rare, first pitch home run—and he laughed as he ran the bases.
The Mets ended up losing that night in spite of his spectacular opening bat, but Parker wasn’t too shaken by it. He’d had a pretty good game, all in all, and had a pretty good feeling about the Mets in general.
The next morning, when his alarm went off, he opened his eyes to the sound of a stadium full of cheers. “I’m serious,” Kelly was saying. “They ought to have him bat cleanup. When he gets his bat on a pitch, forget about it.”
He wondered who she was talking about.
“Yeah, it’s really amazing that this is the same guy who couldn’t hit a beach ball at the start of the season.” Guido laughed. “With the exception of that little slump a couple of weeks ago, he can’t seem to miss now.”
Parker bolted upright. They were talking about him .
“That’s what I’ve said Guido, and you argued with me. But when Price turned it around, he turned it all the way around. Granted, he’s had a couple of bad games over the last few weeks like you said, but when you compare his performance to the team as a whole, the man is responsible for most of their offensive and defensive success.”
This time, Guido cued applause and whistles.
“So then how do you explain the Mets loss last night?” Guido asked. “Your boy came out firing with both barrels.”
“He did, but the problem last night was in pitching. The Mets just don’t have enough depth,” Kelly opined.
Damn straight—Parker had said that more than once—they had too many rookie pitchers. At least Kelly was fair, but it didn’t change a damn thing. He turned off the alarm and got out of bed, heading for the shower.
What needed to change was his morning station of choice. He’d try to remember to do that.
That night, the Mets loaded the bases with one out in the ninth. The go-ahead run was on second base. It looked as if the Mets would win, but the Yankees changed pitchers and brought in acloser who induced a double play and escaped the inning with a save and a game victory.
In the locker room, the Mets were pissed. They didn’t want to go back to Shea without at least one win over the Yankees.
The next day, the mood was tense in the locker room. No one was talking. Over their heads, ESPN ran a teaser for Kelly’s show. In this clip, she lifted a glove and said, “Hey, Parker! Got game?” and then
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