And when the conversation circles back to pitching.
“You’re serious about the Fischer twins?” I ask, holding back a groan.
“Fischer brothers,” Liesel corrects.
“Fine, the Fischer brothers. You really think they’re ready?”
“Their stats are solid,” she says.
“Solid isn’t exceptional,” I say.
“Who in the minors is exceptional?”
“Betancourt. He exploded last season.”
“He’s played a half season of Triple-A. The Fischer brothers were strong all season long. They have a safer track record,” Liesel argues.
“Betancourt has a bigger upside.”
“His upside is unknowable!”
“Same as with the Fischer twins.”
“Fischerbrothers.”
“What is your obsession with them?” I ask. “Do you have a crush or something?”
Kathy coughs, and it almost sounds like a laugh.
“I’m not obsessed. I’m being accurate,” Liesel says, her eyes slits. “They’re triplets. They have a sister, okay?”
“And … she plays for a team?”
“Nope. She works for one.”
Realization dawns on me like the sun. “Liesel Fischer, huh?” I grin.
“Finally caught on, did you?” she asks, mirroring my snide comment from yesterday.
“Thegeek in the spreadsheetsmug is a surprisingly effective disguise. But it’s cool. I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“Why you’re not thinking rationally.”
“Excuse me? Ialwaysthink rationally.”
“Do you know what that word means? Be honest.”
Her face is so red, I think steam might actually be coming off it. “Do you ever get tired of carrying around that massive ego?”
“No, but thank you for your concern.”
Kathy smacks her forehead with her palm. “Enough! If you’re going to keep acting like children, I’ll put you in timeout.”
“Sorry, Kathy,” I mumble.
“Sorry, Kathy,” Liesel mutters.
