“I don’t want to talk about whether or not Coop was being disrespectful. I want to focus on winning the next game.”
“It was a classy response. I don’t see the problem,” Liesel says.
“Classy? Now watch this.” I rewind to the question the journalist actually asked.
“Colt, you said last week that Cooper would be too busy doing backflips to get a hit off you, but he was three for four tonight, including that famous homer where he celebrated in exactly the way you accused. How does that feel?”
“I don’t want to talk about whether or not Coop was being disrespectful to me and to the game. I want to focus on winning the next game.”
Liesel’s mouth falls open. “Whoa. They didn’t ask aboutyou, they asked how he felt about being put in his place. No one even mentioned that you were disrespectful until Colt said it.”
“Exactly!” Months of irritation rise off of me like steam from a hot tub. “That’s what I’ve been saying!”
She rewinds the video and watches it again, and this time, I see the annoyance on her face. And it makes my eyes sting. “What a jerk move! How did I miss that?”
“He knows how to make a soundbite.”
She gives me a flat look, but it can’t erase the softness in her eyes. “So do you.”
“Not like that. I don’t know how to twist my words. I know how to get attention. I know how to put on a show.”
“And you do it better than anyone.”
I chuckle beneath my breath. She’s right, and I’m not ashamed of the fact.
“Is this enough to take him off the table?” she asks.
“I can’t recommend the guy when I know half his team hates him.”
“What about the other half?”
“They haven’t met him.”
“So are you saying you can’t work with him?” she asks.
“We hate each other’s guts.”
“Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippin didn’t get along.”
“That’s basketball.”
“Okay, Jonathan Papelbon choked Bryce Harper, and they worked it out.”
I laugh weakly. “Can I be the one to choke him?”
“Ha. Would you prefer my brothers?”
I bump my head on the railing. “What do the stats say?”
“Colt Spencer and Jessup, that’s what.”
I groan.
“Tell me about it,” she says. “This would break my mother’s heart.”
I lift my head up and look at Liesel. The lights from her suite are bright enough that I can make out the frown on her face. “Would?”
She puts her elbows on the railing beside me. “My mom had Lou Gehrig’s Disease—ALS—for a long time. She lived just long enough to see my brothers get drafted together for the same team.” Her eyes well with tears. “It was one of the happiest days of her life and the last good day she had.”
