Cooper
He cares a lot about you to go out of his way like this. But I can see what you’re saying. I’m sorry it’s not what you wanted.
Liesel
Thanks. And I’m sorry I called you dumb. I didn’t mean it.
So shedidfeel bad about it. Relief floods me, but that relief is making the truth clearer than ever: I like Liesel.
The team owner stands on the stage and welcomes everyone to the final day of meetings. Then he introduces Bruce, and Bruce's eyes find Liesel’s. And mine.
I might like her a littletoomuch.
My interest in Liesel only increases as she presents.
I’m not gonna lie: seeing her wearmy jersey in front of a huge crowd is blazing hot. But seeing her captivate an entire audience with her mind makes that blaze hotter than magma.
Her “load management program” is a system for monitoring the stress on players that will help prevent injury. She has up a spreadsheet showing this past season, with some players in green, others yellow, and others—including me— in red.
“These are, to borrow a term fromTop Gun, danger zones,” Liesel tells the audience. Her dad is sitting back at the table with Doug and me, but we’re both too riveted to play his little psychological game of cat and mouse. (Or at least I am. I bet Bruce Fischer could play it in his sleep.)
“This year was our testing year—thank you to the Nashville Outlaws for being our guinea pigs.” We all applaud for the Firebirds Triple-A team. “Using wearable devices, we were able to monitor sprint speed and heart rate, as well as stress and player fatigue. With sensors and GPS, we also tracked game load, including swings, pitches, and fielding efforts. We measured playing time and the effect of various recovery protocols. And perhaps most importantly, we learned how to identify signs of overuse.”
She presses the clicker in her hand and advances to the next slide. It’s a picture of me. “Let’s take our most famous example,” she says. She turns around and points to my name on her back, and I can’t help reading into the gesture. She could have pointed to me, putting me in the spotlight and, maybe, in the line of people’s ire or disappointment. But instead, she kept the attention on herself. “We recorded every data point available from the season. We analyzed video from the playoff series leading up to his injury. We looked at the training and recovery reports. And plugging that into our load management program, we were able to show that Coop was in the red—the imminent danger zone—before we even made it to the playoffs.”
This earns a hush from half of the room and the frantic buzz of a hornet’s nest from the other.
A hand raises. “But we can’t just sit out our best players during the playoffs.”
“No, you’re absolutely right. But, we can do a better job of balancing rest and training. And we could have done a better job rotating players when the matchup was favorable.”
As she continues, Doug leans over to Bruce. “You must be proud.”
“You must need to give her a raise,” Bruce jokes. But then he looks at his daughter with a soft expression. “She’s just like her mom.”
When her presentation’s over, I sit in the ballroom until it clears out. Her fans have scattered to their breakouts, and even her dad’s doing a Q&A with the coaches and position coaches in another room. She’s taken an undue amount of time unhooking her laptop and putting away her notes, but I’ve gotten the feeling that she was waiting out the last of them, same as me.
The room finally clears, and I spring into action, running up to the stage and planting my left hand so I can hop up easily. She looks around nervously and then gives me a smile.
“How was it?” she asks.
“You’re even smarter than you are hot,” I say. “And that only makes you hotter.”
She rolls her eyes. “Enough. Was it okay that I used you as a case study?”
I lift an eyebrow. “You can use me anyway you want.”
“Good, because I bought some new duct tape, and I’m curious how effective it is at sealing people’s mouths.”
“Ooh, a little light kidnapping. Color me intrigued.”
She lets out a playful laugh. And then a sigh.
“Where are you off to next?” I ask. “Do you have a breakout?”
“No, I have a couple of hours until the next one. So I’m going to get a massage.”
“Tense now that Daddy’s here?” I wince and shake my head. “I didn’t mean that to sound rude. I would do anything to have my mom travel to see me.”
