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Eli- 22
Announcer 1: The Carolina Bulls are pulling in their closer number 41, Eli Barton. Smart decision coming from the bullpen, kid is on fire.
Announcer 2: He sure is. The guy can’t be stopped. He hasn’t let up a single hit in his last 4 times on the mound.
Announcer 1: You can say that again. I can't wait to see what this kid’s career has in store for us.
Raising my chain to my lips, I send up a silent prayer before exiting the bullpen. I've been doing the same routine since my first game in the majors. It’s my good luck charm, the one Queenie gave to me the night I was drafted. She told me since she couldn’t be here to be my good luck charm, at least I’d always have the chain with me. I haven’t taken the thing off since.
Trekking across the field to the mound, I do a casual wave of my hat to the fans. The roar of the crowd. The way they are cheering my name, it’s indescribable. I live for this shit.
Not only have the fans of the Bulls welcomed me with open arms, but the entire city of Charlotte has too. I get noticed almost everywhere I go recently. It means so much to me, especially when I stop by the local ball field to catch some of the youth games. They all go nuts when they see me. I try to time it correctly to not disrupt game time, but it doesn’t always work out that way. Some of the other players and I pop into some of the training clinics around the city. I love spending time with those kids and giving back however I can.
Stepping onto the mound, I fist-bump the relief pitcher before he heads back into the dugout. He’s leaving the mound with two on base and no outs. Nothing like a little pressure to get you in the zone. But this is my happy place, where I block out all the noise and all I can see is the plate sixty feet in front of me. Strike out the next three batters and we’re in the playoffs. I inhale and exhale slowly, nodding to confirm my pitch with my boy Roger behind the plate.
Let’s fucking do this.
Fifteen minutes later, I'm being attacked by Roger. We just got ourselves a spot in the fucking playoffs.
Feels surreal.
Wes and Parker are down for the weekend, and I couldn’t be more excited to celebrate this win with them.
There’s quite the celebration going on once we’re all in the locker room. Lots of cheers and “hell fucking yeahs.” There’s one other person I wish was here tonight, but unfortunately, she couldn’t make it. Grabbing my phone, I see a text waiting from her.
Queenie
AAAHHH! I’m so fucking proud of you Eli… I know the guys are there so call or FaceTime me later. XO.
Of course, there are other messages from my sisters, my parents, and the rest of the families, but I respond to hers immediately.
Me
Had my lucky charm with me… Call you later, babe!
I text Wes and Parker to meet us at The Dugout, a great bar that’s not far from the stadium. The owner, Paul, is a former Carolina Bulls outfielder. He has a reserved area with security for us players in case the crowd gets too rowdy, but we’ve never needed to use it for that reason. We mostly just chill in the section because it's secluded, with a ton of seating areas on busy nights.
The cheers me and the boys get walking through the bar doors is the stuff dreams are made of. Like we’re some sort of heroes. Not going to lie, I kind of feel like one. I spot Wes and Parker right away and head on over to them, stopping every two seconds to thank a fan that’s congratulating me on my performance tonight. When I make it to their position at the bar, there’s a shot and beer ready and waiting.
“Cheers, fucker,” Wes says, raising the shot glass.
“Yeah man, great game,” Parker adds, his glass joining our semi-circle.
I cheers their glasses, then shoot the amber liquid back, cringing as I swallow it down.
“Fucking hell, what was that?” I ask, quickly gulping my beer to erase the flavor.
“That, my friend, is called Three Wise Men Visit Mexico.” Wes smirks behind his bottle.
Parker’s face is stuck in that of disgust, and I can't help but laugh. When it comes to his drinks, he’s a pretty straightforward guy. Never straying too far from beer or whiskey. Wes, on the other hand, has always had a flair for cocktails and shots, trying to create the next best drink.
Shrugging his shoulders, Wes says, “Hey, man, it had some whiskey in it. Figured you’d like it.”
“I honestly don’t want to know what the other half was, because I will never have that again.” Parker scowls as he finishes his bottle of beer.
The ringing of a large bell quiets the crowd, and all of our attention goes to Paul, who’s currently standing on top of the bar.
“HEYYOOO, quiet down… Since our boys here spanked the Red Sox, everyone’s next drink is on the house. Cheers to the playoffs… Great game, boys!”
