The team flies into LaGuardia and takes a bus to the nearby Sheraton, where I do like always, settle in, just another city, more games. Soon as I’m in my room, I call Tommy, who had a day game against Pittsburgh.
“You tear ‘em up?” I ask.
“Home run, double, and I stole third.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Honest, I did. The pitcher wasn’t paying attention to me there on second. I could have stripped and he’d still have kept to his routine, so I’m running before he’s even let go of the ball. Easy.”
“How many is that?” I ask.
He laughs. “Okay, just one, but it’s still pretty cool.”
“Definitely pretty.”
We share a silent couple seconds, then he says, “Come over tonight. I can’t wait. If somebody sees you leaving, just say you’re meeting a friend. Or your sister.”
Tommy lives in a big brick
