Baseball Ch. 08: Here's the Pitch

He nodded. "They're home, thank goodness. Go home and pack a bag, and be back here ASAP. Don't worry about driving, we'll have a car waiting for you here."

"How long will I be gone?" I asked. "I mean, I'm worried about the team, with Jimmy..."

"Don't worry. They need you there. I'll handle that little turd. You'll be there probably a week, maybe more, until Reynolds' ankle is better."

I nodded, realizing I would miss the Gala. "Yeah. Okay. Thanks. Thanks, skip."

"And kid? You earned it. Good luck." He said, patting me on the shoulder. He had no way of knowing how much that waylaid my plan. Any other time, I would have jumped for joy at the shot to play in Philly. In the Major Leagues! But now, all I could think of was Casey.

I wasn't planning on seeing her tonight, but I texted her as I was leaving the stadium. "My place, now."

I sat in my apartment before she arrived, staring at the ring for a minute. It would have to wait, I decided. I wanted to set up the perfect moment for her. She was worth the effort.

I had just stuffed the ring box into the inner pocket of my jacket for safekeeping, and put that jacket into my bag, when she came in a second later. I think she thought it was a booty call, because she came in with a grin; her face dropped as she saw me packing. "What's going on?"

"I'm going to Philly. Reynolds got hurt, and I got the call up." I was a mess of emotions, and Casey saw it.

She grabbed me into her arms and held me. "This is amazing. You're so lucky! You're going to play in the big leagues!" she told me. Her voice lifted me. It was comforting. I was nervous and scared, and she helped me push all that away. I was thrilled at the opportunity, and she was there to celebrate with me.

When I'd composed myself a little more, I whispered, "I'll miss the Gala."

"Fuck the Gala," she said, surprising me a little. "The tickets are paid, so the charity gets their money either way."

"I have to go soon," I told her. "I'll be back in a week or so."

"Okay. I'll be here when you get back. I love you."

"I love you too." She helped me finish packing, then drove me back to the stadium to see me off. A town car was there, waiting to take me onwards.

--

I crashed at a hotel near the stadium. It was really nice, especially compared to the places we stayed as minor leaguers. I'd be there for the rest of the week, so I was glad it was comfortable. I woke up late on Wednesday morning to see several congrats texts from my teammates. I also got voicemails from Morgan and my mother. I guessed Casey had notified them early this morning.

I also found out that the Phillies were travelling to New York after Sunday's game to play the Mets. I had a shot of playing ball in New York City - that fact boggled my mind.

The coaches in Philadelphia were friendly when they greeted me on Wednesday. They pretty much laid down the plan for the next few games. Donaldson, the normal backup catcher, had finished last night's game, and was starting the next few. They'd have me start Saturday to give him a night off, then he'd play again Sunday. After that, they said, we'll see.

The most magical moment was walking into their clubhouse and seeing my name on a real Phillies jersey. Mills, #55. It blew my freaking mind. I took a picture and sent it to Casey, and she texted back, "OMG! Glad you got to keep your number!" I was too - I'd been #55 since high school. I just considered it mine.

The players were welcoming and warm. They missed their normal catcher, of course, but injuries happen, and they knew that. I got to suit up with them, and watch their game from the bench. I called Casey that night and told her every detail, and she eagerly listened.

The same thing happened on Thursday and Friday. Get up and eat, work out, watch from the bench, call Casey, and sleep. Normally by the third night, I would think it would be boring. Maybe it would be to most girls, but not my Mighty Casey. She drank in every insignificant detail. She wanted to know what stories or jokes or advice the major league guys shared with me.

Finally, Saturday arrived. I had called Casey that morning, as she was headed for the stadium for the IronPigs' day game. "I'm nervous," I told her.

"Who wouldn't be? It's your debut," she said. "You're going to be fine. Like Chuck said, you've earned it."

"I hope so. I hope I don't embarrass myself."

"That can't happen. You're not playing first or third," she joked.

"Ha ha." Even though her joke was dumb, it calmed me down. I was catching. It was what I was good at. I might not hit very well at this level, but I was here to work with the pitchers and get batters to strike out. I could do that. "Thanks. Thanks for everything," I told her. "And have fun at the Gala tonight."

"I'll have fun. Don't worry, I don't have another date. No one can replace you, my slugger."

"Love you, my princess."

--

Reality really set in when I arrived at the stadium that evening. As expected, the lineup card for the night read:

#55 Mills, J. C

It was real. Not a prank. I was starting tonight with a major league team. I dressed, got batting practice, and received lots of encouragement from the other guys. They knew what I was going through.

But the real shock was when they let in the crowd. I was sitting in the dugout, chatting with Donaldson, the team's other catcher, and kept hearing someone call my name. "Mills! Mills!" came a couple of female voices from the crowd, just above where we sat.

I stood up and looked. Standing up there were my mother, my sister, and Casey, all three wearing white Phillies jerseys. I just about cried right there.

I ran over to the rail to see them. "What are you doing here?"

"Did you think I'd miss my son's major league debut?" my mother said. "I'm so proud of you, Johnny."

I looked to Casey. "You'll miss the Gala."

"You're far more important than some snooty dinner. I had Dad pull some strings and get us tickets, and arrange the flight for them from Cincinnati," she said excitedly. "Oh! And..." she turned around, and the others did too, to reveal they were all wearing my name and number on their backs. Casey had got them all custom jerseys to match me.

"We're your personal cheering squad!" Morgan beamed at me.

Casey pointed upwards. "We'll be sitting up there." I looked up at the luxury boxes. "And we got these," she said, holding up lanyards that looked like all-access passes. "Again, Dad helped. It's his friend's box. And he sends his best."

I was so happy. "Thank you. Thank you so much. I don't know what I did to deserve you, all of you."

"Now go get em, Slugger!" Casey said.

"Wooo, Johnny!" Morgan yelled.

The game started. I had to wait for the third inning for my first at-bat. The announcer said my name, the crowd gave a bit of polite applause, and I heard Casey and Morgan screaming from the box. I stepped into the box. The opposing pitcher was on fire that night. He had four strikeouts already from the seven previous batters. Only one guy had gotten a hit to get in base, in the previous inning.

Thus, I didn't expect to get a hit. I swung at the first pitch and I shouldn't have, as I missed badly. I didn't swing at the second pitch and I should have, as it was right down the middle. The guy was a master of deception; his pitches moved all over the place.

I took his third pitch, as it was low and inside. But then his fourth pitch headed in the same direction. That was mistake, as I knew he wouldn't throw the same pitch twice in a row. I swung, a little later than I should have, but it still connected. To my surprise, the ball blooped over the first baseman's head. It stayed fair by inches. I ran to first and stopped. My first major league hit. Again, the crowd applauded, a little louder this time, and my personal cheer squad was ecstatic. I saw them dancing and hugging and waving to me. I watched the fielding team gather the ball I hit and toss it into the Phillies' dugout. It was a souvenir for me.

Later, in the eighth inning, we were down 3-2. Our pitcher was melting down on the mound, so I went out to talk to him. "Big game for you, huh?" he said as I came close.

"Sure is. My family and my girl are here. So let's not blow this up, okay?" I told him with a smile.

"Okay. What do you think?"

"This guy can't hit curves for shit. Bad news is your curve isn't doing well tonight. It was better last night," I told the relief pitcher. "Good news is he doesn't know that. Throw your curve, low and outside. He'll swing."

He nodded. "Okay, rookie. I can do that." I went back to the plate, and looked up to the box. As usual, Casey was glued to the game, and she gave me a nod and smile of encouragement. I gave a nod of my own to the pitcher, and he did what I asked. The pitch looked good, right down the middle, then dipped and turned outside. The batter swung and missed.

I motioned for the pitcher to do it again. To my surprise, the curve was even better that time, even more motion on it, and the batter swung again. Strike two.

Now I motioned for the same pitch, but inside. If he threw it again the same way, it should look like a ball, then come back into the strike zone. It worked, and the batter watched strike three go right by. We got out of the inning unscathed.

In the ninth inning, we were still down by one. With two guys on base, I managed to get a walk to load the bases. The pitcher was supposed to be up next, but he was lifted for a pinch hitter. That hitter nailed a fastball into right field. I got to second, but more importantly, both runners ahead of me scored, which won us the game. Everyone mobbed the hitter at first base, and the crowd went nuts at the walk off win. I looked up and signalled to Casey by patting my heart and pointing to her, indicating I loved her. She blew me a kiss in return.

--

The clubhouse was jovial following the win. What made it better was a couple of guys who made a hasty ceremony of presenting my souvenir first-hit baseball to me, and the rest of the guys applauding. Someone in the clubhouse staff had already put the ball in a plastic case for me.

I sat and looked at my ball, and thought about how cool Casey would think this is. Casey! An idea shot into my head. I grabbed my cell phone and sent a message to Casey. "Still got your pass? Meet me at home plate."

I went back to the dugout and saw all three of my ladies standing at the rail. Casey was showing her pass to the usher, but he wasn't letting her onto the field. "It's okay, she's with me," I said.

The usher saw me still in uniform and shrugged. "Okay, just for a minute. We need to get everyone out."

"I understand. Thank you." I told him, then I led Casey down to home plate.

"You were great tonight!" she said happily. "Where are we going?"

"Here," I said, stopping her on the base. "You are my home run, my perfect game, my Mighty Casey. You amaze me every day. And I want to be continually amazed." I handed her the ball. "I want you to have this."

"I can't take this, it's yours," she said, slightly confused. She handed it back.

"Okay, maybe you're right. How about I give you this instead?" I held out the ring box.

Her eyes got super wide. "Johnny. What?"

I got down on one knee. This was better than the Gala, I had realized. Who else gets to propose on home plate in a major league stadium? And who else but Casey would fully appreciate that kind of setting?

"Cassandra Anne Wentworth, my Casey, I am absolutely and forever in love with you. Will you marry me?"

She staggered a bit, and I thought she might faint, but she knelt down with me instead. "Are you serious?" she asked quietly.

"Serious. If ever there were two people right for each other, it's you and me."

"Johnny," she said, then staring at the ring, then back at me, and finally she whispered, "yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. Yes! Oh my God." She started to cry. I pulled her into my arms.

I heard a clap, then another, then more. I turned to the source of the sound. A couple of the guys from the team were hanging over the dugout railing, clapping for us. One of them was the pitcher I'd helped in the eighth inning. He'd tell me later that he saw me head back to the field, and recalled how I said my girlfriend was there. He correctly guessed what I might do, and gathered a couple other guys to come along. Even the usher, who was still waiting to kick us out, clapped too.

I slipped the ring on Casey's finger, but that didn't stop her tears. After we stood, she jumped into my arms, and refused to let me go. I had to carry her back to the gate where my mom and Morgan stood. They both congratulated us, and we got some pictures. I made sure to send a pic to Lani, who flipped out. She had known the plan was to propose today, but thought the plan was ruined.

"I have to change, but meet me at the hotel," I told them. They finally let the usher shoo them away, and I went back to the clubhouse. By the time I got there, I got mobbed by the remainder of the team who had just heard what happened.

At the hotel, Casey explained that she had arranged for Morgan and my mother to get a room at the same hotel. They'd fly back to Cincinnati tomorrow morning. But Casey was staying for the Sunday afternoon game. She didn't care that I probably wasn't playing, she just wanted to watch.

That night, at the hotel bar, we all wound down with a drink, and I told them the story of how I'd planned to propose at the Gala. Casey agreed that doing it there would have been nice, but doing it here was even better. Eventually, Mom and Morgan decided to head to their room, as they'd had a long day. Casey and I hugged them and bid them goodnight. "Aren't you going to your room too?" I asked her.

Casey pursed her lips. "Well, you see, I didn't actually get a room for myself."

"Hmm. So where are you sleeping?" I teased.

"Honestly, I don't plan on getting much sleep."

We shared a smirk between us. "Yeah?" I asked.

"Yeah. We have to start planning a wedding," she said, completely deadpan. I just stared at her, and she broke into a grin. "Just kidding."

"We do need to discuss that," I said, holding her left hand, looking at the ring there. "But it doesn't have to be tonight."

"Not tonight," she nodded, looking at it too. "But I do really like the upgrade from girlfriend to fiancee. Maybe... I can show you how much I like it."

I led her to my room. As soon as we got inside, I saw her overnight bag on the floor, the same bag she'd brought to my apartment several times. "How?" I started to ask.

She waved it off. "Magic fiancee powers," she said. I figured she contacted the hotel and put it there before coming to the game. It didn't matter. What mattered was she was here, and she loved me, and she wanted to be my wife. And now we were going to celebrate one of the greatest days of our lives.

--