A Pitcher and Tequila Shots

Right after the game that went on his record as a loss, even though he only gave up one run, on a lousy sacrifice fly, for crying out loud, Matt Garza hustled to the locker room to shower and change.  He taped a quick note to his locker.  “Gone drinkin’,” it said. 

His teammates scratched their heads in bewilderment.  “Where’d he go?” Scott Baker wondered.  “And why didn’t he invite me?” 

“There are times when a guy just needs to be alone, that’s all,” explained Mike Redmond.  “There’s a place right near the stadium called Bob’s Saloon and Eatery.  It looks like a hole in the wall.  A good place to be when you’re feeling lugubrious.” 

“Holy crap, Red Dog,”  said Cuddy.  “Great word.  What should we do?  I mean, besides score runs more often.” 

“I think one of us should go to Bob’s, try and talk to him.  Explain that things can only get better,” Red Dog said.  “Justin, you go.  Your calm, Canadian demeanor will help, since he’s feeling distressed.”

“Oh, geez.  Why can’t anyone talk about me without mentioning that I’m Canadian?  It’s so annoying.  Ok though, I’ll go,” Mr. MVP said. 

So it was decided.  Justin made the hike over to Bob’s Saloon and Eatery.  Just like Redmond said, it was a real hole in the wall.  It was dark, with an ancient jukebox  in the corner that played records. The newest song on it was The Macarena.  There was a beat-up pool table in the middle of the room.  There were a few sad sacks sitting on one side of the bar, nursing beers and watching TV.  “Ha,” said one of the sacks, “Look at that poor schmuck.  He pitched a gem of a baseball game and got stuck with a loss.  Sucks to be him.”

The poor schmuck was sitting by himself at the other end of the bar, with a full tequila shot next to him.

“Matty?” Justin asked.  “Is that you?”

“Yes,  now go away.”

“You’re not crying, are you?”

“Maybe,” Matty said, wiping away a tear.  “I spent the first half of the season in Rochester, watching guys come up ahead of me.  I’ve pitched like an ace since I’ve been here.  Except for the game in Chicago, I’ve gotten squat for run support.  I’m so frustrated.”

“I know,” Justin said.  “We’re frustrated too.  The Indians and the Tigers are losing game after game, and we can’t get anything together to gain on them in the standings.  Come back with me to the stadium.  I swear we’ll take extra batting practice.  We’ll work the pitcher deep into counts.  I’ll start hitting like an MVP again. I promise.  Sitting here in this dive won’t make you feel any better.”

“Like fun it won’t,” said Matty, sucking on the lime and downing the shot.  “But I’ll go with you.  We have a plane to California to catch.”

“Yeah!” Exclaimed Mr. MVP.  “We’ll show the Angels what we’re really made of.” 

They walked out the door together, squinting into the bright Missouri sun.  Someone put a quarter in the jukebox, and The Macarena started to play. 

–Tricia–