Faithful by Stephen King, Stewart O’Nan Read Free Book Online Page B

the Sox trail byfive in the seventh inning; there will be no
Deadwood
tonight at 10 P.M. even if Keith Foulke comes on in the eighth, blows a three-run Sox lead, and then gives up an extra three for good measure. Tonight, barring a stroke or a heart attack, I expect to be in until the end, be it bitter or sweet. And the same could be said for the season as a whole. I’m going to do pretty much what I did last year, in other words (only this year I expect to get paid for it). Which is pretty much addiction in a nutshell: doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result.
    Right now it’s only 10 A.M., though, and the house is quiet. No one’s playing baseball yet. I’m fever-free for another nine hours, and I’m enjoying it. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll enjoy the baseball game, too. The first one’s always a thrill. I think that’s true even if you’re a Tigers or Devil Rays fan (a team that looks much improved this year, by the way). But by August, in the heat of a pennant race, I always start to resent the evenings spent following baseball and to envy the people who can take it or just turn it off and read a good book. Myself, I’ve never been that way. I’m an addict, you see. And I’m a fan. And if there’s a difference, I don’t see it.

    Opening on the road sucks. You can’t feel the perfect newness of the season up close. A true home opener’s a pearl, smooth and untouched. Not this year. By the time the team gets to Fenway, whether we’re 4-0 or 0-4, the season will have been rubbed up, scuffed, cut. And it’ll still be cold.
    It’s forty-three and breezy in Baltimore. Hot dog wrappers and plastic bags drift by behind the home-plate ump. I’m at home, digging the game on NESN from my cozy couch. Don Orsillo and Jerry Remy talk about Opening Day jitters, and to prove them right, in the first Bill Mueller throws one wide of Millar. Melvin Mora lets him off the hook by trying to take third on a bloop single, and Manny easily guns him down. In the top of the next inning, Mora lifts his glove and lets a grounder go through his legs.
    The heart of the O’s lineup is made of their big off-season free agents—former MVP Miguel Tejada and All Stars Rafael Palmeiro and Javy Lopez. In the second, Lopez, seeing his first pitch as an O, plants a high fastball from Pedro in the left-field seats, and the crowd chants, “Ja-vy, Ja-vy.” Don points out that the fastball was clocked at 89.
    Pedro’s missing the plate, pulling his hard curve a good two feet outside on righties. Gibbons singles, then Pedro plunks David Segui. There are no outs. Bigbie hits an excuse-me roller to Pedro, who checks second and goes to first. The throw’s to the home side of the bag, and looks like Millar can handle it, but it tips off his glove and skips away. Gibbons scores and the runners move up. “Payyyyd-rooooo, Payyyyd-rooooo,” the crowd taunts. He leaves a change-up up to Matos, who singles in Segui. Matos steals second. In the bullpen Bronson Arroyo is warming.
    Don and Jerry debate the possibility that something’s physically wrong with Pedro; maybe he’s having trouble gripping the ball in the cold. Pedro quiets them (and the crowd) by striking out Roberts and Mora, bringing up Tejada, who looks thicker around the middle, positively husky for a shortstop. He hits one deep to right-center that Johnny Damon tracks down, and we’re out of it.
    Jerry says we’re lucky to be down only three runs, and while he’s right, I don’t feel lucky. Two innings into the opener and the season’s turning to shit.
    We get a run back in the top of the third when Manny rips a single off Ponson’s back leg. In the bottom, Bellhorn and Pokey turn a nifty two to end the inning and touch gloves on their way to the dugout. So some things are working.
    In the fourth, on a ball to the right-field corner with two down and the number nine hitter coming up, Dale Sveum holds Kapler at third, though the throw goes into second