Thou Shalt Not(63)

The drive was short, because being a local meant I had figured out the fastest way to the stadium that wasn’t the main route. Parking was ten bucks, or free if I parked way down in the neighborhoods where I wasn’t likely to return to much of a car. So, I had no problem shelling out a few bucks to keep the Roller Skate in business for a few more days.

Once inside the stadium, I worked my way through the crowd to the only concession stand I ever visited. It was called Carlo’s Cafe, and the nicest Cuban couple I had ever met owned it. They would always serve me an extra large bowl of black beans and rice, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t often gone back in the sixth or seventh inning for seconds. I wanted to order a beer, but knew that if anyone from the school saw me, I would be ratted out. So, I settled on a Pepsi in a ridiculously priced plastic souvenir cup with the schedule of the Rays on it. I wanted to take out a big red marker and put a big fat L over all the games they had lost, but that would take too long and my hand would get tired.

I took my dinner and found my seats in the lower right field section of the stadium. I was surprised to find that they were actually on the third row from the front, and right on the aisle. So, with my two tickets I could take the aisle seat and not have to worry about someone sitting to my right. I was glad to be sitting there because it was close enough to the Rays bullpen, so I was sure to be able to keep my eye on Marco while he was there.

I spotted him in the outfield grass, playing catch with a pitcher I didn’t immediately recognize. I was sure I had probably seen Marco play before, somewhere, at some point in his career. But, if I had, I obviously hadn’t had a reason to pay much attention to him at the time. Looking at him relatively up close now, my first reaction was that he seemed smaller in real life than I expected him to be. He was listed as 5’11 and 200 pounds, but I would have guessed the listing was a little high on the height and a little low on the weight. He had certainly filled out over the years, but he still had the handsome, youthful face that most Latin men seemed to have.

I sat in my seat, waiting for the game to start. I knew it would be a while before Marco would be called on to pitch, if he got called on at all. I was hopeful.

The stadium was not even halfway full when a local high school choir sang the National Anthem. People were still filing in, but I knew the crowd would be small. For as long as I could remember, the Rays were the laughingstock of the nation when it came to fan attendance. They had been the laughingstock in terms of their performance for a long time too, but even when the team started to get better, people wouldn’t come to the games. No one could ever figure out why, but I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with the stadium, Tropicana Field, which was without a doubt the worst place to watch a baseball game in the country. It looked like a tuna fish can from the outside, and felt like being in one on the inside.

My first experience at a major league park had been at the age of twelve. My family had been visiting the Boston area, and on a whim my dad had decided we would all go to a game at historic Fenway Park. I remember walking through the concourse and then up the ramp that led to seats and the view of the stadium. I just stood there and stared for a minute or two, not sure if I had ever seen anything quite like it. My love affair with baseball truly began that day and has lasted ever since. But, as I sat at the Trop, my only thought was always that if this had been my first stadium to visit as a kid, I would have probably never wanted to go to another major league baseball game again.

The game soon started, and right away the Rays were losing. The second batter of the game for Baltimore had hit a home run that sailed over my head and into the glove of a college kid who looked well on his way to getting drunk.

By the end of the fourth inning, the Rays were losing 6-1. This put me in a good mood because I liked that they were mired in mediocrity, but it also upset me because for some reason I wanted to see Marco come into the game.

If he comes in and does well, then things will be okay with him and April, I told myself. But, if he comes into the game and does badly, then things will never go well for April and she will always be miserable in her marriage.

I guess it was sort of like flipping a coin to decide something. Or, like sitting on the couch in the living room watching the road outside and saying that if the next car that passed was white, then the girl I had been crushing on would also feel the same way for me. Yes, I had done that. The girl was Rachel Ross, and no, the next car had been blue. Fucking blue. Who knew what sort of magic Rachel and I might have discovered together if that goddamn car had been white.

Slowly, the Rays began to make a comeback. By the end of the fifth, the score was 6-3, and during the seventh inning stretch, the Rays were coming up to bat down 6-5. Marco began warming up in the bullpen, along with one of the Rays right-handed pitchers. I knew that if Marco was going to come in to pitch in the top half of the eighth inning, the Rays would need to take the lead right now.