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“And here we are at the top of the third! Akira Fudo still going strong with five strikeouts and no walks. He pitched a shutout at his last game four days ago, making that the third one in his career.”
“Fudo is definitely the powerhouse of the team, Chris. There hasn’t been a pitcher quite like him in the National League for years! He’s surely in the running for the Cy Young this year.”
“Now, don’t count your chickens before they hatch, Jim. It’s still the beginning of the season. Plenty of things can happen before the postseason starts, if the Ravens reach it this year.”
---
Ryo didn’t know what he did to deserve this. Sure, he’s done plenty of dubious shit in his life, but he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve what’s happening at this very instant. He’s been moderately good today! Much better than his norm. Only bird has been flipped during the game as opposed to his usual dozen.
He flashed one finger, signaling for a fastball. This lunkhead at bat would slam a curveball if Akira threw one now, but that son of a bitch was shrugging him off . Ryo didn’t intend on giving up this game because Akira was thinking with his dick and not his brain.
“Time!” he called, tangling his fingers in his mask and tugging it up. Without bothering to look at the batter or the ump, he jogged to the plate where Akira had stepped back to use the rosin bag.
“I don’t know why you called time, Ryo,” Akira sighed. “We’re doing fine already.”
“Yes, we are, and I don’t want you fucking that up.” Ryo watched Akira toss the rosin bag back down and narrowed his eyes at Akira’a face. “He’s not expecting heat right now, Akira, so that’s what you give him. What the hell have I said about not following my calls?”
Akira shook his shoulders and frowned. “I can do this! This guy hasn’t seen me this season! I can take him out on my own.”
This was hopeless. Akira had that look on his face that he got when he was constipated or determined enough to ignore everyone else. With a small roll of his eyes, Ryo started to head back to the batter’s box.
Ryo situated the mask back over his face and crouched down, once again giving the signal for a fastball and once again, Akira refused.
“This son of a bitch is throwing a two-hit shutout. He’s shaking me off,” Ryo growled, loud enough for the batter to hear him. “You believe that shit?” The batter glanced at him, looking slightly bewildered. “Here comes the deuce, my friend. And when you speak of me, speak well.”
The batter’s expression morphed into a grin and everyone settled into position. Without regard for Ryo’s call, Akira wound up and let loose his typical cannon fastball. Time froze for a second, then the batter swung the bat around and slammed the ball, tattooing it over the left field wall for a solo homerun.
Ryo strutted up to the mound, humming. Akira watched the batter jog around the bases with a deflated look to him. He didn’t even face Ryo once he stepped closer.
“You told him I was gonna throw a deuce, didn’t you?” Akira asked, sounding older than he had any right to sound.
“Yup.”
---
“I wouldn’t have to do this if you just listened to me, Akira.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Akira grumbled, still nursing his first glass of something that might be alcohol and smelled like motor oil. “I hear you, asshole.”
From off to the side, Miki M. flounced over and draped herself across the booth. “You still grumpy about that home run from earlier?”
“This ain’t the first time Ryo’s done something like this, right?” Miki K. drowned another shot and left the cup facing down on the table. “I dunno why you still mope about it, honestly, considering his streak for shit.”
Ryo sat up, swaying slightly, and pushed his bottle at Miki K. in what may have been a threatening gesture. “I’m the catcher , so he’s supposed to listen to me. I want to actually reach the playoffs this year, thank you.”
Since Ryo was already quite pissed, Miki M. reached over and delicately plucked the bottle from his hand. “That’s enough of that. I don’t want to have to carry you to the bus again.” She held the bottle by the neck and tipped the rest of the drink into her mouth.
Grumbling to himself, Ryo pushed off the clubhouse bench and meandered over to the exit. “Whatever! I have something I need to do.”
Akira craned his head at an odd angle to watch Ryo walk out. “Uh, Ryo, I don’t think you should go out drunk like this.”
Waving him off, Ryo grabbed the doorknob and succeeded in opening it on the third try. “Nonsense. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“How much you wanna bet that he dies somewhere on the way?” Miki K. says, watching the door swing shut behind Ryo.
“Sweetheart! You shouldn’t say that!” Miki M. scolds, then pauses. She stares at the floor as she thinks. “Twenty says he passes out around the corner.”
Miki K. barks out a laugh. “Bullshit! He may be a moron, but he’s tougher than that. He’ll probably wander and get stuck in the stands somewhere.” She turned her attention to Akira and nudged his thigh with her foot. “Get in on this, man.”
Akira swishes the shit in his glass around thoughtfully. “Fifty says he actually completes what he went out to do. He’s surprisingly coordinated when he’s this shitfaced.”
“You’re on, big guy,” Miki K. agreed. Akira tossed back the rest of the stuff in his hand and couldn’t react before Miki M. swooped in to clean everything up. He began to protest, but she shot him down. Holding his hands up in surrender, Akira allowed Miki M. to toss the bottles and scrub furiously at his glass for a few seconds over the kitchenette sink.
They were the only ones left in the clubhouse at this point, with everyone else having gone out to clubs or back to their lodgings. They left tomorrow morning for a game in New York, so Akira didn’t want to go out and join them. Nursing a hangover on the plane wasn’t in his agenda for this week. Neither was getting chewed out by all their coaches.
The stream of sink water cut off and Miki M. came back to their ring of couches, plopping unceremoniously next to her girlfriend. “These guys are always nasty,” she grumbled. “Did you see? Three pitches by my head when I went up to bat! I swear, they want to get thrown out.”
“At least two guys hit line drives at my head,” Akira said. “If they wanted to fight they should have just cleared the benches.” A thought occurred in his head and he blinked owlishly. “Y’know, shit like that would usually have Ryo throwing his mitt down. Why didn’t he do it this time?”
Eyebrows furrowed, Miki K. was opening her mouth to respond when the door slammed open, hitting the wall. Ryo marched in, looking like a creature who wasn’t used to using his legs for forward mobility. The room stayed silent as he continued forward, stopping in the middle of the sitting circle. Akira didn’t know what to say so he focused on Ryo’s haphazard hair instead.
“Ryo, your fly is down,” Miki M. supplied helpfully.
“I know! That doesn’t matter now!” Ryo said heatedly, but zipped it up anyway. “I did it.”
“Did what, genius?” Miki K. asked.
Ryo, drunken angel, swung his arms out and almost fell backwards. Akira hurriedly moved behind him in order to catch him if the need presented itself. “I pissed in their pool.”
“You WHAT.” Akira felt one of his eyes twitch. The squawk of laughter from Miki K. was enough to shake him back into order.
No drunk should look as pleased as Ryo did. “They hit our batters, I piss in their goddamned pool.”
“You’re an insufferable bastard, Ryo, but fuck if I don’t respect the shit out of that,” Miki K. said.
“Don’t encourage him!” Akira yelled, waving his hands. “You can’t just piss on things, Ryo!”
The couch Akira was sitting on shuddered as Ryo fell on it with his entire body weight. “ In things, my dear. The right words are important and will get you far in life.”
A short, punched-out sigh left Akira’s lips and he jabbed his finger as hard as he could against Ryo’s ass. “I’m more worried about getting banned from this park rather than which fucking words I use, thanks.”
“How’d you get back here without getting caught?” Miki M. looked positively pink in the cheeks. “Actually, how are you not wet?”
“Coordination!” Ryo crowed. His face was pressed into the valley between two cushions. “This isn’t my first pissing rodeo.”
“What else have you peed in?!”
Desperate to end this conversation before they were all caught and arrested, Akira clapped his hands together. “Okay! Enough! We need to book it out of here before someone finds out or Ryo’s heart stops in his chest.” He stood up, reaching for his duffel at the end of the couch. “If someone would grab him, please.”
Grunting, Miki K. got up and hauled Ryo into a sitting position. He whined and tried to slap her away, but he only succeeded in grazing her stomach. “I got ‘im,” she said. “Where do you want him?”
“Here,” Akira replied. He settled his duffel against the small of his back as a sort of seat. “Put him on my back. I don’t trust his legs too much right now.”
Miki M. went on ahead to open the door as her girlfriend maneuvered Ryo onto Akira’s back. They had done this before, so it only took two tries for his limbs to fold in the right places. “Careful your strap doesn’t tear.”
“Pshh, because of Ryo?” Akira hefted him up, hearing Ryo grumble in his ear. “He’s fine. Light as a feather, this guy.”
“Be careful with me, please,” Ryo whined, sounding appropriately pathetic.
Rolling his eyes, Akira let Miki K. go on ahead through the door. “Don’t worry, you baby. We’ll get you sobered up.”
“Light of my life, you are.”
Akira simply hummed his agreement, following his friends out the door and letting the clubhouse fall dark behind him.