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This is a nightmare.
He'd trusted Penny would keep this off of his shoulders. It was amazing, just being around the team. The semi-finals? Who could have imagined they'd get this far? Getting a wild card spot had been thrilling enough. Between them and the Sunbeams...and then both of them making it through to the next round? This was the dream. This was the path to bscension. Hell, they'd managed to miss facing down with Patterson!
And then it had been them and the Thieves.
God...damn...Dickson...Games.
And Tillman Henderson.
Fynn had pitched a hell of a Game 1, hanging on tight to their 4-4 tie until the bottom of the 9th and a single home run. It had hurt, but it was fair. They had fought for it.
No big deal. We've got our Lucky Penny up in Game 2.
No one was saying why they needed to win Game 2. But he knew. He heard the fans talking; he'd seen the chatter online. And the team didn't need to say anything.
We're not going to win this with Garbage Day.
Something he'd once been so proud of. An absolutely clutch game, brilliant teamwork between his pitching and his ever-astounding friend Thomas Dracaena at the bat, they'd come back from what seemed like a certain loss and Drac had knocked one out of the park to bring it home for the Mills. The fans had taken up the chant of Garbage Day, and it was the best he'd felt since getting his doctorate. This was why he loved blaseball. The fans deserved wins like this, and he wanted to provide.
When was the last time you heard Garbage Day spoken with anything but contempt in their tone?
He just couldn't live up to the other pitchers, and he'd never managed to get back that fire. It was fine. Every team needed a scapegoat, and who better to take up the mantle than Garbage itself?
And then they'd made the playoffs.
Fynn and Penny. It seemed so simple. They'd win the first two, he'd roll over and die, and then Teddy would come in and save the day. It was a perfect plan.
Listen, I want the Mills do win as much as you do. Did I ask to pitch in Game 3? No. Lucky Penny will be brilliant and we'll all be good.
No...no this is not what I wanted.
No...please no.
...can I just apologize now, Mills?
He felt sick. Any other game. Any other playoff game, and he'd be fine. He'd do his best, they'd probably lose, everyone would say "eh, it's Garbage day" and they'd move on. But there wasn't a next game if he didn't get his act together. The Thieves would steal one more thing from the Mills and continue down their own path of glory. He could hear the other players, gathering optimism from thin air.
Now's not the time to give up, friends.
The fight is harder now but it is not over. No matter what happened, shine your brightest. Give your all. Have no regrets.
He'd caught Thomas's sleeve. Please tell me you're going to help us win this thing.
And as always, calm and ...well, as serene as he ever was, Thomas had just smiled. My beloved Felix, it is on you now. Show them the double corkscrew and make them forever rue... Garbage Day. We will hit our hardest.
And if Drac believed in him... maybe he could manage to believe in himself. At least a little.
It hadn't been enough.
For a shining moment, he thought it was. He wasn't pitching his best game, but they were keeping the damage to a minimum and keeping the Thieves off base for the most part. Their first run was a stolen fifth base - because of course it was. But Bates had tied it up at the next at bat, and they'd held it there until...what, the sixth inning? Bottom of the sixth, Games on fourth, and Simon "Comey" Haley at bat.
And the bastard hit a quadruple.
Now it was 1-2. How he'd gotten them out of the inning, he couldn't have told you.
Winnie. Ren. Andrew. Fly out. Ground out. Out swinging.
And he was on the mound again.
Two walks in a row. It was like he'd never thrown a ball before. Finally an out.
Sato hits a single. Three players on base. Richardson Games gets to first on fielder's choice. Esme Ramsey out at third. Howell Franklin scores. The howling from the Thieves fans was deafening.
Charla saves his life by catching a pop-up fly.
Nandy, Bendie, Bates. How is the top of the inning so short?
Woodman steals fifth - again. Ramsey hits a 2-run home run.
It's 1-6.
For a fleeting moment, they have two players on base and Ren up to bat, and he thinks just maybe his team will save themselves from himself...
And it's over.
It wasn't like it hadn't been a good game. He wished the Thieves well, told them it was a good game, and believed every word. It had been a good series.
He tried to keep distance from the team. They didn't want him around.
That was one of your most brilliant games, dear friend. You were fantastic.
Of course, Thomas had found him. Of course, he'd had something nice to say.
It felt good. And I just choked. Thank you though, Thomas. Means a lot.
Bah, you did not choke. We had formidable opponents. I am proud.
The next voice was unexpected, as Solis clapped his shoulder.
Hey, you did great. Don't stress it.
And then Patty.
Don't worry about it; not every game's a winner. It was just fun being here, yeah?
Yeah. Yeah, it had been fun. And seeing his teammates come over and tell him that maybe it wasn't the end of the world, and maybe he wasn't actually the most hated pitcher in blaseball...
Well.
He may have been Garbage.
But he was Mills garbage.
And he was proud to be a Millennial.