Work Text:
“Hey, Buck,” Eddie says one morning, walking into the loft. “You like baseball, right?”
Buck nods, eyeing Eddie as he plops himself down on the armchair across from Buck’s seat on the couch. It’s still early, maybe half an hour before official shift change, but B-shift is out on a call, so the firehouse is quiet, just a few early stragglers. Bobby’s already here, in the kitchen, because whenever there’s a call that runs over he likes to greet the previous shift with breakfast, and Buck hasn’t seen her yet, but he knows Hen has probably already come — she’s always early.
“Well, congrats on your Phillies winning the NL pennant last night,” Eddie continues, and Buck’s brain short-circuits a little bit.
“My Phillies?” he echos, holding a hand to his heart and frowning deeply at Eddie.
“I mean, aren’t you from Philly? Don’t you go for the Phillies?” Eddie asks, and Buck’s deeply offended at that. It’s hard for him to really be upset at Eddie, because Eddie genuinely looks like he has no idea what he’s saying wrong.
“I am from Hershey, Pennsylvania,” he tells Eddie, emphasizing his words so that Eddie understands how important this is. “Not Philadelphia. They’re the birthplace of America, and we’re the birthplace of chocolate. Very different cities.”
He’s aware that he’s gesticulating, but he’s travelled a lot in his life, and no one ever knew where Hershey was, and when Buck explained, they would say, oh, Philadelphia, but no. Buck is not from Philadelphia.
“Okay, but aren’t they just a couple of hours apart?” Eddie asks, and Buck’s eye twitches.
“That doesn’t mean I’m from Philadelphia.”
“Okay,” Eddie says, slowly, like he’s aware he touched a nerve. “But the Phillies are your closest team, right? I mean I also grew up away from any teams, so I just chose the closest team.”
“They’re not, actually,” Buck says, and maybe that’s the reason why he’s so upset — because his father hadn’t given him a lot as a kid, but he did instill a love for baseball in him, and Buck wanted to like baseball to impress his dad, but he genuinely fell in love with the sport, and he got attached to his dad’s team — to his team — somewhere along the way.
All of his friends at school were Phillies fans, and in high school he had to watch his friends enjoy the best baseball of their lives. He had gone with his friends to stand on Broad Street and celebrate the Phillies winning the World Series in 2008 and he cheered and wore red, and it was fun, but Buck’s baseball heart never belonged to them.
“Baltimore’s closer,” he tells Eddie. “By half an hour.”
Because Buck, instead of being a fan of a good, fun team, had to instead be a fan of a team that’s solidly 4th or 5th in the division every year, had to be a fan of a team that had a bright moment in the 2010s for like 40 seconds, had to be a fan of a team that traded away its star player in 2018 but signed a long-term contract with a player who hit .100 for the rest of his career.
He’s trying very hard to not be bitter, but Buck’s an Orioles fan, and bitterness comes with the territory.
“Okay,” Eddie says, shrugging, but now Buck’s upset, and now Eddie’s gotten him started.
“The Phillies are fine,” he says, and there’s a rant building in his chest. “They’re great. But I’m an Orioles fan, unfortunately, so, no, my team didn’t win a pennant, and the only solace I have is that the fucking Yankees didn’t win one either. My team is nowhere near winning a pennant, because we lost one hundred and ten games last year.”
And Buck stands up, because he loves the Orioles, but he hates them, and they have some promising prospects, but he’s so scared to get his hopes up.
“No, my team isn’t winning post-season games, because we’re not getting in the post-season. We just finished our season barely above .500. It’s the first time since 2016 that we haven’t had a losing record, and it was by like two games.” Buck’s pacing, now, and Eddie’s staring up at him, completely silent, and Buck hates baseball. “But we still finished fourth in the division, because why the fuck not. Did you know, if we were in the central, we’d be second? Or in the west, we’d be third. But no, we’re fourth. And we’re only not last because of the godsend that is Adley Rutschman.”
Buck pausing his pacing to look down at Eddie, and Eddie’s slowly nodding, not looking like he wants to interrupt Buck any time soon.
“And maybe things will get better!” Buck says, starting his walk again. “I mean, Gunnar Henderson looked incredible up here. I’m sure he’ll be great next year. Maybe things will be good for forty seconds, and then maybe Gunnar will be really good and we’ll trade him to the fucking Diamondbacks or some shit in five years for some shitty pitching prospects and we’ll break another losing streak. Or maybe Adley will be really good and we’ll sign him to a ten year contract and he’ll go zero for 70 at the plate because we’re the Baltimore Orioles and we love breaking records!”
“What’s wrong with the D-Backs? I love the D-Backs” Eddie chimes in, and Buck huffs out a laugh.
“I mean, I’m glad the Phillies won, really, because if the Padres had won and Manny Machado got to go to the World Series again before the Orioles get to, I think I might stab myself.”
“Are you okay?” Eddie asks, gently, and Buck throws up his hands, because is he?
“I’m not a Dustin Pedroia warrior by any means, but I also don’t feel the best about Machado, even though it’s not his fault he was traded and I don’t even know if I want him on the team. I’m just bitter. I’m also not suicidal,” he tells Eddie, meets his eyes so that he knows he means it. “I just sometimes want to jump off the roof of the warehouse.”
“None of the words you’ve said make any sense to me,” Eddie tells him, pursing his lips in a frown. “I just like D-Backs and I live my life. I didn’t know the east coast was full of so much turmoil. I’m sorry for insinuating you were a Phillies fan.”
Buck groans loudly and flops back onto the couch. He covers his eyes for a second, and tries to regulate his breathing, but there’s nothing that gets him quite as upset as thinking about the Orioles. Maybe one day they’ll be good. Or maybe Buck will be stuck in a hell cycle with them forever.
“Just don’t mention them to Chimney,” he warns Eddie. “He’s a Mets fan.”