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

walking Ortiz. He goes 3-1 on Manny before Manny flies to center. It’s well hit but should be caught. Ainsworth takes a few steps toward the dugout, watching Matos, who holds up both arms as if beseeching the sky. He’s lost it in the twilight. It hits the track by the base of the wall and bounces high, giving Ortiz more than enough time to chug around. 6–0. Millar rips a single to center. Matos has a shot at Manny, but his throw is off-line.
    And that’s it, that’s more than enough. Johnny goes 5 for 5 and makes a spectacular grab, going over the fence in front of the O’s bullpen to take a three-run homer away from David Segui; David Ortiz cranks a three-run shot down the line in right; Lowe throws well, and Pokey and Bellhorn do a nice job behind him; even Mendoza gets some work in; but really it’s a one-inning game. It’s the kind of win that makes you complacent—that makes you see the O’s as a bad club.
    It’s not true. Like the opener, it’s just one game. We still have to beat them tomorrow with Wake to take the series. April 8th
    SK: How about Damon’s catch last night? I saw it on tape. That was
my
game to miss, except for the eighth and ninth. Dinner with friends. Isn’t it annoying, the way life keeps intruding on baseball?
    SO: Besides Johnny having a big night, you didn’t miss much. I think Baltimore needs to rethink trying to change Melvin Mora into a third baseman. He’s just lost out there—like Todd Walker, no instincts. Then after Lee Mazzilli and the media ream him out, he gets to go home to his wife and their two-year-old quints. No wonder he looks like he’s going to break into tears any second.
    You want to hear life intruding on baseball? I’ve been planning for months to take T to Chicago for our twentieth anniversary—got the plane tickets, hotel reservations, everything. Our first day there is the first game of the World Series. I say, “Hey, maybe we’ll be playing the Cubs.” She says, “We’re not going there for the World Series. I’m not playing second fiddle to the Red Sox.”
    SK: Oh God, does that ever sound familiar. They’re playing our song.
    There’s an official tally of the Opening Day payrolls. Once again, the Yankees top the majors at 183 million. The Sox are second at 125, the Angels third at 101.
    By three I’m getting antsy, and call Naomi. I call five times before I get her machine and leave a message. Before I pack the family in the car and drive a hundred miles, I want to know the tickets are going to be there.
    At a quarter to five, Naomi calls. She’s still not sure of the exact location, and the seats may be piggybacked—two in front, two behind—but they’ll be there. Thank you, Naomi; you came through like Tommy Brady. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.

    It’s sprinkling at Camden Yards and the stands are half-empty. Wake’s going against a young lefty named Matt Riley who’s coming off Tommy John surgery. Ortiz sits, Millar plays right, Burks DHs and McCarty gets a start at first. Mirabelli, who usually handles Wake, is behind the plate. Along with Bellhorn and Pokey, it’s not the most power-packed lineup, so I’m hoping Riley doesn’t have much.
    He doesn’t need much. Through eight, our five through nine guys are 0 for 10. The starters leave with the score tied 2–2, and then it’s the game that won’t end. By the twelfth, only Dauber and Mendoza haven’t seen action (they show Dauber in the dugout in a Sox watch cap, bent over, his chin propped on the knob of his bat like the one kid who wasn’t picked). It’s been four hours now; everyone else has long since turned off
ER
and gone to bed, and with the Sox not scoring in the top of the innings, the bottoms are like a death watch, just waiting for the bad thing to happen.
    The twenty-fifth man, Bobby Jones, is on for us, and gives up a leadoff single to Bigbie. Mazzilli chooses to play by the book and has Roberts bunt him over. With two outs and Jones behind 2-0 on