Hope Eternal, Part 3
Read Part 1 and Part 2 of Hope Eternal
Recollections from an evening in the west side of Laredo, TX
Tuesday, August 26, 2014
Isabel gave her dog Roger a big hug as he entered her room and then turned her attention back to the game. The count was 3-2 on Lonnie Davis. There were two outs in the bottom of the first. Isabel’s eyes stared intently at the screen.
She leaned forward and listened to the announcers as Roger took up his customary spot lying lazily at the feet of his mistress. “Davis has worked the count full. Collins wipes his brow and rubs up the baseball. The veteran right-hander stares in for the sign. Collins shakes off his catcher Hendershot. Now gets one he likes. Into his windup, here’s the pitch… swing and a long drive… deep to left field… the left fielder Vélez turns and watches… adios, baseball… and just like that, Lonnie Davis has tied the game with his 9th home run of the season!”
Isabel pounded her fist on the desk. “Alright, Thumper!” she screamed. She composed herself and marked her scorecard, then scribbled a quick note in her spiral notebook. “Collins is way too predictable. Stays off-speed when ahead in the count but doesn’t trust his off-speed stuff when behind. Tends to come inside with the fastball but doesn’t have the juice to get it by a hitter with good bat speed.”
Rosa entered her daughter’s room. “What’s the excitement? Who is ‘Thumper’?” she asked. She set a bottle of water on the dresser and again took a seat on the end of the bed nearest to her daughter.
“Lonnie Davis,” answered Isabel. “He just homered to tie the game. The big first baseman with the monster power I have been telling you about.”
“Oh yeah,” replied Rosa as she looked at the television showing the replay. Her daughter had probably said something about him at one time or another. She couldn’t recall for sure, but it didn’t matter. She was with Isabel, and Isabel was happy.
Isabel watched the next batter, rookie Carlos Magana, ground out on the first pitch, first basemen to the pitcher covering, ending the inning. Religiously, she made the notation on her scorecard: “3-1 putout.” She then scribbled another note in her notebook: “Magana too anxious, like he feels he needs to prove himself. He just needs to relax.”
The television again played the usual assortment of sporting event commercials. Beer, pickup trucks, the local sports bar. As the game came back on, the announcers talked about the upcoming schedule while a graphic on the screen displayed the home dates and promotions associated with them. The promotion for the Saturday afternoon game against Kentucky caught her eye. That would be fun. Just as quickly, she tried to push the thought out of her mind, but it refused to leave. The thought lingered there, poking at her, teasing her. She really wanted to go to that game.
The action resumed. When Torres allowed a leadoff double to Vélez, the thought about Saturday’s promotion receded from her consciousness, if only temporarily. Vélez came around to score on a double by Boone, again giving London a one-run lead. Isabel dutifully marked her scorecard and fretted that the Calzones were on their way to yet another loss. It was only a one-run deficit and it was only the second inning, but the way things were going for the Calzones, it was hard not to think another loss would soon be in the books.
Mother and daughter continued to watch the game – one more intently than the other – through four mostly uneventful innings. Rosa asked questions about the game every now and then, or asked about a player, trying her best to understand the game and the team that was so much a part of Isabel’s life. Isabel happily answered any question; she loved to talk baseball. Mostly, the answers were in jargon that Rosa couldn’t grasp, though every now and again she made a mental note of a word or phrase and tried to connect it with the action. More often than not, however, the jargon just didn’t quite click with her. Home run, strikeout – those concepts, she understood. Other concepts were less obvious. At one point, she frustrated Isabel with her lack of knowledge, though Isabel was good-natured about it. Isabel mentioned a hitter “going the other way” and Rosa asked if he was homosexual. Isabel laughed and explained that he had hit the ball to the opposite field. This only confused Rosa more. “I only see one field. If he hit it to the other field, isn’t that a home run?” Isabel put her face in her hands, understanding that her mom was doing the best she could. Later, when the announcer mentioned that Dan Howard was a switch-hitter, Rosa asked how everyone knew he was bi-sexual. Again, Isabel happily tried to explain the concept. Though she wasn’t ever quite sure her mother understood, Isabel was unknowingly grateful for her mother’s interest in her own passion.
The action heated up in the bottom of the 6th, with Howard reaching on a double and scoring on a Magana single to tie the game at two. Kenny Bender relieved Torres and pitched two solid innings, allowing just one hit. Isabel turned to her computer and added a response to her blog: “The tattered bullpen is coming up big so far.”
The bowl of nachos had been depleted an inning or so before. Rosa left the room between innings to refill the bowl, sans jalapeños. As the game returned for the top of the 7th, the graphic about the upcoming home dates and promotions returned:
Saturday, Aug. 30 vs. Kentucky. All kids 15 and under can run the bases after the game.
Isabel stared at the screen. She had been to games before but never down on the field. She wanted to go on the field and touch the grass. She wanted to see “The Wall”. Most of all, she wanted to run those bases.
Rosa returned and set the bowl on the tray, near the end of the dresser where both could reach it, just as it had been before. Isabel stared at her mother. Rosa noticed and looked back. “What is it, mija? Why are you staring at me?”
“Mommy, I want to go to the game Saturday,” Isabel told her mother. “Kids 15 and under can run the bases after the game, and I want to run those bases.”
Rosa looked at her daughter. “Of course, mija,” she replied. “Let’s go.”
Isabel’s face brightened, her eyes lighting up. She leaned over and opened her arms to hug her mother. “Really? Thank you, Mommy, you’re the best.”
Rosa could never deny Isabel anything. She smiled at her daughter. Isabel didn’t ask for much. Rosa would find a way to get her to that game one way or the other. Not delivering upon her daughter’s request never entered Rosa’s mind. It wouldn’t be the first time she had taken Isabel to a Calzones game. They managed to go once or twice a month when Rosa could afford to spend those precious few extra dollars left over from her meager paycheck after paying the mortgage, the seemingly endless stream of bills, and buying food.
The mother and daughter continued watching the game through the 7th inning. All the while, Isabel continued religiously marking her scorecard, occasionally talking to the television and jotting a note now and then in her spiral notebook. Rosa watched and tried to follow the action, though her mind was more on how to get Isabel to that game. Money was short this week. It was extremely short. It was certainly too short to afford the ticket prices. There was only one thing to do.
At the end of the 7th inning, Rosa excused herself to go to the bathroom, where she pulled out her cell phone and looked up a name in her contacts. She typed a message. “Isabel wants to go to the game Saturday. Can you help?” She sent the message and waited. Rosa hated to ask anyone for anything, but for Isabel, she would swallow her pride and ask. Rosa knew the answer before she ever sent the message. She knew the kindhearted soul on the receiving end of the message would certainly help.
She waited patiently for a minute. The reply arrived quickly just as she knew it would. “Done deal. Two passes at will call, Isabel’s name.”
Rosa quickly typed a reply. “Thanks. You’re the best. Oh, and she wants to run the bases?”
Another reply came even quicker than the first. “She’s running the bases? I wouldn’t miss that for the world. See you there.”
Rosa replied one more time. “Thanks again. See you there.” She returned to her daughter’s room and reclaimed her spot on the bed. Isabel was marking her scorecard. The top of the 8th inning was well underway. “We have tickets for the Saturday game,” she told her daughter. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Wow!” replied Isabel. “That was quick.”
“I have a friend who offered tickets to me before, so it has been arranged,” she told her daughter
Isabel beamed with delight. She leaned towards her mother, wrapping her arms around her in a hug and kissing her cheek.
Isabel’s attention quickly returned to the game. Copeland had just walked in a run. Two runs in for London now in the inning, still batting, bases loaded, one out. “Come on, Copeland,” Isabel said to the TV. “Throw strikes.”
Rosa reached over and stroked her daughter’s hair in the way only a mother could. She looked at her beautiful daughter and then back towards the television. Rosa might never understand the game or her daughter’s fascination with it, but more than anything, Rosa was thankful for baseball.
Isabel pumped her fist in the air as Copeland struck out Boone for the second out of the inning. “That’s the way, Cope. Strikes. Come on, one more, we’re still in this thing.” Rosa watched her daughter talking to the television and smiled. No matter what happened in the game, no matter whether the Calzones won or (as was the case more often) lost, these three hours were always the best three hours of the day.
Rosa took out her cell phone to check the time. It was a quarter to 10. She had to work at 6 a.m. in the morning. Rosa desperately wanted sleep, but there was no way she would leave the room until Isabel slept, and Rosa knew full well Isabel would not sleep until the final out was recorded.
“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed Isabel as Copeland punched out Hendershot to end the bases loaded threat. “We’re only down two and we have two innings left.” She leaned over and patted Roger on the head. “We’re going to need a rally tonight, Roger.” Roger raised his head wearily, but was seemingly grateful for the attention, nonetheless.
Isabel excused herself and made her way to the kitchen. She grabbed a fresh Pepsi from the refrigerator and returned to her room, assuming her customary place in front of the computer. The top of the 8th was starting, but Isabel quickly typed a response on the blog:
“Heart of the order for us in the 8th. We need two. Keep the faith”
With one out in the bottom of the 8th, Davis drew a walk. Isabel leaned forward in her chair, hoping for a rally, but watched in disgust as the next two batters popped and grounded out, each on the first pitch. She dutifully marked her scorecard. “Just what in the heck was that? We need two runs. The pitcher has been out there all night, he has just walked a batter, and these knuckleheads are all swinging at the first pitch?” She reached for the spiral notebook and scribbled two words: “Poor coaching.”
Isabel turned back to the computer. Her fingers danced across the keyboard:
Mora threw 35 pitches last night. He’s not available. My guess is we will see Robles in the 9th.
Isabel turned to look at her mom. Rosa was obviously tired, though she continued to share the experience with her daughter. “Mommy,” Isabel said to her mother, “if you’re tired, lie down. I’ll wake you when it’s over.”
“I’m okay,” her mother said, then laughed as she leaned her body over and let her head rest on the pillow. “I’ll just relax for a minute or two.”
It was yet another in the vast array of rituals in the Padilla house. When the game was over, Isabel would wake her mother, who would return to her own room to sleep. But not until the game was over.
The Underground went quietly in the 9th inning, with Copeland recording three uneventful outs. The Calzones entered the bottom of the 9th inning trailing 4-to-2. “Rally time, Roger,” Isabel said to her rather bored-looking pet.
London reliever Alfonso Robles came out to pitch the 9th inning for the Underground, just as Isabel had predicted earlier. Sherman Hicks led off the inning for the Calzones. When he beat out an infield single on a close play at first, Isabel clapped her hands excitedly. “Yes, we can do this, guys! Let’s go!” Rosa woke momentarily and smiled wearily at her daughter before closing her eyes and returning her head to the comfort of the pillow.
The next batter was Calzones third basemen Carlos Miranda. He struck out swinging. “Only one out. Come on, guys,” Isabel whispered quietly. The lone out had dimmed her hope just slightly; she knew all too well how precious each out was when the team was trailing by two runs in the 9th. This was especially true for the Calzones, a team not known for its power hitting.
When Hicks went to second on a wild pitch and Calzones catcher Jorge Román worked the count to 3-1, Isabel’s excitement again escalated. She pumped her fist. “All right! Come on, Jorge, draw a walk,” urged Isabel, knowing the importance of getting that tying run on base. Román grounded out weakly to second base, with Hicks advancing to third. Isabel’s excitement dimmed again, as now the Calzones had a runner on third base but there were two outs in the inning.
Rookie infielder George Árias now stepped to the plate. “Come on, George, just keep the inning alive.” Much to her delight, the young infielder did just that, lining a 2-2 pitch into short right field for an RBI base hit. “Yes!” exclaimed Isabel as the ball dropped in short right field.
The young girl stared at the television screen. The Calzones were now trailing by just a run, but there were two outs in the inning. “Steal the base,” she said to the television. “Steal the base; we need a runner in scoring position.”
The Calzones were now back to the top of the batting order, with arguably their most clutch hitter and their lone representative in the All-Star Game, left fielder James Hayes, coming to the plate. “Come on, George, steal the base,” Isabel urged again. Almost as if the young infielder heard her request, Árias was off and running on the first pitch. The Underground catcher Hendershot came up throwing, but his arm was no match for the speedy Árias, who easily slid in under the attempted tag. “All right!” Isabel shouted.
Rosa again opened her eyes and looked wearily at her daughter. “Is everything okay, mija?” she asked her daughter.
“It’s okay, Mommy. Sorry,” said the young girl. She felt remorse for having stirred her mom, yet Isabel’s eyes didn’t leave the television. Rosa smiled weakly and again closed her eyes.
Hayes worked the count to 3-2. When his groundball found a hole between first and second and skipped into right field, Isabel watched Árias round third and score without a throw, tying the game. “Yes! You knuckleheads aren’t done yet!”
Rookie infielder Dan Howard was the next batter, and Isabel was hoping for yet another hit, but Howard grounded to the first baseman, who took the ball to the bag himself for the unassisted putout. “That’s okay, we still have life,” Isabel said to the television. “Extra innings at home – this is our ballgame.” She reached down and patted Roger, who until that moment had been thoroughly unmoved by all the commotion of his mistress.