Triple Play - Cassie Cole Page 0,78

the clouds, making it feel like there was a massive grey ceiling above us.

“Remind me to never complain about Texas summers again,” I told the manager in the dugout before the first game. My breath puffed into a big cloud in front of my face. All the players wore compression tights underneath their uniforms. I was wearing my ugliest, but warmest, pair of underwear.

“Noted. You feel good about the rotation?”

I nodded. “Gallaraga, Domingo, and Miner are all solid. And promoting Carter up from long reliever is our best option. That’s only for game four. The other three will pitch games five, six, and seven.”

“If we get that far,” the manager grumbled, too quietly for anyone but me to hear.

Although we were trying to be positive, deep down I shared his pessimism. We were missing our ace. The rotation was in the same shape it was earlier in the season, but instead of Rafael we had Gallaraga. I doubted we could win a championship like that.

To that end, I was very busy during the series. Gallaraga was the star of the first game, which we stole in a 3-1 victory behind a pair of clutch doubles from Darryl.

But Domingo was still rattled after his poor game against the Yankees. He had no command with his fastball, and he kept leaving his off-speed pitches out over the plate. To make matters worse he only lasted two and a third innings, requiring us to expend our bullpen. Despite a six-run seventh inning which culminated in a Darryl grand slam, we ended up losing 8-6.

“It’s good to take one on the road,” I said on the plane ride back to DFW. “Especially against their number-one.”

“Now it’s like we have home-field advantage,” Darryl agreed. “Three games in Arlington, and two in Cleveland. Just need to take advantage of it.”

Two rows up, Rafael and Domingo were putting their heads together. I leaned forward to listen to what they were saying.

“Your stuff is just as good as mine,” Rafael said. “Better, even. It’s just a little raw right now.”

“It’s the pressure,” Domingo said in his slight Puerto Rican accent. “It’s rattling me.”

“You need to find a way to tune it out. Let me show you a trick.” I couldn’t see what they were doing, but then Rafael said, “Ball your hand into a fist around your thumb. Like this. Squeeze it tight and count to ten. It has something to do with your brain. It pulls focus away from whatever is causing you to panic.”

Domingo shook his head. “Coach Betts showed me that. But I don’t know…”

“Trust me, buddy. It works.”

“Alright.” A moment later, “She’s legit, isn’t she?”

Rafael lowered his voice and said, “Coach Betts?”

“Yeah. I’m not gonna lie: at first I thought she was hired, like, because of affirmative action or whatever. But she knows her shit.”

I could hear the pride if Rafael’s voice as he said, “Oh, yeah. She’s legit. And we’re going to win the World Series because of her.”

I sat back in my chair and grinned for the rest of the flight.

Game three of the ALCS was supposed to be played with the roof open, but thunderstorms in the area forced the Rangers to close it. Thunder boomed off the glass windows in left field and rain pattered on the roof like frozen peas.

“You sure that’s not hail?” Carter asked me as he practiced in the bullpen.

“Might be. How do you feel?”

Miner was the starter today, but I was done helping him warm up and had some free time to look at the other pitchers. Since Carter was pitching tomorrow, he was doing some light throwing today. Nothing at full velocity—just some location work. Focusing on accuracy.

Carter was a stick figure of a boy. He looked perpetually sick, like someone who was on the end of a twenty-four-hour bug. Pale and vaguely sweaty, even indoors.

“I feel great,” he said. “Kind of nervous. I’m not used to pounding the inside of the strikezone against righties. I like keeping everything away.”

“Which is why we practiced it for the past three days,” I said smoothly. “And why you’re practicing today. Your location is good. You just need to trust the plan. The data doesn’t lie!”

He bobbed his head in agreement. “I know, I know. Just feels weird being a starter all year, getting demoted to the bullpen, and then getting my job back in the playoffs.”

I started to open my mouth, and he held out his glove.

“I’ve already heard about your thumb trick from Rafa and