Danville, Kentucky---Folks,
in this strange and wonderful game we call baseball, there’s no worse feeling
than losing, and no worse way to shake off that feeling than being denied the
opportunity to wake up the next day, retake the field and redeem yourself. That’s
why my nephew and I spent today's off-day in Lexington at Chili’s happy hour, eating
appetizers, drinking margaritas and watching little-league game tape on the
kid’s i-pad.
On his off-day, Eric Hosmer did no such thing. During his
ride to Kauffman on Tuesday, Eric Hosmer will be similarly quiet and
reflective.
On Friday night, Hosmer and the Royals had decisively
defeated division foe Detroit to take a commanding 2-0 lead in the first match-up
of the season, prompting Royals fans everywhere to consume copious amounts of Fireball
Whiskey & White Castle in celebration of the glory of baseball and the
associated youthful hedonism. The world was in the palm of their hand; the
Tigers had been tamed, tamed like a man being dragged by his third wife to IKEA
to witness her draining his savings on tacky furniture that he doesn’t know how
to assemble.
One Cy Young and one Royal-killer later, the boys in blue
were left with a 2-2 split and an off-day to get the bitter after-taste of
cinnamon and sliders out of their mouths.
Left to his own devices, Hosmer rests his head against the
car window and lets his thoughts drift off to familiar places: his mighty
two-run jack in the 11th inning of ALDS game 2, which announced his
arrival onto the stage of glory with authority. The 2014 World Series, which
was so real and so tangible to Eric, yet beginning to feel like a distant
memory.
More than anything, Hosmer will contemplate the growth and
maturation of his friend and brother-in-arms, Moustakas. The hopes and dreams
of so many people had been hoisted upon their shoulders for so long, with
phrases like “youth movement” and “future of the franchise” being lobbed around
with all the thoughtfulness of a drunken karaoke night at the Danville
Applebees. Yet, now more than ever, and in spite of the frustrated hopes of
2014 and the past weekend, Eric could see himself and his companion Mike
blossoming into the players they were always meant to be; the players nerds
once thought they could be, before they lost patience and revised their
projections downward as nerds are so wont to do.
Buoyed by this new found sense of confidence and purpose,
Hosmer and Moustakas will lift the Royals to a 5-3 victory over Salazar and the
Racists. Vargas will not be sharp, but it will not matter, as MLB Commissioner Rob
Manfred has forbidden Cleveland from beating left-handed pitchers. Later that
night, in an uncharacteristic display of maturity, Eric will invite Mike and Dyson
back to his hotel room for a glass of scotch, muted celebration, and subdued
conversation. No Fireball or White Castle will be consumed on this night.
Dyson will wonder out loud if times will always be this
good, and if such bonds of friendship can endure in the face of time’s cruel
march. The young third-baseman will retort: “All things must pass, especially
in this business. Players get designated. Prospects get traded. Stars walk for
bigger paychecks and bigger markets. But that doesn’t make what we have right
here in this moment any less real.” Dyson will nod appreciatively at Mike, and
drift into a peaceful slumber while sitting in the arm-chair in Eric’s hotel
room, exhausted from an evening spent chasing Jason Vargas gopher-balls around
Kauffman.
Before going to bed and helping Dyson to his room, Eric and
Mike will share a knowing glance, and see within each other’s eyes their own
unfulfilled potential reflected back at them. Nerds may have lost faith in that
potential when they projected the Royals to win less than 80 games, but Eric
and Mike never doubted each other for a second.
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