You run into your general practitioner, who is also your gynecologist, at church, at the store, and at restaurants. This is a very important reason I want to escape Athens.
After setting up my new cell phone, I shoot a quick text to Hamilton.
Me: My what a busy boy you’ve been the last 48 hrs (smiley face)
I’m not sure of his schedule upon arriving in Des Moines. I imagine he would see the stadium, meet with the coach, and maybe practice with the team. I busy myself placing my new photo frames around my bedroom.
Hours later, my new iPhone plays Centerfield by John Fogerty, alerting me to Hamilton’s text.
Hamilton: the emoji = new phone (winky face)
Me: I (heart emoji) my gifts!
Me: can’t believe you had time
Hamilton: Adrian did photos & frames
Hamilton: Savannah bags & wrapped
Hamilton: rest I did on my own
Me: you’re going to make some girl (smiley face) some day
I cringe. Why did I send that? It’s bad enough he’s a state away. If he gets a serious girlfriend…My vibrating phone rescues me from that train of thought.
Hamilton: no time for chicks
Hamilton: they mess with my game
Me: good boy
Hamilton: boy? (Sad face)
Me: good man
Hamilton: that’s more like it
Hamilton: time for practice
Hamilton: text or call you after
Me: sounds good
A few days later, I select Nelson Sheridan from my contacts and dial.
“Mr. Sheridan’s office, how may I help you?” a receptionist greets.
“May I speak with Nelson Sheridan please?”
“May I ask who is calling?”
“Tell him Hamilton Armstrong’s number one fan is calling.” She hedges a moment before placing me on hold. Maybe I should email instead of call. He might not take my phone call—I’m sure he is a busy guy.
“Madison, what can I do for you?” Nelson answers.
“I would like to help Hamilton’s mother attend tomorrow night’s game to see him pitch for the first time. I can drive her to Des Moines and back but need help securing tickets.”
“I’ll have my assistant secure two tickets for tomorrow night’s game and leave them for you at the Will Call window in your name.” I’m amazed how easy this was. I assume it’s because Hamilton’s an elite pitcher—with his talent comes the perks.
I quickly thank him. I cross tickets off my to do list. Up next is hotel room. I open Safari and search for hotels near the ball field. Where would I be without this new phone Hamilton gave me? Lost, that’s where. I reserve a room with two double beds. I cross hotel room off the list. All I need to do now is tell Memphis and pack.
I take a chance and drive over to the Armstrong farm. Memphis is watering her flower beds as I emerge from my car.
“Madison.” She stands to greet me. “This is a surprise.”
“No, the surprise is I have secured us two tickets to tomorrow night’s I-Cubs game to watch Hamilton make his debut.”
“Oh, Madison.” I see the tears fill her eyes as her hand covers her mouth. “How? Where?”
“Let’s sit on the porch swing.” I prompt. As a gentle motion rocks us, Memphis is all ears. “I’ve arranged a room for us half a mile from the stadium. Nelson was happy to arrange tickets for us to pick up at will call.”
The shock of my surprise wears off, and Memphis begins to plan. “Let’s take my car. Can we leave early enough to arrive during pre-game warm-ups?”
“Sounds good.” I agree. “Let’s keep it a surprise for Hamilton.”
I stroll up to the will call window, more nervous to watch this game than any before. I state my name and the staff member pulls an envelope from a nearby tub. But, before returning to the window, she makes a phone call. I can’t hear her conversation from where I stand outside. I start to worry there might be an issue with our tickets. I fear we drove over three hours and now will not even see the game.
“Miss Crocker,” a male voice calls from behind me. I turn. An older gentleman wearing a gold “Event Staff” shirt waits. I nod. “I’ll escort you to your seats,” he states before taking the envelope from the staff behind the window. “Please follow me.”
Memphis and I grin at each other before following behind the large man. He walks us into the stadium then down closer to the field with every step. When I asked for tickets, I didn’t plan on seats this close to the field. He pauses at the end of the first row of seats, at the far end of the home-team dugout. He hands me the two tickets and motions us to sit.
“The I-Cubs will be in this dugout. Pitchers warm up over here on this mound.” He points to our left. The bullpen is just over the wall from the first row of seats. From our seats, we will have a perfect view of Hamilton warming up. “This is my section. I will be nearby. Please let me know if you need anything.”
Memphis and I thank him for his help. When he walks away, we giggle and discuss how perfect our seats are. I am even more glad that we planned to arrive early to watch warm-ups. We head to the restroom then purchase beverages and snacks before returning to our seats.
When Memphis purchases a Snickers bar to keep Hamilton’s pre-game ritual alive, I confess that I have a plastic bag in my pocket with a couple sunflower seeds, a sucker, a Milk-Dud, and a Mike & Ike. Laughing, we decide we are true baseball fans.
The teams are on the field warming up. Some run, some throw, and others stretch. Our eyes focus on the door in the outfield wall each time it opens. We’ve seen several team members emerge from it and are eager to catch our first glimpse of Hamilton.
I nudge Memphis when I witness a catcher appear, wearing his gear, followed by two players. As we watch, they spread out more, and we have our first sight of Hamilton. He looks tall and strong in his new uniform. Blue is definitely his color. He smiles as he walks and talks to the other players. It warms my heart to see him happy.
On the foul line, the three stretch and sprint a few times before playing catch. With each throw, Hamilton moves farther and farther away from his catcher on the line. It seems the third man is not a player but a coach. Perhaps he’s the pitching coach. He walks by us into the dugout for a moment then returns to the catcher.
When Hamilton jogs over to his catcher, we watch as the three talk. The coach turns and points towards the dugout. Hamilton and the catcher crane their necks, looking where the coach points. In the moment Hamilton’s smile turns megawatt, I realize the coach was pointing at us, not the dugout. Hamilton pats the catcher on the back before jogging towards us.
“He’s coming.” Memphis excitedly grasps my arm.
“This is a surprise,” Hamilton states as he reaches over the wall to hug Memphis when she bends down.
“Surprise,” I fake cheer.
“Did I miss a voicemail or a text?” he asks.
“No,” Memphis replies. “Is it okay we came? We don’t want to make you nervous.”
“Mom,” Hamilton’s deep voice soothes. “I love you at my games. I want you at my games. If I had my way, the two of you would attend every game.” His words are perfect. They are everything Memphis and I hope for.
Memphis slides the Snickers bar from her purse and hands it to Hamilton. He chuckles as the catcher and coach walk up behind him.
“What’s this?” the coach asks, pointing to the candy bar.
“Just a pre-game ritual,” Hamilton replies.
“Armstrong, where are your manners?” the catcher teases. “Introduce us.”
Hamilton shakes his head. “This is my mother Memphis, and this is my number one fan, Madison.” He tugs on the hem of my new I-Cubs jersey.
The coach greets us. The catcher nudges Hamilton. “I thought you said you didn’t have a girl back home.”
I snort. Yes. Making a great impression, I snort at his words. “I’m Hamilton’s best friend, Madison. And although he left many broken hearts in Athens, I am not among them.” I hope my words sound believable.
I don’t hear the catcher’s next words but laugh when the coach swats him on the back of the head and quickly maneuvers between the two players. Hamilton looks ready to kill him. I assume he made a comment about dating me or hooking up. After a few calming words, the catcher apologizes and ducks into the dugout. The coach asks if there are any other pre-game rituals he needs to be aware of before excusing himself.
“I’m so glad the two of you are here.” Hamilton’s brown eyes twinkle. He loves this game, and he loves his momma. “I need to go warm up but hang around after the game. I’d like to see you.” When we agree, he heads over to the bullpen area.
Memphis and I watch with rapt attention every pitch that Hamilton throws. Having watched him pitch for years, I can make out his slider, his curve, and his fastball. He looks a little tight. His pitches are on target; it’s his stance that seems off.
The pitching coach heads back to the dugout while Hamilton tosses a few more to his catcher. Stopping in front of us, he asks, “How’s he look?”
This catches me off guard. Is he just making small talk, or does he really want to know? I decide I need to do what is best for Hamilton. “You really want to know?”
At his nod, I share, “Pitches look good, but he is tight.” I now have the coach’s full attention. “It’s his upper back--in his stance.” I pause before continuing. “He probably needs to stretch his back more.”
“If anyone can spot a difference in his stance, it would be Madison.” Memphis states.
It’s why I’m known as his biggest fan. My chest warms with Memphis’ praise. It’s as if she’s a proud mom, and I am her daughter.
Coach hollers into the dugout. A trainer appears at his side before jogging to Hamilton. I hesitantly wave when Hamilton looks my way. I hope I didn’t over step. He is now in the minor leagues—he probably doesn’t want a friend telling his coach what he needs. Hamilton smiles and shakes his head at me before following the trainer back into the locker room. He’s inside about ten minutes. I fret and stew the entire time.
When they emerge, Hamilton takes the bullpen mound again to throw a few more pitches. I smirk as it’s now fixed. Maybe it’s me, but it seems there is more pop when the ball hits the catcher’s mitt. The catcher slings his arm around Hamilton’s back. The two laugh as they walk and talk.
“I need to get me a number one fan,” the catcher states when the two stand before our seats. He waves to us, pats Hamilton on the back, and disappears into the dugout.
“I needed an adjustment,” Hamilton confesses, a smirk upon his face. “Thank you for pointing it out. I thought it was just nerves. But it’s all better now.”
I can only smile. We wish him good luck before he joins his teammates in the dugout.