Sitting on the air-conditioned charter bus waiting for my teammates to arrive, I turn my iPhone to entertain myself. The post-game interviews and showers droned on today. I’m irritable. Our long road trip is taking its toll on me.
Finally, the bus pulls from the stadium, escorting us back to our nearby Minneapolis hotel. My life is a blur of hotels, shuttles, airplanes, and restaurant food. While I enjoy every minute at our country’s ballparks, the rest of the traveling is torture. My life depends upon my teammates to pack, load, and unload the airplanes and shuttle busses. A handful of players are perpetually late, slower than the rest, and inconsiderate of everyone’s time.
It’s nearly 7:00 p.m., we’re hungry, we’re tired, we’re sore, and we need time away from each other. We’re not even halfway through our 162-game season. We are on our final leg of a fourteen-game road trip, and most of us need time away from the other twenty-four men in the traveling circus that is our Chicago Cubs team.
As a boy dreaming of playing Major League Baseball, I looked forward to traveling. Now, I detest away games and all that they entail. I crave a home-cooked meal. Phone conversations with Madison and my mom stir my homesick feelings even more. I miss my mom and the farm, I miss hanging with Madison, and I’m tired of eating alone.
We won today’s game after eleven innings, thus we’re later than usual, returning to the hotel. As I take the mound tomorrow, I’ll stay in this evening. I have a pregame meal and routine I never stray from. I’ll have chicken breast and steamed vegetables delivered to my room. I’ll study my opponents for tomorrow’s game, then shoot a text to Madison before I turn in for the night. I never imagined how lonely and exhausting being a professional ball player could be.