Stan approaches my area in the locker room minutes before we take the field. “We still on for our post-game celebration?” he keeps his voice low, not wanting teammates to invite themselves to join us.
I nod while my eyes scan our surroundings. No one seems to care about our conversation. “The Mrs. Okay with you not coming straight home from the game?” The last thing I want is for her to kick him out again. I rather like having my condo to myself.
“She knows how we are celebrating and agrees I shouldn’t allow you to celebrate alone.” Stan pats me twice on my shoulder. “Let’s go start the season of in the win-column.”
I follow Stan and our teammates from the locker room onto the field. Crowds at Wrigley Field are always loud, but this Opening Day crowd is electric. Their excitement carries over from our successful season last year. We were one win away from the World Series. It’s contagious. My muscles spark to life as I am introduced. I wave to my fans before assuming my position for the National Anthem.
I sing every word as I remember myself on the ball field in Athens as our announcer played a recording of the high school choir singing these same words. I love the game of baseball as much today as I did years ago.
“Here we are,” Stan parks his Land Rover. “You know when you mentioned wanting to get a tattoo on opening day, I thought it was pretty lame.” Stan pulls his eyes from the tattoo parlor and turns to face me in his driver’s seat. “I mean the guys head to bars and nightclubs. But the more I thought about all the trouble they get into, I realized this is a much safer celebration.”
“The less you hang with those guys the less trouble you get in at home,” I tease remembering Stan’s one-night stand last October and his wife’s reaction that led to him inhabiting my sofa for several weeks.
“We gonna stay in the car like a chicken shit or are we gonna man up and ink your skin?”
I punch Stan’s shoulder and exit his vehicle. I position myself with my back toward the parlor. quickly take a picture, type ‘celebrating our win’, post it to Snap Chat as my story as well as, send the snap directly to Madison.
‘Want me to play the role of your Instagram boyfriend to take several pictures throughout your celebration?” Stan teases. “First, we’ll pose you with your hands in the shape of a heart. Then…”
“Finish that statement and I’ll send a pic of you standing near a random woman to your wife.”
“Not cool, man.”
“Neither was your Instagram boyfriend comment.” Stan pats me on the back and we enter.