[ifspuds]

July 22, 2016
The home clubhouse at Deepvale's Two Rivers Field

No surprise, after another loss at the hands of the Silver Beach Whales, that the Deepvale Ferrymen's locker room would be so quiet, but the contrast between the early season atmosphere, when the Ferrymen were taking the rest of the league to the cleaners, and the recent struggles worried Ace Gervin.

Gervin was well on his way to another Top Batter Award, hitting over .400, leading the league in home runs and RBI and generally making pitchers' knees quake when he dug in at the plate. It was his habit to hang around the clubhouse until everyone else had gone home, taking some time to go over his latest effort, think about what had gone well, what hadn't, and how he could improve it. Could he have done that at his apartment? Sure, but he found it infinitely easier to concentrate on baseball while being actually at the park. Sometimes he went out to the field and worked on his swing, but usually he just sat at his locker and thought.

Partway through a mental recap of his second at-bat against Whales ace Hawkeye Odle -- a swinging strikeout on a pitch he had no business swinging at -- he heard the clubhouse door creak open and swing shut.

"Thought you'd still be here," said Roy Lockwood. The shortstop wore jeans and a t-shirt, but still he had his Ferrymen cap on his head. Lockwood was nearly bald, despite being just 34 years old, and wore his cap with a devotion that approached religious fervor.

"Hey, Roy," said Gervin. "You know me. Happier at the ballpark than at home."

Quiet fell and crept away into uncomfortable silence. Something obviously bothered Lockwood, but it was more obvious that he wasn't sure how to bring it up.

"Something on your mind, Roy?" Gervin wrapped his hands around the handle of a bat, flexing his fingers back and forth.

The moment that passed was long enough to make Ace wonder if he would get a response, before Lockwood said, "I'm sorry, Ace."

"For what?"

"It's my fault. The reason we're here, the reason we're staring up at three teams. I'm letting you down."

There was a brief, petty moment when Gervin wanted to agree with his teammate. Lockwood had been one of the top sluggers in the league last season, his 23 homers tops in the league and the reigning Bay League record. This season had been a disaster. His bat slowed down over the winter, and he watched too many pitches go past that last year he'd battered out of the park. The shortstop was hitting just .153 and he'd struck out 3 times in 4 at-bats in the game just ended.

"You're struggling, Roy. We're all scuffling right now. You'll snap out of it. We're only three out."

Lockwood sat on a bench across from him. "That's just it. I don't know that I will snap out of it, Ace. I don't see the ball like I used to. When I do swing, I'm late more often than not."

Gervin didn't say anything. Roy clearly had more on his mind.

"I'm hanging it up at the end of the season, Ace, but I want you to talk to Tom and get him to bench me. I'm just hurting the team playing full time."

"Tom" was Thomas Heide, the player-manager of the Ferrymen, though he was only managing these days with a bum knee keeping him out of the lineup. Gervin flipped the bat in his hands. "I'm not going to do that, Roy. No one's going to do the job you do in the field, and even while you're having trouble at the plate, the pitcher has to worry about you launching one into the seats."

"He'll listen to you, Ace. He won't listen to me when I ask out." Lockwood's face was pained.

"He shouldn't, Roy. You're our shortstop. You're the best shortstop we have, the captain of the infield. You'll find a way to make it work," said Gervin and handed the bat over to his teammate, handle first. "Let's go out and I'll toss you some BP. Swinging the lumber'll get your mind off it."

Lockwood put his hand out, nearly caressing the smooth-grained wood, his thoughts giving him a faraway look. "Okay," he said finally. "Okay."