I threw in an ‘I love you,’ gave my mom a hug, and kissed her cheek. The other moms took that as the cue that they needed to say goodbye to their sons. Chuck was smart enough to be in the car when they came out.
Yuri called shotgun, but I explained that we had to ride in the back. I wanted them to get used to having security. Phil and I ended up in the middle row, with Roc and Yuri in the rear. Chuck had a little smile when I explained everything about working with security and to let them do their job.
“So, you’re not trying to be a big shot when they open your door to get out of the car?” Roc asked.
“No. They have a routine where they observe the area as they pull up. If it looks safe from the car, they’ll get out and walk around to identify any possible trouble. If all is clear, they’ll open the door and let you out.”
“But we should be safe in Houston, right? It’s not like Mexico,” Yuri observed.
It sounded like my mom had informed their parents about Fritz’s concerns. That might have been why Chuck had been ambushed.
“Houston is not like where you live. Bad things can happen there, just like Mexico. Realistically, bad things can happen to you even in a small town. Just keep your eyes open and listen to me or the other security people,” Chuck said.
◊◊◊
Everyone was flying in today so we could start practice first thing in the morning. The plan was for the team to get together for dinner and get a good night’s rest. It was good to see everyone. Coach Kingwood was happy to see that his new batboys fit in with the team. I did miss seeing M.E. She and I had become friends over the summer.
Everyone wanted to go to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. I would rather have had steak since we were in Houston. Besides, I figured we might get the genuine article in about a week. But that was crazy talk, according to Allard. The restaurant we ended up at was a mom-and-pop joint not too far from the hotel.
I tried something new, quesadilla sincronizada. It’s made with ham and Oaxaca cheese, which are put onto a tortilla and fried until the cheese melted. They cut it into wedges and topped it with avocado, sour cream, and salsa. I’d never had ham as the meat in a Mexican dish before.
◊◊◊ Wednesday August 3
I suddenly woke to the sound of vomiting in the bathroom. I’d roomed with Phil because both Yuri and Roc refused. Phil still didn’t believe he snored. I planned to get the video proof, as they’d put video cameras in my room again.
I’m not the best when it comes to people barfing. Having a bunch of little ones running around had toughened me up some, but I decided Phil was on his own. That was until suddenly my stomach rolled over, and my mouth fill with saliva. Houston, we have a problem.
I barged into the bathroom and saw that Phil had made a mess in there, which didn’t help.
“Move, or I’m throwing up on you,” I announced.
Phil barely got out of the way in time. When I was done, we both laughed at our predicament.
“I never thought we would have our own vomitorium,” Phil said.
“You think it was something we ate?” I asked.
“I haven’t felt this bad since I was little.”
He was right, this was more than just getting sick. I laid my hand across my forehead, and it was hot. We cleaned up and went back to bed.
◊◊◊
Through the fog of sleep, I heard a knock at the door. I looked at the clock … damn, damn, damn. It was ten, and I was late. Phil and I had been up and down all night. Around six, the diarrhea had started.
“Are you getting that?” Phil groaned.
I just got out of bed and opened the door. Coach Kingwood took a step back at the smell of our room.
“Shit, you too?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Half the team is sick. We need to get you to see a doctor because we suspect it’s food poisoning.”
“I’d rather just go back to bed,” I said.
“Well, I’d rather we get you back on your feet as soon as possible. Put on a pair of sweats and meet me in the lobby in ten minutes.”
I got Phil up, and we somehow made it to the lobby. There was a minibus waiting, and it was full of my teammates, all of whom looked like death warmed over.
It turned out that we had norovirus, which is behind more than half of the foodborne illnesses in the US. There’s no treatment for norovirus because it’s a viral, not bacterial, infection. As a precaution, some of the players were given an IV to replace the liquids they were spewing if they couldn’t keep water down. Mom had always given us 7 Up when we were little, but I needed Gatorade.
Another problem was that norovirus could be transmitted to others if they touched anything we’d been in contact with. I gave housekeeping a large tip to sanitize the room, and for the stellar job they’d done after our first night.
◊◊◊ Saturday August 6
Let me just say, I would never recommend food poisoning as the best choice for a bonding activity with your half brother. You don’t feel well, and you’re grumpy; not the best conditions for cementing a bond. Phil had the added complication that his snoring bordered on torture. I vowed to get him to an ear, nose, and throat doctor once we got back home. No one should make that much noise when they sleep.
The baseball team struggled while I was laid up. They traveled to Austin and played the University of Texas and gave them a game, but came up short, 5–4. Our next game was against San Jacinto College, a large community college that served the Houston area. We lost another close one, 3–2.
On Saturday, I felt better and made the trip to play against the University of Houston. I was still suffering from the effects of my recent stomach troubles, so Coach Kingwood sat me. It was sheer agony to watch as we got whipped 12–3.
Something happened there that I saw for the first time ever and hope to never see again: two teammates fighting during a game. Royce and Logan Greene were our third baseman and shortstop. During the third inning, we were still in the game with the score knotted up 2–2. A weak ground ball was hit between the two infielders. It was Royce’s play to make, but Logan was focused on the ball and knocked him down. The runner made it to first, and the brothers exchanged words, which had Coach Kingwood out to calm them down. When he came back in, he was shaking his head at the two of them.
On the next play, Logan was hit a sharp grounder that he probably should have gotten. He got a late jump because he’d been jawing at his brother. Houston now had runners at first and second and the top of their order coming up. On the first pitch, their batter laid down a perfect bunt down the third base line. Royce picked the ball up with his throwing hand and fired it to first. Unfortunately, it sailed over the first baseman’s head, allowing a run to score.
When the next batter came up, the two brothers each said something to the other that caused them to both stand straight up and not pay attention. The batter hit a ground ball between them that rolled all the way to the fence, clearing the bases with a stand-up double.
I was watching the ball and consequently didn’t see the first punch. When I looked over, they were rolling around on the ground, trying to kill each other. Coach Kingwood grabbed two sports bottles and raced out onto the field. He used them to hose the two combatants down.
Phil sat down next to me.
“I promise to wait until after a game to kick your butt,” he assured me.
That caused everyone in the dugout to start laughing. The other coaches weren’t amused at our reaction. Coach Way ordered us to remain on the bench, but I had other ideas. In a fight, you’re supposed to storm the field and defend your teammate.
“Team Royce! Ahhhhh!” I yelled as I leaped over the dugout fence and charged the field.
“Team Logan!” Allard yelled and joined me on the field.
We then did what all baseball players do: we grabbed each other and shuffled our feet. Soon the bench cleared. The Houston ballplayers laughed their butts off at our antics. Logan and Royce realized how dumb everyone looked and hung their heads. Coach Kingwood wasn’t happy. The umpires … let’s just say I thought we were all about to be kicked out of the game. Considering the final score, it might have been for the best.