Free Sweet Spot: Homeruns #4 by Sloan Johnson

quietly, I’ll admit I’m worried.”
    “No, Dad, it’s going fine,” I assured him. Because it was, for the most part. Yeah, I wasn’t thrilled that I still hadn’t figured out who I could blow to get an invitation to work out with the big league squad, but I was trying to not let my placement piss me off.
    “Good. I know you don’t like hearing anything I have to say during the year, but I’m proud of you.” I didn’t realize how badly I’d wanted to hear those words from him. I’d let myself believe he couldn’t be both a supportive parent and my boss, and that’d left me very isolated and alone. Lonely. “You’ve grown so much over the past few seasons, and I can’t wait for what’s still to come. And for what it’s worth, I’m speaking as your father, not the GM. I really wish you’d believe I do know how to be both to you.”
    “Dad, we’ve been over this before,” I reminded him. “It’s not so much not believing you can keep the two roles separate, but I don’t want anyone attacking you if I fail.”
    “You won’t,” he insisted. “I’ve seen more than you might realize, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that you’re a damn good pitcher. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I have to tell you that if you keep working as hard as you have been and listen to the coaches, there’s a good chance a few years from now the analysts will be comparing you to Sean.”
    Now he was treading on dangerous ground. “Don’t say shit like that.”
    “Why not? It’s the truth.” He leaned back in his seat and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m hoping you’ll still be with the team when it happens, but whether it’s Milwaukee or another club, you have a bright future ahead of yourself as long as you can win the mental game.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked defensively.
    Dad flagged down the waiter and ordered another round of drinks. I should’ve told him I didn’t want another, but I kept my mouth closed. My tolerance was down because I’d quit drinking over a month before leaving for spring training. A lot of the guys went out after practice every day, but I stayed out of the bars so I could prove I was ready to move up.
    “Nick, when it comes to the mechanics of the game, there’s very little left for you to learn,” he informed me. “Yes, you can hone your skills to keep improving on everything you already know, but you have every skill you need in order to be a great pitcher. You’re confident in your strengths, you are quick to read the hitter when he’s in the box, and your mind is like a steel trap when you’re reviewing footage for upcoming games.
    “The problem is, that’s only half of what makes a good player. The rest of it is the piece you’re still struggling with,” he continued. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he had to say, but I could tell he was simply speaking as my former baseball player father, so I allowed myself to listen to his wisdom. “I thought you’d gotten over the mental block last year, but I can see you’re tense again. And it’s hard for me, as both your father and a GM, to watch you struggle when I know it’s because of me.”
    “It’s not your fault,” I assured him. Because he was right—this was my problem, not his. “And you’re not telling me anything I haven’t come to realize. Hell, we’re not the only father and son in our position, but I feel like I’m the only one freaking out about what others think.”
    “Have you considered reaching out to any of them?” Dad suggested. The waiter dropped off our meals and asked if we needed anything else. Dad excused him and kept going. “I’ve talked to Max Hoyt and he said Trevor went through a lot of what you’re feeling. He might be willing to help give you some ideas.”
    I couldn’t do that. No way was I about to admit my insecurities to someone I barely knew. I’d watched Trevor and studied his career. If he worried about his