Free Fenway Fever by John Ritter

Look at that little TV.”
    Mark glanced up. “Gonna have to do. Doc Roberts also said your heart rate was down to thirty-three beats per minute.”
    “Yeah, well,” he answered slowly. “Tell the doctor I’m saving them up for later.”
    “Always calculating something, aren’t you, bro?”
    Stats grinned. “My all-time record is thirty-one.”
    “Yeah, well, try not to break that one anytime soon.” Mark looked around. “You gonna eat your oatmeal?”
    Stats gave the white bowl a quick look. “It’s got raisins.”
    “Can I have it?”
    “Sure.”
    A moment later, Pops came charging into the room juggling three sweet rolls, two cups of juice, and a hot coffee. “Sorry I took so long. First the insurance papers all over again, since our plan changed from last time. Then I saw the doctor in the hall, so I grabbed him. And then I thought you boys might be hungry.”
    Stats had never seen Pops act so nervous.
    “Doc Roberts says you’re doing fine. You feel fine?”
    “I would if I didn’t have all these tubes and wires all over me.”
    Pops shook his head. “They gotta stay. Your oxygen level was down to eighty-one percent last night. They’re not taking any chances.”
    “So when do I go home?”
    Pops looked away as if avoiding Stats’s eyes. “Doc’s gonna see. Everything’s, you know, step-by-step. That’s how it’s gotta go. He’s waiting on the first tests to find out if he has to run some more.”
    “Oh, man.”
    Mark tried to help. “What’re you complaining about, Freddy? You know how hot your nurse is? I think I might check in just for a sponge bath.”
    Stats cracked up. It felt good to laugh. That is, until he coughed.
    Pops glared at Mark. “Hey, hey, don’t get fresh. You’re not in the dugout here. Show some manners.”
    Mark grinned sheepishly. “But Freddy looked so sad.”
    “Alfredo,” said Pops. “You’ll come home as soon as possible. Don’t worry. Everybody’s just being careful.”
    “I know.” What he really knew was that the Sox had a travel day today, so there was no game. But if he didn’t get out by tomorrow night, he’d be stuck watching their road games in here. No good-luck popcorn in his lucky bowl, sitting in hislucky chair, wearing his ’07 World Series hat with his favorite photo of “The Kid,” aka Ted Williams, stuck inside. How could he start a rally without his KidLid? It was horrible timing to be stuck in this place, and besides that, he had no idea which nurse Mark had been talking about.
    He bit into the sweet roll while keeping one eye on the door.

CHAPTER    14

    Pops was right about the tests. All afternoon, Stats was wheeled around the cardiac floor, where they not only took blood from his arm, but measured how fast the blood pumped into the little glass vial when they took it. He had breathing tests, stress tests, reflex tests, and heartbeat tests.
    None of it was any fun.
    Pops and Mark had stopped by for another visit, but Stats felt so tired, they left when he dozed off after dinner.
    The next morning they were back.
    “Test results look fine,” said Pops, who did not quite sound as if he believed it. “A couple more today, Alfredo, then you should be coming home tomorrow.”
    “I was afraid of that.”
    “Doc says your heart is always running on low. That’s why you can’t exert yourself. He just wants to figure out the best thing to do for it.”
    Stats nodded. What could he say?
    “See the sports page yet?” asked Mark.
    “No.”
    “A guy at the
Boston Globe
thinks the Sox are falling into the same scenario they had back in 1919, when The Curse began. A few years of success, then
boom
, the big collapse.”
    “He said that? Where? Can you get me a copy?”
    “Be right back.” Mark hustled out.
    Pops settled himself into a chair against the wall, then scooted it forward, but in so doing, he dropped a small pile of papers from his lap.
    Stats could not see what the papers were, but the calculator among them