Free Fenway Fever by John Ritter Page B

away. That’s it. Besides, it’s good for business. My vendors always give me their best deals. So the seats end up paying for themselves in the long run.”
    “But in the short run,” Mark argued, “they could really help.” Then he leaned over, picked up the newspaper, and gave it a flick. “Of course, if they keep losing like they are now, might be a time when you won’t even get back what you paid for them.”

CHAPTER    15

    Stats spent two full days in the hospital and not only had to suffer watching Tuesday night’s game against Baltimore on the small TV, but had to witness yet another loss.
    On Wednesday night, home at last with his good-luck props, Stats watched the Sox barely preserve a lead, four runs whittled down to one by the ninth, to finally end their longest losing streak of the season at five games. They finished the night where they began, however. They now sat in third place, five games behind the Yankees, who had also won, and three behind the Rays.
    In Baltimore on Thursday, Billee was scheduled to pitch. By then, Stats was feeling back to normal, and all he wanted to do was to cozy up to a bowl of Pops’s popcorn, watch Billee stymie the Orioles, and enjoy the game.
    In the bottom of the first, when Billee took the mound in Camden Yards, the Baltimore fans rose in support. It was heartwarming to see. Close-up shots even revealed hundreds of RedSox fans who were either from the area or die-hard supporters who had made the trip south from Boston, cheering and holding signs of encouragement.
    BEAM ME UP BILLEE!
    ORBITT’S IN A LEAGUE OF HIS ZONE.
    And three girls bounced a long colorful sign saying, BILLEE’S NUTS! HERE COME DA LEAFLUTZ!
    Well, the first batter for the Orioles should have taken note. He went down on strikes, thrashing wildly at “da leaflutz.” Sadly, though, it was the last batter Billee would retire.
    He got shelled. Nothing seemed to be working. They crushed his buckler, they hammered his dipster. Even when his leaflutz pitch induced a dribbler from the Orioles’ cleanup hitter, the usually sure-handed Sandiego Gunsalvo at first base could not come up with it. And when he finally ran it down, he threw it away.
    Run after run crossed the plate. Stats watched in horror. He saw poor Billee stand tall on the mound, looking up, repeatedly taking in deep breaths in order to calm himself and refocus. All to no avail.
    Stats muted the sound.
    Billee left the game in the first with only one out, bases loaded, and five runs across, four of them earned. The Orioles had batted around.
    For once in his life, Stats was glad he was not at the ballpark. He did not watch the commercial that came on while the reliever warmed up, even though it was a Fen-Cent messagefeaturing Matt Damon, Jimmy Fallon, and Drew Barrymore romanticizing about their days at Fenway. He did not watch any more of the game.
    So much for feeling “normal.” He could feel his heart straining under the stress of what he’d seen on TV, knowing what the Sox had just gone through.
    “What’s the deal with Billee, Freddy?” Mark asked as he walked into the room. “I just flipped on the radio, and he was already gone. Seems worse than just some curse. He say anything about feeling bad?”
    “Not as far as I know.”
    “He got chewed, glued, and tattooed.”
    “I know. I saw. What am I supposed to do about it?”
    “Hey, don’t get mad at me.”
    “I’m not. But how should I know? I’m not his pitching coach. I’m just a kid he talks to every once in a while.”
    “Okay, sorry. I didn’t mean to …”
    “He was off balance, that’s all. He’s been like that. It happens. Doesn’t mean he’s a lousy pitcher.”
    “No one ever said that. Cheese, I feel bad, too, you know. I was just wondering.”
    Mark wandered out of the room.
    Stats lay flat across the sofa cushions, the better to let the “sludge” pump through his slow-moving heart.
    A lot of possibilities ran through his mind. None of them