Junior Year Box Set

“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.