The good part of being in Philly is remaining in Tommy’s time zone. He’s got Arizona coming in for three games while we’re in Philly for the same, two nights, one day. I’m upbeat over our plans, anticipation already starting to fill the gap between us.
I pitch reasonably well, going seven innings while giving up just two runs. We win, and soon as I’m in the clubhouse, I check on Tommy’s game, then his stats. Not good. More strikeouts in a six-three loss. The cabin in the woods suddenly seems very far away.
Our forced separations are way past getting old, yet they always feel new, at least at first. Likely the result of our intensity when together. Just as we acclimate, we part, essentially starting over for the umpteenth time. I get some of that now, as off-balance as Tommy’s swing. I call him around midnight.
“Wish I was there,” I tell him.
“Me, too,” he says with a sigh. “I could use some distraction, among other things. How’d you do? I didn’t check yet.”