Just minutes before the game began, an announcement rang through Yankee Stadium that Chase O’Rourke was starting in right field as a replacement. I turned to a fan sitting next to me and asked, “Do you know what happened?”

He had earbuds stuffed in his ears. Seeing me lean close, he pulled them out and asked, “What? Can I help you?”

I repeated the question. “I thought you might be listening to some coverage of the game, and they might know more about Chase O’Rourke starting than we do.”

“Oh, yeah, this is local radio. The radio guys said the starter the fans picked has the flu. It’s a bad break for him, but I bet that rookie out there is happy. Hopefully, it’s just the start and won’t be the peak of his career.”

I settled into my seat and said, “I think I can assure you that it’s just the beginning. He has a phenomenal career ahead.”

On the way to my seat, I purchased a beer and a burger. Fortunately, none of the New York fans in the upper deck recognized me. I was able to anonymously blend in and enjoy the game unmolested.

The guy next to me pulled his earbuds out again. He was middle-aged, and he had a thick Brooklyn accent. He asked about my home. “You don’t sound like a New Yorker. Maybe it’s somewhere south or a farm in the Midwest.”

I didn’t want to share my baseball background, but I was happy to talk about geography. I said, “I grew up in Michigan in a small town on a lake. I guess that’s why I don’t sound like I’m from out here.”

He pointed at me and smiled. “I’ve taken the wife and kids out there to Michigan. We crossed the straits up north and even went to Canada. It’s beautiful territory. I love staring at all of that water.”

I leaned forward slightly to check again and see if he was sitting with a woman or any children. I asked, “Are they at home watching the game?”

“Hard telling. We divorced five years back, and the youngest of the three kids is in college. I get to see him again in a couple of weeks.”

I frowned. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was an insensitive question. Please pardon me.”

He shrugged. “No problem. The divorce was the best thing that ever happened to all of us. My ex got remarried to her high school sweetheart. I think I was always the rebound choice.”

“And you?”

He slapped my knee. “I’ve got a boyfriend, and he doesn’t like baseball. Go figure.” The man stuck the earbuds back in his ears and turned his attention to the field.

Chase made two catches in the outfield in the first inning. The first one was easy, and the second one raised a huge cheer from the crowd. He caught it with his arm raised high as he was backed up against the outfield fence.

When Chase strode to home plate to bat for the first time, I crossed my fingers hoping that he would land on base safely. As I watched him grind his back foot into the batter’s box and pull the bat back onto his right shoulder, I felt my cock stir between my legs. He was by far the sexiest player on the field. I knew it wasn’t obvious to anyone around me, but I still squirmed in my seat.

I cringed when he swung for the fences at the first pitch and missed it by a mile. The man sitting next to me tugged the earbuds out and nudged me with his elbow. He said, “That was a rookie swing if I ever saw one. He was trying to make history.”

Chase didn’t look phased by the first strike. He pounded his bat in the middle of home plate and readied himself again. To my surprise, the pitcher threw three consecutive balls. I wanted Chase to get on base, but I was hoping it would be through a base hit. No one ever remembered a player walked in an All-Star game.

Either the pitcher was going to accept the walk and throw away the next pitch, or he would challenge Chase to try and force a full count. The pitcher chose the latter strategy.

The next pitch was a fastball right down the center of the plate, and Chase swung hard, but he missed once again. I watched him reach up and rub his shoulder. I lowered my head into my hands and wondered if he came back from the freak shoulder injury too fast.

I heard, “You like this kid, don’t you?” from the man next to me.

I nodded in agreement and said, “Yeah, I like him. I used to live in Charlotte. He’s the star of the franchise.”

“And that tall, skinny reliever,” said the man. “I thought it was the end when they sent him down south, but he’s throwing some of the best balls of his career.”

Easy does it, Chase echoed in my head. He only needed a single. He didn’t need to impress anyone with a home run. He had many more All-Star games in the future to try and rival the game’s greats.

Like he was trying to prove that he heard me, Chase powered the next pitch into the gap between the second baseman and the shortstop. He rounded first base with a massive smile on his face. I could see it from the upper deck. I elbowed the man next to me and said, “I guess he’s not so bad after all.”

Chase advanced to second base on a fielder’s choice, and he reached third on a sacrifice fly. He bounced up and down on the base releasing nervous energy with two outs and no score in the bottom of the first inning.

Kyle Waldron, the league’s leader in home runs, stepped up to the plate. He was a mountain of a batter. He was six feet four inches tall and pushed 250 lbs. I used film of Kyle to show hitters one of the best natural long-ball strokes in the business. Kyle played first base and was surprisingly fast and nimble for his size.

He only needed a single to score Chase from third base, but I wasn’t averse to the idea of seeing him send the ball over the fence. The pitcher ran the count to full again, and then Kyle got his pitch.

At least that’s what it looked like on the way to the plate, but Kyle misjudged his swing. He hit the ball, and it bounced just past the pitcher’s mound. Chase was already breaking for home plate, and he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t afford any hesitation either.

I watched Chase slide head first into home plate. The throw to the plate was wide and off the mark, but the catcher swung his mitt down toward Chase’s shoulder like he was making a tag anyway. As the glove connected with the joint, it looked more like a thrown punch than a tag. The sound of contact resonated in the stadium.

I jumped to my feet when I saw Chase roll over grabbing his shoulder in apparent agony. Three players, including Mo, two coaches, and the manager rushed out of the dugout to attend to their stricken player.

Turning to the man next to me, I shouted, “That was deliberate. That wasn’t a tag. He didn’t have the ball, and the mitt slammed the rookie’s injured shoulder.”

The man said, “You seem to know an awful lot about Chase O’Rourke. Is he a relative? Did you go to high school with him? I thought O’Rourke was from Missouri. I know that much about him.”