Playing the Game Read Free Page B

your
style if you want to make it to the finals.”
    Not too bad. I nodded and turned to the
always evil witch Marissa. She, of course, agreed with Richard.
“You hardly moved. You need to get into the music. Pretend that you
wrote it. Sing it with more feeling. I’ll allow you to move on only
because I know there were worse performances than yours.”
    “ Thanks,” I said with my
dimpled smile and stepped back in line. The things I muttered to
myself about Marissa were things I was certain my mother wouldn't
approve.
    Finally the ‘worst five’ performed and two
were booted. I groaned for one of them was a young man I thought
had potential to woe the largely female audience. I'd hoped he’d be
a shoo-in for the National Anthem thing.
    Of course that was not to be. Not with my
luck. As Memorial Day raced closer, my popularity on the show and
online grew. After the second show, someone dubbed me The American
Sweetheart and the name stuck. My mother absolutely loved it. My
father grunted in his recliner. My sister laughed hysterically. Me,
I puked.
    I blamed my mother for that horrid moniker.
She chose my outfits, my music, even the way I wore my hair. She
had me looking like an overgrown, brunette Shirley Temple.
    I became obsessive over the National Anthem
voting and checked it hourly. I voted as many times as I could, for
other people, but it didn’t matter. I was a hometown girl, even
though the show was televised nationally, and the people of
Indianapolis wanted their Sweetheart singing for their Racers. It
further hurt my chances of losing that all the remaining
contestants were from places like Chicago and Cleveland. No other
Indianapolis natives had survived.
    So I began to deal with the latest hand
dealt by fate. I watched more and more Racers game in preparation
for seeing Jess in the flesh. Maybe.
    A new idea buoyed my spirits as I began to
observe others singing the National Anthem. They didn’t appear to
have any contact whatsoever with the players. Hopefully, I’d be
shuffled in and out so quickly, Jess wouldn’t even notice. That was
my dream anyway and I stuck to it like flypaper.
    I allowed myself to get more excited about
the show. I even shook off Marissa and Richard’s nasty remarks the
last week before Memorial Day. Who cared? The other three judges
obviously loved my – gag – sweetheart image and passed me on to the
next week easily.
    But I did worry to some degree what Richard
kept pounding into my head. He was right, I admitted. I wasn’t
getting into my music like I usually did. Maybe once the whole
Memorial Day crap was over I would be able to just let the music
flow over me again. I must be too tense.
    The Friday before Memorial Day, my mother
received a call from Miguel with instructions for the game. I was
resigned to the fact that I would be doing it and blocked Jess
Rivers from my brain. It would totally suck if The American
Sweetheart forgot the words to the National Anthem.
    ***
    Indianapolis Racers Stadium was decked out
for Memorial Day. Red, white, and blue banners hung everywhere and
soldiers dressed in camouflage roamed the concourse. My mother,
Miguel, and I followed the PR man for the Racers to a sort of
holding area near the field. My hands trembled as I ignored the
players – some close enough for me to touch – saunter out of the
dugout to warm up.
    Jess was pitching today. I’d known that for
awhile. Like I said, I’d worked out the five man rotation and
figured it in my head the day Miguel told us of this dreaded
event.
    From my own, personal training of the
singing of the National Anthem, I learned that the starting pitcher
usually warmed up in the bullpen which was located on the far end
of the stadium, near left field. Far enough away from the dugout
which was where I was to exit and enter the field. I figured I was
safe.
    But nothing had prepared me for the throwing
of the first pitch. A local soldier had that honor, thankfully, but
who else would catch it but