7th Inning Matchmaker

Strike 1

  "Are you seriously heckling someone right now?" I ask as we move with the flow of the crowd down South Capitol Street.  We're still four blocks away but I know the closer we get the more we'll feel like packed sardines.

  Elliot laughs loudly, and probably drunkenly at both the slap I give him against his chest and also my question. "Come on, man! The girl is wearing a Clemens' jersey, chances are she doesn't even know who he is, or what position he played. Probably spent a small fortune off of Ebay on it, thinking that it was a real deal and not just someone stitching on his name and number. Girls don't know their sports, Cole. Trust me, she's just thinking she's the 'it girl' because of that jersey."

   "Were you raised in a barn or something?" Another question slipping out as I start to wonder to myself how I've been friends with this man for so long. "Who taught you how to talk to women?"

  It's Gage that pops up, blonde hair hidden by his cap, over Elliot's shoulder with the answer. "My money is on his dad and uncles."

  He's probably not wrong. Elliot's mom passed away when we were all nine years old, in the third grade. It was the first real loss for any of us, being as how we'd spend the weekends taking turns for sleepovers at each other's house. But by the time we were twelve we watched Elliot's house become a revolving door for whatever woman his dad decided to move in for the month.  I'm ninety-nine percent sure that's exactly where he learned how to speak to a woman.  His mother however would tan his hide for something like that. 

  Hell, my mother would too. 

  "No wonder you're single," I casually mention, my hands stuffed into the pocket of my jeans.

  "Not true," he insists. "I'm single because there's just too much of me to give one woman." My eyes roll to the back of my head as he starts this spill of garbage again.  "If I ever find a single woman that can handle all my heckling, I'll march right down to the courthouse and make her Mrs. Elliot Garner.  And when slash if it happens, I'm sure this fella is still going to be tripping over himself while he runs to smother some unsuspecting, unwilling, woman with all of his needy puppy vibes," his elbow catches me purposely in the ribs, hard. 

So I do what any other best friend would do. I check my surroundings, make sure there's plenty of room and that I'm not about to injure someone other than him before I'm twisting him down into a real headlock.

  My feet continue moving, Elliot's dragging behind him as I pull him along, his hands slapping at my arm with each step. "Unfair advantage!" he grumbles as my grip tightens around his neck.

  "What? You don't wanna put a fight?" I growl, teasing him further as he scrambles along while I'm not even breaking a sweat. "All that big talk coming from a guy who never played a contact sport? Not my fault you chose to be best friends with a two time All American in wrestling."

  His clawing at my arm finally changes to a tap out and I release him, smiling while he sputters along, catching his breath as his red face begins to lighten up. "You gonna go apologize for the heckling?"

  Elliot looks at me in disbelief, his face scowling, "No. Heckling is a part of sports."

  "She's not a player, idiot! You heckle the players, the ump, the refs, but not a fellow fan."

  Gage steps in, "I'm gonna jump in on this one. A Sox fan is not a fellow fan, Cole. So, while I don't agree with the heckling of what could be a very pretty woman, I do however believe that all of Sox Nation should be heckled."

  "I give up," I concede as we step up onto the last curb and stand in front of the entrance. "However, if you start flirting with a girl today I will have zero problems  telling her what a grade A douche you actually are."

  A hearty laugh fills our ears. "And if you actually hit on a woman today, I'll find that girl and apologize for the first time in my life."

  "Okay, okay," I agree to this wager. A stadium full of women, some of which I hope are single, has decent odds. Will they be in my favor though still stands to be seen.

  We scan our tickets, entering the park along with what feels like at least half of Washington, D.C.   "You need a Nats cap, Cole. Or a jersey, or something. You sit in the stands without any team apparel and people are gonna think you're for the other team."

  "Not interested," I tell Gage, my head swiveling to take in the crowd as we make our way over to our section. "How'd you get seats along the first base line, anyway?"

  "You don't want him to answer that," Gage assures me. Which is code for a random hook up that lasted just long enough to secure the seats. A glare is shot right to Elliot who gives the cheesiest grin and shrugs. "Had to get something good out of it."

  One would wonder why we're friends, especially considering we are night and day. Elliot thinks only with the brain between his legs, main goal is always who will be warming his bed within the next couple of nights. I'm the one who thrives off the idea of romance and a relationship, my biggest desire is finding someone to spend all my nights with. 

  "I swear," he continues, turning his body and walking backwards so he can chide me, "you are as boring as a wet rag, man."  

  I open my mouth to warn him to watch where he's walking, discovering now that it's about a half a second too late as he bumps into the back of a woman that just stepped out of a concession stand line. 

  He jerks around, a little sway in his body as he's already had a good four beers before we started the trek to the stadium. He begins blurting out an apology of sorts as she turns around, the Boston Red Sox jersey covered in what looks to be nacho cheese. The nacho suspicion is confirmed by the crunch of chips under both Elliot and the woman's feet. 

  "Are you kidding me?" she nearly growls in agitation. "Watch where you're going."

  "Where's the fun in all that? If I had been watching where I was going then I wouldn't have gotten to see your pretty face," he attempts to charm her. 

  She bites back quickly. "Is that suppose to win me over?" she smarts. "I mean, seems like you might be a bit blind. I brought an extra pair of glasses for the umpire, but if you think you need them more than him..."

  Her voice trails off while Gage and I both have our fist up over our wide open mouths, "Oh!" we exclaim, ribbing our friend. 

  "You may want them for yourself, Princess.  Looks like you don't know what real baseball is anyways, wearing a Sox jersey." 

  The woman begins to sniffle, her eyes blinking rapidly as the tips of her fingers come up to her lips. "Give me a break," she ends her fake crying. "The Sox have 9 World Series in their pocket. How many do the Nats have? Oh, that's right, one."  She turns on her heel, white Converse sneakers crunching down on her spilled snack.

  That's when we all notice the name on the back of the jersey. "Clemens sucks!" Elliot yells once more through the crowd. 

  The brunette flips him off while yelling out, "Get some new material," over her shoulder.

  I smack my friend on the back. "I like her," I announce to both of them with a wide grin.

*Unedited