Chapter 12

I drove Sandy home from the airport and offered to take her to dinner. She declined, but asked me if I'd stop by a supermarket on the way to her house so she could pick up a few items and not have to go back out again. Pleased at the opportunity to spend a little more time with her, I agreed.

We tooled around the supermarket with Sandy's shopping cart like an old married couple. I thought about getting a few things for my own use, but decided against it, just in case Sandy decided to invite me in, back at her place.

On the way to her house from the supermarket, I resumed thanking her, as I'd been doing -- probably too frequently -- all the way back from Cincinnati. With Paul Warren's permission, I'd flown back with Sandy on a commercial flight, instead of accompanying the club.

"It's OK, Josh," she kept saying. I could tell she was getting a little impatient with me. I guess I was acting too much like a loser.

"Listen," I said, "we're going to have to work out some sort of professional relationship, here. I'm taking up all your time, and you're not even getting paid."

"Josh, you paid all my expenses on this trip! I've been eating in good restaurants, living in hotels I would never book with my own money. You don't owe me anything."

"Now that we're back, I'm still going to want you to come to the games. I know that eats into your free time. I want to pay you something."

"You're only back here for a week," Sandy said, "and then you guys are traveling again to Toronto and Atlanta. Josh, with or without pay, I really don't want to make that next road trip!"

"I need you, Sandy!"

"No. No, period! I'm going to come to your games, here in Baltimore. But that's all! That's absolutely, positively it!"

"If the streak is still alive when we leave for Toronto, would you come then?"

"Josh. Goddamn it! No! I just told you! Streak or no streak, when you leave for Toronto, I'm not going with you. Now, my suggestion is, you grow up and realize that it's not my being there that's helping you on the field, it's your own natural ability."

"Could I come in? For coffee?"

"No, Josh, because I'm worn out and I want to put on some loose clothes and just flop down somewhere. You want to take me home tomorrow night, after the game, that would be fine. But not tonight."

"OK, Sandy. And thanks again."

She was right. Our relationship was all off-kilter. I was thoroughly pussy-whipped, and I wasn't even getting any pussy. I had put Sandy up on a pedestal and was treating her like a porcelain doll, not like a real human being. I wasn't treating her like a therapist, either. I was being way too needy. And in my neediness, I was being whiny and demanding, too.

But, wow, next week when we left town for New York, it was going to be tough, knowing she wouldn't be there for the games. Even so, I decided I was through begging. It made me ashamed of myself, begging like that -- and then thanking her all the time when she gave me my way. It was bordering on being servile.

So, OK. She wasn't going to accompany the club on the next road trip. We had six home games in the next seven days. The immediate goal was clear -- keep the streak going for six more games.

Well, Sandy was right there in the front row, sitting next to Amy Parkison close to the Orioles' dugout, for our opening game against the Astros. The DH rule was back in effect, so I was the DH and Rick Scranton was starting at second. Paul had me batting second in the order, so I was likely to get some chances to knock in runs or at least to advance base runners, and I was likely to get five plate appearances in most games. Everything looked good for keeping the streak going. I could worry about the road trip next week.

Only, Andy Pettitte and two of Houston's fine relievers combined to stop me, that very first night back. My 20-game hitting streak was history.