Luke Scott Watching the Election Results

May 30, 2012; St. Petersburg, FL, USA; Tampa Bay Rays designated hitter Luke Scott (30) reacts in the dugout against the Chicago White Sox at Tropicana Field. Chicago White Sox defeated the Tampa Bay Rays 4-3. Mandatory Credit: Kim Klement-US PRESSWIRE

Luke Scott is watching the election results. He is alone and he is drinking an American beer. A lager. Light. He doesn’t really care which kind, they all taste about the same and they all make him feel about the same. Luke Scott is sitting in front of his television. He sees men in suits and women with smart haircuts. They’re talking loud and touching screens and there are numbers everywhere.

Luke Scott thought he would feel more nervous than he does. More anxious. Mostly he just feels tired. The people on the screen are talking. They’ve been talking for a long time. They will talk for a long time yet. He takes a drink from his beer, holds the bottle up to his eye. He squints, looks through the brown glass. The room is dark and distorted. The television still glowing. He swirls the remains of the bottle around in a circle in front of his face. He lowers the bottle to his lips and drinks the last of the liquid. It tastes thin and metallic, dry and bitter, too warm. Luke Scott stands up and heads to the kitchen for another.

Luke Scott sits down again. He looks at his phone. No messages, no calls. He thinks about phoning his agent, maybe. What time is it there? How many hours different? It’s probably too late, anyway. Forget it. He scratches his beard, tilts his head to the side. He takes a long pull from the bottle in his hand. It’s almost empty already. These things happen. Beer like sex on the beach. The numbers on the screen scroll. The maps move and zoom and swirl. The colors, blue and red, they’re starting to blur a bit. Red, White and Blue. The Stars and Bars. America.

Luke Scott stands up. He leaves the empty bottle behind. He turns off the television. He stands alone in the dark room and he closes his eyes. His gravity leaves him. The ceiling spins. 53%. 47%. 172. 184. 270 to win. Luke Scott thinks about baseball. About the grass and the dirt and the smell and the sounds. He thinks about his father. He hears the crowd, roaring. He hears the wall of noise and he hears individual voices within that wall. They know him. They say his name. They say good job. They cheer him on.

Kyle writes baseball nonsense at The Trance of Waiting. You can follow him on Twitter @AgainstKyle.