The last twenty-four hours seemed like something from a dream, like Tommy had died and gone to heaven. He broke into a broad smile as he soaked in the intoxicating aura of the Braves clubhouse and dressed for a home game against the Miami Marlins. For the first time, he was putting on an Atlanta Braves uniform. He stared down at the embroidered tomahawk on the front and tapped it for good luck. Then he turned the jersey around and admired his name above the number “55.”
One of his new teammates stopped by Tommy’s cubicle to meet him. “Hey, rook, congratulations on the call,” reliever Patrick Walker said. “I’ve heard good things about you, but remember, this ain’t Single-A. Everybody can hit a fastball up here.”
That icy skepticism seemed to pervade the clubhouse. Some of the players were
