A/N: Apparently I lied about no more baseball.
Designated Hitter
Steve snacked on the remaining pizza while they watched "Through the Eyes of a Winner," a DVD about the Dodgers 1988 season. Leslie had original owned the Beta tape, but when it looked like it would be impossible to watch Beta any more, a friend at work had transferred it to the up-and-coming DVD format.
Steve snacked on apples and the remaining pizza, while they watched the documentary unfold. They had to pause it every so often for lessons on reheating pizza.
Steve decided he'd rather eat it cold than floppy from being microwaved. The toaster oven worked well for up to two pieces, but Steve had a little more than a full pie's worth of leftovers. The sensible thing was to put it all in the oven at a low temperature, so Steve could fetch a couple of slices whenever he wanted.
Leslie munched on apple slices, glad to see Steve eating as much as he wanted, while learning how more kitchen appliances worked.
When he got down to the last two slices, Steve hesitated and asked if Leslie wanted to save them for herself.
"Take them if you want to," she assured him. "We have dinner in the slow cooker and plenty to cook for tomorrow. If you don't want them, we can save them. But if you do, eat them up and turn off the oven."
Steve set the last slices on a plate with another apple, turned off the oven carefully and came back to the couch.
He had to admit he was enjoying watching the Dodgers' winning season, even if their shirts read "Los Angeles" instead of "Brooklyn."
He was amazed by Hershiser's scoreless innings streak and he cheered for Mickey Hatcher's "stuntmen," the back up players who filled in brilliantly when injuries took out starting players. After seeing the ups and downs of the season, Steve better appreciated the impact of Gibson's home run in the first game of the World Series and was unsurprised by Hershiser shutting out the A's in the second game.
But he frowned when the narrative got to the third game. He picked up the remote and hit pause, just like any modern armchair quarterback. Leslie was so proud.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the lineup listed onscreen. "DH, what's that?"
"Oh, right. In the 1970s, the American League instituted the designated hitter rule. The DH doesn't play defense, he only bats in place of a lesser hitter, usually the pitcher who, after all, only gets to play one game out of four."
Steve was open-mouthed in outrage. "But then they're not full ballplayers, they're just half ballplayers."
"You're preaching to the choir, Rogers. That's a main point of contention between American League fans and National League fans. They say it makes the game more exciting. There are more hits and more runs. NL fans like the maneuvering the managers have to do, deciding when to take a pitcher out and when to make a double switch. Personally, there's nothing more exciting than an intentional walk to get to the pitcher, who then whacks the ball into centerfield for a run-scoring double." Leslie pointed at the screen. "When you get a series like this, with NL vs. AL, you play by the home team's rules. So the first two games in the '88 Series, National League rules. Now that they've gone to Oakland, they bring up the designated hitters."
"Huh," Steve said, trying to wrap his mind around the change. Then he caught up with Leslie's wording. "Wait, you said in a series like this. Isn't there just the World Series? Or are you talking about spring training?"
"Yes, spring training, but also we have something called interleague play now. For about 15 years." She looked it up. "Since 1997. It gives fans a chance to see teams they don't usually see. I'm on the fence about it, but as long as all the teams in a division see the same teams in the other league, it seems to be fair."
"Do they play all the teams in the other league?" Steve asked, because that seemed like a lot of games.
"No, just one division each year. Like, the National League West vs. the American League West. That's five teams."
"So, ten series, at home and away?" Steve guessed.
"Right. Oh, and one more thing about the DH. It helps extend the careers of some players. When they get too old or banged up to play the outfield, they can DH. In the NL, they can only pinch hit once per game, but as DH they can hit several times a game," Leslie said to be fair. "There are some excellent NL players who've spent their declining years in the AL."
"I understand," Steve said. "What other big changes have there been?"
"That's all I can think of at the moment," Leslie said. "When we watch the live game, if you see anything you don't understand, you can ask me questions."
"I'd hate to interrupt," Steve said considerately.
Leslie nodded. "Then keep your notebook handy and I'll answer questions after the game."
Steve immediately got out his notebook and a couple of pencils, so he wouldn't forget.
What with pauses for snacks or bathroom breaks or Q&A, it was after 5 p.m. when they finished the DVD. Steve had become confident with the remote control, pausing, rewinding, muting and all.
Baseball had proven to be a good visual aid to teach a little history and a little technology, without overwhelming the pupil. Leslie metaphorically patted herself on the back.
Leslie showered while Steve set the table, then they dished up the slow cooker stew. Steve ate like he hadn't eaten all week, despite the three pizzas he'd consumed. He seemed to realize it when Leslie offered him seconds.
"I'm sorry I'm being such a pig today," he said. "I don't usually eat this much. I mean, I never had this much available to eat at one time, but I've never wanted to eat this much before."
"You're not being a pig," Leslie corrected. "You look to be thinner than you ought to be. I can check with medical, but I'll bet you were underweight. The trauma of being frozen and of being thawed. I can't imagine they could feed you the calories you needed while you were unconscious, no matter how many IVs they stuck you with. You eat as much as you want. If you want more than this, I can cook you a steak or make you a Dagwood sandwich."
Steve chuckled at the notion of a two-foot tall sandwich with everything on it. "I don't know how anybody would eat one of those," he said.
"And yet, people try," Leslie said dryly. "I've got to find you some pictures of giant sandwiches. You'd be a winner at some of the eating contests around — as long as they don't involve hot wings."
Steve shuddered at the idea, then took the last helping of stew when Leslie assured him she was full.
"Are you going to want more?" she asked.
"Maybe some dessert," he said.
They had about an hour until the game was due to start. Leslie decided to fit in another cooking lesson. While Steve washed the slow cooker and put the dishes in the dishwasher, Leslie got out the brownie mix, eggs and vegetable oil. She put them in the bowl of the bright red stand mixer. (She'd have thought someone was making a patriotic statement for Captain America, but red kitchen appliances were the "in" thing.)
"I'd make cookies from scratch, but I don't want to miss the start of the game," she confessed. "Now, I want you to do this yourself."
She instructed Steve how to work the mixer. He started it too fast, and a spray of brown flour flew out, but not too much. He adjusted the speed and mixed the batter until everything was incorporated.
"Not too long, or the brownie will be tough. A few lumps are OK in this."
Steve sprayed Pam in the baking dish, then filled it with batter, spreading everything neatly and put it in the preheated oven to bake. Then he set a timer based on the box instructions.
"Bravo!" Leslie said.
Steve bowed.
They turned on the Dodger pregame. Steve listened intently, so he could better understand this team and the importance of the matchup — though in April the season was just getting started.
The brownies were done just before the first pitch and the two spectators happily nibbled on chocolaty goodness during the game. Leslie was happy that Steve got to see Clayton Kershaw pitch. The Dodgers young phenom was signed to a new contract in February, and Leslie hoped he would have a long career with the team. She was also happy to see her favorite player Andre Ethier get three hits, including a home run in the Dodgers win over the Phillies.
Out of the corner of her eye, Leslie could see Steve taking notes periodically, usually during commercials, but he didn't ask anything complicated, just the normal spectator questions about past performance and expected outcomes. "Think he'll hit it out?"
"I always think Andre will hit it out," Leslie joked. And then he did, and she cheered like a madwoman.
Sometimes Steve crossed out something he'd written. Leslie assumed the context had answered his question.
Dodgers held off a late charge from the Phillies and when closer Kenley Jansen came in, Leslie was satisfied that Steve had seen a typical good game from her favorite team.
"Think you can stand to root for an L.A. team?" she teased.
"I'll think about it," Steve teased her back.
"So, I saw you taking notes. Hit me."
"There was one of the commercials I didn't understand what they were talking about," he said hesitantly.
Please don't be Viagra, Leslie prayed silently. Please don't be Viagra."
"Can you tell me what satellite TV is?"
For one second, Leslie was happy he hadn't asked about medical stuff, then her heat sank. Now she had to describe the space program! And you can't talk about the space program without describing the Cold War. Leslie managed to not groan out loud, but her dismay was plain on her face.
Steve apologized instantly.
"No, you're right to ask questions, and this leads to an important topic," Leslie said firmly. "But can we do it tomorrow? It's 10:30," she finished plaintively.
Steve agreed. They cleaned up and went to bed.
Four hours later, Steve awoke in a silent sweat. For him, it had been mere days since he'd been sleeping in enemy territory. He focused on that mindset again, so he wouldn't make noise and wake Leslie again. He felt a little ashamed to think of this time as enemy territory, but it worked.
The dream hadn't been bad at all. He'd been standing at the altar, Bucky by his side, with his ma and the Barnes family in the front pew. Peggy had walked down the aisle on Col. Phillips' arm. As she reached his side, she smiled brightly — and then Steve woke up.
The glaring numbers on the digital clock were enough to tell him where and when he was. His disappointment was sharp, stabbing him fiercely. He lay back fighting tears. He really wished he had something to punch.
Three hours later, Leslie woke to the smell of fresh baked bread.
A/N: I have that DVD in Beta format. *Sigh* If you're a baseball fan, you might be thinking about instant replay, but baseball didn't start that until 2014, so Leslie doesn't have to explain it. The game is made up. The players were on the 2012 Dodgers.
We really, truly will go onto other things next time. Leslie needs to find a punching bag for Steve.