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Friday

Summary:

Day 5 of vacation -- getting ready for the game

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“I got it,” Derek called to the back of the house. He grinned when he opened the front door to Penelope. “Baby Girl, I didn’t think you liked baseball.”

Penelope was dressed head to toe in Washington Nationals colors. She turned to show off. She wore a Stephen Strasburg jersey and had a small W painted on her cheek. Red, silver, and blue glitter glinted in her hair. However, her smile stopped just short of her eyes and her voice held a slight edge. “I love baseball. It’s a thinking person’s sport where anything and everything can happen. We could see a no hitter or a triple play or a man steal home.”

Derek looked down at his simple Nats t shirt. He snickered. “I feel underdressed.”

“You always look good, you know that,” Penelope retorted but it lacked her usual spark.

Derek gave a mock innocent look. “I try not to toot my own horn.”

“Right,” Penelope drawled. She stopped looking at him. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. “Last year, JJ, Prentiss, Seaver, and I had a girl’s night at the ballpark.” She took a deep breath and the rest of her words came out in a rush. “It was against the Phillies. We ate junk food, drank beer, taught Seaver how to fill out a scorecard, and the Nats actually won. You remember we couldn’t beat the Phillies to save our lives last year. To celebrate, we all got jerseys.”

Derek’s smile softened. He gently took her arm and tugged her inside. He shut the door. “London isn’t the end of the Earth.”

Penelope pouted. She jerked her arm away and hugged her arms across her chest. “But I don’t understand why Emily has to leave.”

Derek put an arm around Penelope’s shoulders. “Prentiss has to find herself again.” He gave a squeeze. “I’ll miss her too.”

Penelope stomped her foot. “It’s not right. We finally got the family back together. We weren’t supposed to split up.”

Derek held Penelope still at arms length. He peered into her face. “Emily will only be a phone call or email away.”

“I know,” Penelope whined. She glared at Derek defiantly and stuck her bottom lip out. “But it still sucks.”

Derek hugged her. “You still got me and Dave. There’s also JJ, Hotch, and Reid.”

Penelope hugged him back tightly. “You’re not allowed to leave me.”

Derek kissed the side of her head. “I won’t. I promise. Do you have your bag for the cabin?”

“In the car. Is Reid here yet?”

“On the back deck with Dave.”

Penelope let out a long suffering sigh. “I hope Boy Genius is at least dressed appropriately.”

Derek chuckled. “Baby Girl, he doesn’t own any sports t shirts, but at least he’s wearing navy blue.”

“No red?”

“Can you really imagine him in red?”

Meanwhile, Dave half listened to Spencer rattling off statistics. He was more interested in Spencer’s body language and the way Spencer sat hunched over as if to protect himself. However, he couldn’t help the sigh and contemplating drilling a hole in his head when Spencer launched into sabermetrics.

“On the pitching side, one of the best new stats is defense-independent pitching statistics. It’s a measure of a pitcher's effectiveness based only on plays that do not involve fielders: home runs allowed, strikeouts, hit batters, walks, and, more recently, fly ball percentage, ground ball percentage, and to much a lesser extent line drive percentage,” Spencer said, hardly pausing for breath.

Dave barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “But don’t all of these different sabermetrics sites have different ways of calculating these new stats?”

“Yes,” Spencer admitted and continued quickly before Dave could reply. “But they’re not all that different. I looked up Jordan Zimmerman’s stats before I came here. He has a .281 BABIP, 45.5% ground ball rate, an 8.9 fly ball to homerun ratio, 3.64 xFIP, and a 3.2 WAR.”

“And he’s also 9-7 with a 2.54 ERA and 116 Ks.” Dave arched an eyebrow. “How did baseball survive for a hundred years using ERA, innings pitched, wins, and Ks?”

Spencer sat up straight. “But ERA is a team stat,” he answered as if that was the end of it. “Think about it. A pitcher’s ERA is affected by the defense behind him. Wins are the result of run support.”

“And baseball’s a team sport.”

“That also celebrates records and performances by individuals.”

One end of Dave’s mouth quirked up. “And what kind of records do fans remember, Reid? Wins. Saves. Homeruns. Nolan Ryan is the all time strikeout king. He was one of the fiercest competitors I’ve ever seen. Nobody cares what Ryan’s xFIP or WAR was. I don’t care what those eggheads say. There is such a thing as clutch. He was clutch and no one could say that they wouldn’t take him on their team.”

Spencer hunched over again his chair. “Actually, if you look at his career numbers…”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Please, don’t. You’re talking to a hopeless old schooler. Don’t tell Derek, but I don’t like the wildcard.”

Spencer bit his nails. “Fine.”

Dave held his hands up. “I’m not saying that there’s no place for sabermetrics but they don’t make classic stats obsolete. I don’t like those guys who dismiss the old school baseball men who know what they’re talking about. Come to me when a guy like Billy Beane has won something.”

“What about Tampa Bay? That franchise is built on Beane’s model and is competitive with Boston and New York.”

Dave nodded. “Okay. Point taken. Isn’t there room for both?”

Spencer thought on that for a moment. “I suppose.”

They were both silent for a long moment after that. Dave continued to watch Spencer, who refused to meet his gaze. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

Spencer jerked and then shot Dave a sheepish look. “I’ll be all right. I just don’t know how to feel about it.”

“I think you’ve made your feelings very clear,” Dave said dryly, deliberately misunderstanding.

Spencer bit his lip. “Not about that. I don’t know how to feel about her right now. I’m sad. I’m angry. I’m confused. And I miss her already.”

Dave sat forward and tapped Spencer’s knee. He gave an encouraging smile. “And that’s okay.”

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