#sandford garner

She wants to press that point, dig into that bruise a little more. Maybe it’s unfair to compare the San Francisco Lovers of decades ago, from before she even knew they existed, to the team that she’s on now. But everyone here seems content with losing soundly and repeatedly.

Which, fine, Mint’s okay with it too. But he wants to know about the Lovers before. The Lovers from the days of high romance and retaking San Francisco, the Lovers when they were at the peak of what they believed. And if it takes a little teasing? He’ll tease away.

Sure enough, Percy turns around and yells down the hall, “Theo! Do you ever wish we won a championship?”

“Absolutely not,” Theo’s voice floats down the hall. “Wings deserved it.”

“And tomorrow we’re going to be the first ever underchampions.” Sandford gives Mint a significant look, mouth quirked up in a smile. “Haven’t you ever wanted to make history?”

The Georgias were the first team in their league to ascend, not that Mint’s about to say that. Instead she says, “Didn’t a bunch of you already do that?”

“I mean blaseball history, not local history.”

Mint taps her chin. “I don’t know, I feel like I’ve heard a story about something with birds and a game that wouldn’t end—”

Horne groans loudly. “Oh, who told you about this story? We’ve all had bad games.”

“I’ve never had a bad game,” Mint says with as much loftiness as he can muster. Percy and Sandford make eye contact, and Mint has to bite her tongue so she doesn’t whine at them. “Never!”

“We know,” Horne says. “I’m not telling you about Crowvertime.”

Mint gasps. “It has a name?”