It had been one of those days where everything that could go wrong, did. Tanner Houck stood in front of his locker, shoulders slumped, staring down at the cleats that had served him well over the past few years but now felt like a heavy burden. The day’s game had been a disaster from start to finish, and now the weight of a potential career shift was pressing down on him like a thousand-pound stone.
The outing had started like any other. Houck had walked out to the mound with a confident stride, glancing over to the dugout where his teammates were cheering him on. It was a feeling of comfort, of routine. He’d been here before. The ball felt good in his hand, and his delivery had been smooth in warmups. But as soon as the first batter stepped into the box, something was off.
The first pitch was a fastball—a pitch that had been his bread and butter for years. But it sailed high and outside, a missed target. The next pitch, a slider, was even worse—way off the plate, easily laid off by the batter. The count quickly ran to 2-0, and Houck’s usual confidence began to falter. He was trying to fight through it, to get back into his rhythm, but the more he threw, the more the ball seemed to dance away from him.
By the third inning, it was clear that this wasn’t going to be one of those days where Houck found his groove. He was missing his spots, unable to get any movement on his pitches, and worst of all—his control was gone. The ball was leaking into hitter’s sweet spots, and one by one, batters were punishing him. A double, a home run, and then another double. It was like watching a train derail in slow motion, and there was nothing Houck could do to stop it.
His pitch count was climbing, and before he knew it, he had given up five runs. Five runs in three innings, and the bullpen was already warming up. In the stands, the murmurs started, and the coaches in the dugout exchanged uncomfortable glances. This was not the performance they had expected, not the performance that had once made Houck such a promising prospect.
When the manager finally came out to the mound, Houck didn’t even need to hear the words. The look on the coach’s face said it all. He had been pulled from the game.
As he trudged back to the dugout, the noise of the crowd, the jeers, and the disappointed sighs of his teammates were almost deafening. He tried to ignore it, to focus on what had gone wrong, but the doubts began to creep in.
Was his spot in the rotation in jeopardy? Had he just blown his chance to stay in the majors?
There had been whispers about Houck’s future, especially with the competition heating up. Bello, Giolito, Crawford, Fitts—they were all waiting for their turn to shine, all waiting for a crack in Houck’s armor. It wasn’t just about the bad outing today. It was the fact that this had been a recurring theme. The inconsistency, the inability to find that edge he once had, had been evident for weeks.
As Houck sat in the dugout, his head hanging low, his mind kept running through the roster. The current pitching staff was packed with talent—Crochet, Buehler, Newcomb. There was even a chance Dobbins could slip in if he kept performing. But what about Houck? He had been one of the key players in the rotation for a while, but now? His performance had opened the door for the others to step in, and the competition was only going to get fiercer as the days went on.
He thought about Priester, too. The young pitcher had been sent to Boston with high hopes but hadn’t gotten the chance he deserved. Priester had the potential, but the system was crowded, and in the end, he had become just another name on the list of pitchers who didn’t quite fit in. It was hard not to feel for him, but Houck couldn’t dwell on it too long. His own future was on the line.
The thought that if he didn’t turn it around soon, he might lose his rotation spot for good was enough to send a cold chill down his spine. The injured list was starting to clear up, and once that happened, the team would have fewer excuses for keeping a struggling pitcher around. If Houck didn’t prove himself in the next few days, there was a real chance he could be sent to the bullpen—or worse, sent down altogether.
The rest of the game felt like a blur. His mind kept drifting back to his place on the roster, but there was little he could do now. The game was already lost, and the damage to his reputation had already been done. As the final out was recorded and the team trudged off the field, the weight of it all was undeniable.
In the locker room, Houck tried to keep his head low as the others talked about the game. The silence surrounding him felt heavy. No one was openly critical, but it was clear that everyone was aware of the reality. Houck had to prove himself, and soon. If he kept pitching like this, he’d be out of the rotation in no time.
The following day, the coaches would be meeting to discuss the lineup, the rotation, and the roster. Houck knew what that meant. Bello had been pitching lights out in his few appearances, Giolito had the pedigree, and Crawford had been solid as ever. Fitts was showing some promise too. If he didn’t turn things around, there were plenty of arms waiting to take his place.
“Houck, we need to talk,” the pitching coach said, breaking him from his thoughts.
Tanner turned to face him, heart pounding in his chest.
“Sit down,” the coach said, motioning to the bench. “You’ve got the stuff, Tanner. You’ve shown it before. But right now, it’s not there. We need you to work through this, but we also need to be honest. You can’t keep putting up outings like that. The rotation is going to be competitive. You’re going to have to fight for your spot, and if you don’t find your rhythm soon, we might have to consider other options.”
The coach didn’t need to say anything more. Houck could hear the unspoken words. Time was running out. If he wanted to remain a starter, he needed to find his groove, fast.
As the coach walked away, Houck felt the weight of his future press even harder on his chest. It wasn’t just about today—it was about every single day moving forward. The window was closing, and if he didn’t get it together soon, the team would move on without him. He had no more time to waste. He had to find himself again, or risk being left behind.