Human growth hormones were banned, with a strict MLB ruling that required a fifty-game suspension for a first-time offense. A second offense was a one-hundred-game suspension, which was nothing next to the third offense—life banishment from the majors.

Harsh, but extremely effective. The MLB was just as hard on banned stimulants. A second test for those resulted in an automatic twenty-five game suspension.

Red, a firm old-schooler from the days before the commissioner had stopped the steroid use, rolled his eyes. “The new regulations are shit.”

“Oh boy,” Tucker muttered to Pace. “Here we go.”

“Well, Jesus on a stick,” Red griped. “They put athletes on the cover of the Wheaties box and say the cereal gives you strength, but a guy can’t take something to promote that strength? Should we ban Wheaties then? Hell, let’s also ban Tylenol while we’re at it.” He said this so vigorously he started coughing.

Tucker sighed and smacked him on the back. “Maybe we should ban your cigarettes, Dad. How about that?” He turned to Pace. “The vitamins are all natural. Nothing manufactured, no drugs in the mix. Ty’s been taking them and his energy level is way up.”

Ty occasionally had a problem with his energy levels, something left over from the leukemia he’d faced as a teen. Or more correctly, the meds he’d taken to fight the disease.

In any case, in theory Pace understood the appeal of enhancers. Pro athletes were paid to be strong. If there were drugs to help build strength and muscle, then that’s what some would choose to do. It was life. It just wasn’t for him, simply because while he believed certain drugs absolutely could make him stronger, he didn’t believe strength was what made a pitcher. Pitching came from a complexity of arm and shoulder movements combined with the science involved in directing the baseball.

“Just try them for a week,” Tucker said at the look on Pace’s face. “I swear you’ll feel like a new man.”

With his doctor’s prognosis ringing in his ear, Pace nodded. A little extra boost, whether real or perceived, couldn’t possibly hurt.

“What’s the matter with you?” Red asked. “You seem off.”

“Just tired.”

“Yeah?” Red’s sharp gaze ran over him. “Or maybe you have a late date and want us out?”

“Jesus, Dad,” Tucker muttered.

“What? Women throw themselves at him in every city we go to. Did I tell you in Dallas someone left their panties on his hotel room door?”

“Well, lucky him.” Tucker rolled his eyes in sympathy at Pace. “Sorry. He actually still believes sex takes away from a guy’s game.”

“It does!” Red insisted.

A sentiment Pace wholeheartedly disagreed with, but it wasn’t as if sex was on the table for the evening anyway.