ALCS Blue Jays Indians Baseball

Cleveland Indians catcher Roberto Perez, left, and starting pitcher Josh Tomlin celebrate as they leave the field during the fifth inning in Game 2 of baseball's American League Championship Series in Cleveland, Saturday, Oct. 15, 2016.

(AP photo)

CLEVELAND, Ohio -- The bases were loaded, the count was full and the stakes in the bottom of the ninth sent tremors of unease to everyone nearby.

An imposing slugger waited in the batter's box for Josh Tomlin's next offering, a pitch that, to the right-hander, carried the weight of the world.

At least, that was the fantasy.

The reality painted a slightly different portrait. A 4-year-old Tomlin peered in at his father, Jerry, who sat on a bucket and asked his son which pitch he wanted to toss in such a precarious -- and imaginary -- position.

"Let's go fastball."

Tomlin fired a fastball. Strike three.

"We'd jump up and throw our gloves," Tomlin said.

Fantasy doesn't always remain fantasy. There's always that chance it migrates to the side of reality.

Tomlin will stand on the mound at Wrigley Field on Friday night, with the October spotlight directed his way. He'll gaze at his catcher's fingers. Maybe Roberto Perez will signal for a heater. Maybe he'll call for a curveball. There won't be any bucket.

Jerry, 57, will be in the stands, watching his son on the game's grand stage. To Tomlin, it still seems like a fantasy, especially when considering the figurative path his father -- who is paralyzed from the chest down -- will have traveled to arrive in Chicago.

"It will mean everything," Tomlin said.

Jerry was working at a power plant in Whitehouse, Texas, in August when he felt a burning sensation in his stomach. Ultimately, that feeling vanished. So, too, did every feeling from his chest down to his toes.

Tomlin received word that his father had fallen ill, and it took some time for doctors to determine that Jerry suffered an arteriovenous malformation, a tangle of blood vessels on his spinal cord, which required surgery.

"I told him many times, I said, 'The minute you feel like you want to be home, even if it's for your mom, we'll handle this,'" said Tribe manager Terry Francona. "He had a lot going on. That was tough."

The Indians placed Tomlin on the family medical emergency list. Mike Seghi, the team's traveling secretary, arranged for a private jet to take Tomlin to his hometown. He was one of the first people to greet his father following his procedure.

"I can't imagine how hard it was for him and how difficult of a situation it was to go through," said teammate Corey Kluber.

Doctors don't know if he'll walk again, but this is Jerry, after all.

This is the guy who handled kickoff coverage for his high school football team. Jerry always broke up the opposition's wedge. This is the guy who constantly calls Tomlin during the off-season and suggests that they go cut down some trees to store up on firewood for the winter. This is the guy who Tomlin described as "a very intense individual," who never shied away from yelling at his baseball players for lollygagging.

"I don't think what has happened to him right now will faze him one bit," Tomlin said.

Tomlin had to operate in the same fashion when he returned to the team after a few days in Texas. That wasn't a simple task; he stumbled through a miserable month of August, during which he posted an 11.48 ERA. The dreadful stretch temporarily cost him a spot in the starting rotation.

"It was tough not to think about [my dad]," Tomlin said, "but once you step in between those lines, you have a job to do and you can't worry about what's going on off the field. I don't think it had any bearing on the failures that I was having in the month of August.

"It was one of those things -- when stuff was going bad, everything was going bad."

Tomlin served up 10 home runs in six August starts, which lasted a grand total of 26 2/3 innings.

"I was trying to throw a complete-game shutout with one pitch in every game," he said. "It just kind of sped up on me. I was trying to compensate for how bad I was doing that month as opposed to taking it one pitch at a time."

That's not the way he learned it in his family's yard in Whitehouse, Texas. That's not what the guy on the bucket would have advised.

Tomlin hasn't seen his dad since he left Texas two months ago, though he talks with his parents on a daily basis. In that time, Tomlin has rediscovered his form on the mound, has delivered a pair of dazzling postseason pitching performances and, of course, has popped some champagne and downed a few cans of Budweiser.

On the day the Indians secured their first World Series berth in 19 years -- also Tomlin's 32nd birthday -- his father was released from the Baylor Institute for Rehabilitation. A little more than a week later, he'll venture to Chicago, with his wife, Elana, and Tomlin's aunt and uncle.

"He's one of the toughest individuals I've ever met in my life," Tomlin said. "He never shies away from anything."

They'll spend time together Thursday night, when Tomlin's family arrives and checks in at the same hotel. The next evening, Tomlin will stand, his right heel brushing up against the pitching rubber, and look to Perez for a sign. Perez won't be sitting on a bucket. The bases might not be loaded. Tomlin likely won't make it to the bottom of the ninth.

But he'll be pitching in a World Series game, with his dad in attendance, in a wheelchair. That moment of elation, with their gloves soaring through the air, will come to life.

Fantasy will become reality.

"It was cool to be able to look back," Tomlin said, "and think, 'Man, I was doing that when I was 4 years old and now I'm actually going to live it and he's actually going to get to see it.

"That's pretty special to me and that's something I'll never forget for the rest of my life."