Pensive. Those moments leading up to game time (5pm Sunday) were that, pensive. Numerous times I saw the head dude pointing, counting, and he always came up with less than ten - the number it takes to field a team.
(If you’re just getting here, RUNNNNNN… I can’t pay my f-n bills, I got GD raccoons in my attic, I drive a hot… rod… Lincoln (1995, kickass cassette player)…
Fifteen minutes until game time. Head dude again counted. “Vic, we needya.” Shit.
“Didn’t you usedta teach?” Yeah, back in the dinosaur days… why? “My name is Scott… I played 5 years in the Minors.. I thought I recognized you from teaching/coaching… wanna play catch?”… $15,000 worth of eye implant work went thru my brain.. “Sure, let’s.’
Have you ever gone nine years inbetween games of catch? I was thinkin’ about ‘how could I have felt more uncomfortable’ - and I guess it woulda been had I been in a fit of passion with a hot fitty-something chicky.
Catch went ok. I even got the nerve up to throw my old trusty knuckle ball to him.. Years ago, bastards would cuss at me when playing catch, ‘cause it could violate the laws of physics, and occasionally hit them in the groin, the chest, or mebbe the mouth.
“Vic, where do you wanna play?” Out there. Pointing as far away from the infield as I could. I value my testi’s (one’s been fixed) and I value my eye implants - “Victor, about the only thing that could goof them up is if one became dislodged.” Yeah… “out there somewhere.”
“Ok, you’re in right.” Right is good.
We were in the dugout by now, moment’s away from first pitch. My savior, some young dude mebbe 22, walks up at game time. “Vic, you’re gonna alternate with Lenny at catcher.” F’n A Ray. I can do that. Put me in coach, I’m ready to play, today.
Lenny goes first. Not bad..
We all (everyone in the dugout) bat. We have a group of pussys (sorry) that have semi-retired, and all they do is bat. I see the order, I’m like 9th outta 13.
On deck. I follow Dickie. I search for a bat that feels right. Howinthehell do you know, after nine years, what feels right? No time, Dick singles.
Here I go. The ump, who I’ve known since he was a little shit, gives me that crooked mouth smile. I step up to the plate. I remember my eye doc saying “Now Victor, with this mono thing, there’s a very good chance it will screw up your golf game.” “Doc, my golf game sucks, I don’t care, I just wanna see… not have blurred vision.. Be able to see colors again.. And to be able to drive at night.”
So here’s my payback. Nine years since. A complete different set of eyes staring at the ball. I’m nervous as hell. 384 eyeball are upon the old guy… I stare at the 20-something ready to unleash the ball…
It’s right down the middle… I start my swing… in 2007.. But it’s so GD slowmo, it feels like 2008 by the time it gets there… “Don’t fail me now plastic lenses”… I start my swing on Sunday, the ball arrives late Monday night.. I hold back.. I’m out of sorts.. I feel like I’m on the dance floor.. I’m too GD white, dancing, and everyone is staring.
My front foot lands two hours, twelve minutes prior to the pitch. My bat starts one hour, 43 minutes prior to the pitch. I’m “out there.” Somehow, the “up close” and the “long distance” implants luck out.. The ball travels an estimated 83’ from home, just outta the 3rd baseman’s reach… I run like hell (fast walk) to first… Single.. I hear the roar (laughter) from the bench. But there I am, 54, on first. F’n A Ray.
It was different. It was weird. It wasn’t just likea bicycle. But I loved it.
There was really nothing spectacular about my game, or our game. We won the first game like 19-14.. And we lost the second one 14-10. I actually had like 5 hits.. Made 2 outs.. Didn’t strike out.. Actually tagged a guy out at home, caught a pop foul.
I wasn’t (too) embarrassed. I didn’t get hurt. I didn’t haveta get out my BlueCare Card. There was even cold beer and BBQ chicken waiting in right field.
“Hey Vic, if they do have the league again next year, you wanna play with us?”
Ya know, I might. I just might.
You can’t turn back the hands of time. The old gray mare she ain’t what she usedta be, ain’t what she usedta be.”
If I coulda bought a packa Topp’s baseball cards and chewed on the pink sticka gum I woulda. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t God-awful either. Again, I’m alive. I’m sore as hell, but I’m here. I was very, very thankful - and told them so….
I wish, for blog readers, I coulda knocked in the winning run in the bottom of the 7th… or made a sliding game-saving catch.. Or, mebbe even stretched a 2-base hit into a triple. I didn’t. But I made it. And they even asked me if I wanted to play in 2008. F’n A Ray.
Well, I spent some time in the Mudville Nine, watchin' it from the bench;
You know I took some lumps when the Mighty Casey struck out.
So Say Hey Willie, tell Ty Cobb and Joe DiMaggio;
Don't say "it ain't so", you know the time is now.
Yeah! I got it, I got it!
Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;
You know I think it's time to give this game a ride.
Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all - a moment in the sun;
(pop) It's gone and you can tell that one goodbye!
Oh, put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Put me in, Coach - I'm ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.
With love, Victurd.
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