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April '04 BASEBALL! |
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A Nice Life Andrew Bomback |
Dave Clapper Joe Lee's Fastball |
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The Right Fielder’s Epiphany Christopher Monks
What a lovely evening. I always love the view from out here in right. Everything is all lit up. It’s a full moon, I think. Nice crowd, too. Glad coach put me in. I feel great. Ball one. Yep, quite a night for a game. Or for a stroll with a lover. Man, I wish I had a lover. It’s not fair, really. All the other guys have lovers. Even the married ones. Strike one. Wow, just think: to be married and to have a lover. Some guys have all the luck. Of course that sort of thing is frowned upon by many. I’d hate to be frowned upon. Grounder to short. Maxie’s got it. Over to first. One out. “Way to go Maxie!” Maxie is such a graceful shortstop. He has fantastic forearms. What I wouldn’t do for forearms like that. They’re wonderfully toned. I think he’s got the best forearms in the entire league. And the weird thing is he doesn’t do anything particularly special to them. Ball one. When I asked him he was like, “Nope, it’s just the way they are.” Found it hard to believe. Told him as much. I said “You’re a god damn liar, Maxie.” He got all offended. Ball two. I may have been a little harsh on him. It’s just that I’m such a relentless seeker of the truth. I mean, he must do some special exercises or something. Maybe he thought I was accusing him of using steroids. Hmm. Would explain why he burned everything in my locker last week. Strike. Wow. There are like a ton of moths out tonight. That big moon must be attracting them. I wonder what it would be like to be a moth. Not too great, I guess. Moths are ugly. Talk about having a zero chance to score a lover. Still, a moth’s got to mate with somebody. Ball three. At least you’d be able to fly. How sweet would that be? I’d fly all over everywhere if I was a moth. Birds might eat me, though. I’m scared of birds as it is. Imagine how freaked out I’d be if I was a moth being chased by a bird? Pretty freaked out. Walked him. Oh well. That guy has been hitting the ball like nobody’s business this year, so it could have been worse. What is up with my pants? Static cling. Hate that. Makes my thighs look fat. Fatter than they are, anyway. I hate my thighs. Don’t need my baseball pants to remind me of that. Strike. Cesar’s uniform looks great. He always looks great; that’s why he’s the centerfielder. “Hey Cesar, what size pants you wear?...What?...No, what size pants do you—oh, forget it. I’ll ask you later.” English isn’t Cesar’s strong suit. What’s Spanish for “pants” anyway? “Pantalones,” I think I’ll have to ask him. Strike. While I’m at it, I should get Cesar to tell me a few romantic sayings in Spanish. There are always a ton of fine-looking Latin people waiting around after the game. I’m always too intimidated to approach them. They’re all about Cesar anyway. Still, Cesar is just one man. I really should take advantage of it. Especially on a night like this. Oh, how I long to do some lover strolling! Sigh. Ball. Now I’ve gone and lost track of the count. Are there one or two strikes? I could ask Johnny, but it would be sort of embarrassing. Don’t want to let anyone know I’ve lost focus. Johnny’s busy what with holding the runner on first and all, anyway. Besides, I’m not sure Johnny can be trusted: he’s married and has like four lovers. I worry he’s still mad about me accidentally tearing his meniscus at last year’s Kids N’ Cancer benefit. Ball hit in air! Ball hit in air! Ball hit in air! Running! Running! Running!...Foul. Phew. Thought it had a chance of falling in for a sec. I just get carried away on the dance floor sometimes. For whatever reason, I always feel like I have something to prove every time I put my dancing shoes on. I really didn’t see Johnny before I barreled into him. Honest. If he took up my offer to dance it wouldn’t have happened in the first place. Ball. Guess I was mistaken in thinking we were both comfortable enough in our heterosexuality to dance together. I know am at least. I think. What’s the problem with two guys dancing together, anyway? Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye danced together all the time. Ball. I haven’t had sex in like forever. Baseball has taken up way too much of my time. That’s what I tell people anyway. Oh, it’s a full count. “Thanks, Johnny!” I’ll just assume he’s telling me the truth. He looked like he was sincere. In general, Johnny has a pleasant and genuine way about him. He has a great ass, too. Grounder fouled down the third baseline. What I wouldn’t do to have Johnny’s ass, Maxie’s forearms, and Cesar’s pants. My whole life would be one long lover stroll after another. I suppose one could eventually get bored with lover strolls, though. You know what they say about having too much of a good thing. Still, I’d like to find out for myself. Fly ball! Fly ball! Fly ball! Running! Running! Running! Moth in my mouth! Moth in my mouth! Moth in my mouth! Under the ball! Under the ball! Under the ball! Spitting out moth! Spitting out moth! Spitting out moth!…Caught it. Phew. Three outs. Tip my hat to the crowd. Dead moth on my pantalones. Great. You know, maybe I’m gay. Jogging back to dugout. Oh well. There are worse things to be, I suppose. Nice congratulatory slap on my behind from Cesar. Didn’t feel any different than when it used to before I thought I might be gay. Still like it when Cesar does that, though. Think I would whether I was gay or not. I just love feeling accepted. Oh look: a way-to-go wink from Maxie. Good stuff. And there’s a noticing nod from Johnny, too. Jackpot! What a game. What a night. Lover strolling, here I come!
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