Thomas Reed Willemain
Three boys took their positions on the makeshift field. The flagstone wall edging the upper lawn was the outfield fence. One foul line... more
April 25, 2020 | BASEBALL, Nonfiction
This is our second time playing but he’s still constantly clarifying, correcting. The game, this one or the real one, has strict rules. You can’t fuck it up. You need to understand every instruction, every play, need to speak the language, know the abbreviations.
They sent me out here to get the final two outs of the eighth inning, to be the set-up man for The Closer, to set up his rightful dominion The Save, but now instead of setting up The Save I am going to blow The Save before The Closer even gets his shot at The Save.
As the blows against each other’s ribs and the glancing strikes on their now helmetless heads escalated, I moved to get out of the dugout and pull them apart, but their father, Coach Christen, blocked the exit with a Louisville Slugger
Even if it is addressed to you, this is a letter for me. If it were truly a letter for you,... more