Something Like Baseball (An excerpt)
This was a special day for the crew. Both Chicago teams were in contention. Back in the day it was one or the other. Both teams? It was too good to be true. In all twelve years of his life, neither team had been this good, this late at the same time. To top it off, both of their games were on TV.
The Cubs against the Padres at 1:20 p.m. and the White Sox game started at 3:00. The crew couldn’t believe their luck. Ben had an idea that they would watch both games at the same time at his house. The plan was to watch the Cubs game on the floor model color TV and then when the Sox game came on, they would bring down Ben’s black and white TV from his room and set it on top of the floor model. Two games at the same time! This was 1986, years before picture and picture. It was baseball paradise for the crew.
Chris was ready. Ben spun his arm like a windmill and stared icy daggers at Chris. Then he stopped in mid motion. Chris frowned and yelled,
“Is this some new pitch you working on fool? Just let it go!”
“I would, but your boy is in the way.”
Chris looked around and saw Fats, the neighborhood hustle man wobbling toward him. It was only one in the afternoon and he was drunk as two skunks. When it came to hustle men, Fats wasn’t a very good one. He never had anything anybody ever wanted. Things like 8-track players, when the Sony Walkman was the new thing. He would try to sell old school Chuck Taylor Converse when everyone was rocking Adidas. It seemed like Fats was always two steps behind. So mostly he stayed drunk and wondered through the hood to pass the time.
Fats stood next to Chris who pushed his top lip against his nose to block the smell.
“What you want?” Eli screamed. “We got a game going on.”
Fats leaned back as if the words themselves pushed him away.
“Ahh, let me get a swing.”
“A swig? Fool we don’t drink, we just kids!” Chris said.
“Naw, little man. I want to swing the bat.
“Don’t give it to him Chris. We gotta get home to watch the game.
Fats swayed from foot to foot and moved his lips back and forth like he was rubbing in Chap Stick.
“I used to play ball back in the day. Let me swing.”
“Used to play ball? Right! Ben laughed. What was the name of your team? The Burbank Bums?”
“Right, go sell some squares,” Eli laughed.
Fats looked at Chris with his red shot eyes.
“Come on! I won’t even need a ball,” he pleaded.
Chris’ ears shot up. “How you gonna do that? Magic?”
Chris shrugged and against the wishes of his crew, he handed Fats the bat.
“Ah man!”
“What you do that for?”
“Now we gonna miss the start of the game!”
Chris shushed the crew.
“Its cool. I want to see how he handles it. Just one swing, right?”
“See, a kid with some respect. Look here kid. Let me show you how they taught me in the Pony Leagues. This all-star stuff here. Watch me. Keep the bat at two o’clock and keep your hips tight. That’s how Ryno does it.”
Chris’ ears perked up. Ryne Sandberg was Chris’ favorite player. It was something about him. The way he fielded and swung was so controlled, yet powerful. Chris wanted to be just like him.
Fats gripped the bat and shimmied his hips like a dancer enticing a lover. Chris watched him like a great secret was being revealed.
This was a special day for the crew. Both Chicago teams were in contention. Back in the day it was one or the other. Both teams? It was too good to be true. In all twelve years of his life, neither team had been this good, this late at the same time. To top it off, both of their games were on TV.
The Cubs against the Padres at 1:20 p.m. and the White Sox game started at 3:00. The crew couldn’t believe their luck. Ben had an idea that they would watch both games at the same time at his house. The plan was to watch the Cubs game on the floor model color TV and then when the Sox game came on, they would bring down Ben’s black and white TV from his room and set it on top of the floor model. Two games at the same time! This was 1986, years before picture and picture. It was baseball paradise for the crew.
Chris was ready. Ben spun his arm like a windmill and stared icy daggers at Chris. Then he stopped in mid motion. Chris frowned and yelled,
“Is this some new pitch you working on fool? Just let it go!”
“I would, but your boy is in the way.”
Chris looked around and saw Fats, the neighborhood hustle man wobbling toward him. It was only one in the afternoon and he was drunk as two skunks. When it came to hustle men, Fats wasn’t a very good one. He never had anything anybody ever wanted. Things like 8-track players, when the Sony Walkman was the new thing. He would try to sell old school Chuck Taylor Converse when everyone was rocking Adidas. It seemed like Fats was always two steps behind. So mostly he stayed drunk and wondered through the hood to pass the time.
Fats stood next to Chris who pushed his top lip against his nose to block the smell.
“What you want?” Eli screamed. “We got a game going on.”
Fats leaned back as if the words themselves pushed him away.
“Ahh, let me get a swing.”
“A swig? Fool we don’t drink, we just kids!” Chris said.
“Naw, little man. I want to swing the bat.
“Don’t give it to him Chris. We gotta get home to watch the game.
Fats swayed from foot to foot and moved his lips back and forth like he was rubbing in Chap Stick.
“I used to play ball back in the day. Let me swing.”
“Used to play ball? Right! Ben laughed. What was the name of your team? The Burbank Bums?”
“Right, go sell some squares,” Eli laughed.
Fats looked at Chris with his red shot eyes.
“Come on! I won’t even need a ball,” he pleaded.
Chris’ ears shot up. “How you gonna do that? Magic?”
Chris shrugged and against the wishes of his crew, he handed Fats the bat.
“Ah man!”
“What you do that for?”
“Now we gonna miss the start of the game!”
Chris shushed the crew.
“Its cool. I want to see how he handles it. Just one swing, right?”
“See, a kid with some respect. Look here kid. Let me show you how they taught me in the Pony Leagues. This all-star stuff here. Watch me. Keep the bat at two o’clock and keep your hips tight. That’s how Ryno does it.”
Chris’ ears perked up. Ryne Sandberg was Chris’ favorite player. It was something about him. The way he fielded and swung was so controlled, yet powerful. Chris wanted to be just like him.
Fats gripped the bat and shimmied his hips like a dancer enticing a lover. Chris watched him like a great secret was being revealed.