There was a field. Towering black netting and PVC pipe – kept in place with wooden boards – guarded home. Foul poles, some 250 feet away, kept the games fair. Every Fourth of July my uncle would mark out the…
Author: olabner
Welcome! I've followed baseball since I was 8 years old and started this site to illustrate the beauty of the game in prose, poetry, and photography.
I have a Master's in Creative Writing at Missouri State University. For my thesis I wrote a collection of nonfiction micro essays about working in remote Alaska fishing lodges for five summers in my 20s.
After graduation I worked as a northern lights guide in Bettles, Alaska, for 8 months. You can find my favorite aurora photographs at bestnorthernlights.com
I am a freelance writer and photographer. You can find my portfolio at maryellenchiles.com
He points his right toe like an arrow. And he stands on his left foot, waiting to pounce. A pitch! A cut. He doesn’t stab the earth with this. He’s too far down the line. He’s taken off with his…
I walked into a lamp pole. It’s true. Twenty minutes prior, I stood at a bus stop, and caught my breath. No! I’d forgotten my Cardinals cap. I normally wear it during my commute and on lunch breaks. It’s a…
Brief hiatus. I walked into a lamp pole and knocked my head. No concussion, but taking it easy this weekend. xoxo. by
I watched a player dart from first base, running in the dirt with arms pumping. He slid into second base, popping up to his feet. There was no throw. It was only a spring training game a few days after…
A Yankees batter stood at home. He took a strike. Then he took two more. Then he stood with his bat on his shoulder, staring at lines in the ash. From dust to dust. Maybe he wondered why he didn’t…
Yadi stands on deck, chomping on bubble gum. He holds his bat on his shoulder, and swings it across his body. Then he knocks a donut weight off the bat and walks toward home. He straightens his helmet with his…
The third base coach draped his hand over the player’s shoulder. Spring training jerseys don’t come with names so players can be recognized otherwise. This one tapped third base with his foot, and sauntered toward home. The centerfielder pushed his…
Soon I will sit in a plastic seat, in a place etched with silver numbers. I might start way up near the rafters and watch players jog into the outfield. They will play long toss for a minute or two…
I stood in a crowded stadium, and someone else’s beer dripped off my Cardinal-red shoes. It was October, and no one else played. It was exactly what I’d dreamed of when I imagined attending this game. I wondered for 20…