According to the Baby Birds’ Twitter, “a couple of thousand kids” showed at the game today. They were grouped by their elementary schools. Judging by their “pitch” when they yelled they were about 10 or 11 years old. Luckily, the…
Tag: grief
After the final out I stood in the dugout and watched TCU celebrate, keeping an eye out for a 6-foot horned frog hopping around the field. Kool and the Gang blared over the PA system, reminding me of dancing at…
I hopped down the steps toward the Missouri State dugout in the fourth inning. Earlier that night I’d waited in line with sorority girls and golf players so we could offer two dollars and a glimpse of our photo ID in…
Oh Pete Rose: Who can say whether I’d gamble on my own games if I could. I know I shouldn’t. I might do it anyway. Maybe I’d resign myself to sitting in a folding chair behind a conference table, signing…
St. Louis players walked toward their plane, heads down, ties around their necks. Losing is not mysterious. They did it to themselves, kicking the ball around the infield in Game 2. Their sick pitcher afflicted swaths of the Midwest with…
I don’t think my dog liked baseball. He just liked to sit with me. We’d lounge on a futon, analyzing prospects in spring training. He’d curl up on a blanket, then take my seat if I left for a second….
I can still see the growing green grass covering the lumps and molehills of a baseball diamond. A slice of a red barn cuts through my vision. And somewhere, where I can’t see, my grandfather walks between the yellow backhoe…
When the sun slips into a dusky grey, one gathers gloves with some reluctance. One picks up bats that lean against a backstop, and searches for baseballs in the tall grass somewhere in left center. Of course, there is a…
I left Cardinal country and flew back to the Northwest. I emptied my schedule, and turned to baseball. For my grandfather had died. I had gone home, but now I was back. I thought ballgames would bring me comfort. I…