Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Bubbles

Heeding my mother's teaching, and friend Kenny's sense of sense, I let politics fade, a mere bag of shells, and focused on Little League fun.

One baseball skill I never attained was blowing the chewing gum bubble, despite pounds of trial Bazooka. Kenny was adept and tried to teach me but to no avail.

One distinct time I wished I had the ability - but Kenny filled in for me - was after a particular catch.

Late in a close game, our opponents had two on and two out. We were in a slight jam.

The batter popped one foul of third, way over my head, long and high. I turned and chased it.

I knew it was hit so far I could only reach it by running full-speed, without looking back. I'd have to guess at, not check on, its path. I'd also have to guess at its point of descent.

I ran to the proper co-ordinates, I hoped, and stuck out my glove.

I saw the ball pass in front of me, and into my glove's webbing: a snow cone catch.

I turned and held it up, third out, to far-off moans and cheers.

I met Kenny, who'd been twenty feet behind me, and flipped the ball to him. We trotted in together. He blew a bubble and that was our only expression, non-verbal, verbal, or otherwise, all the way in.

Of course, I had to smile as my teammates met and pounded me and hollered, Whoa, ho shit, this and that. But I sat down in the dugout next to Kenny having said nothing.

Him neither, at least not to me, til he turned to me and said, "Had it all the way?"

"Sure," I said.

"Was your eyes open?"

"Didn't need to be," I said.

"Boy don't need no eyes," he said, leaning back on the bench. He snapped a bubble and looked up in the air. "But can't chew gum."

"You do what you do, and I do what I do," I said, and we looked at each other and tried not to laugh too soon. This was Nice going, this was Thank you, this was teammates, this was fun.

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