Half a Right Leg and a Mouth Full of Sputum

Last issue of Volume 1!
Brewers/Cardinals World Series!
The Big O gets sexy!
PLUS: Tommy DiMarco's watercolor of Guera!
All this and more in the latest Archive issue.
Just click on the tab above & look for issue #17.

Untranslatable

By Bob Stanley

One October afternoon
standing on the knoll above the tetherball poles
the sixth grade guys huddled together
eager to dispel the fifth-grade rumor
that the World Series was over
and the Giants had lost.
Expecting one more miracle
obscured in transistor static
we heard it was true: final score one-zero.

The next April Grandpa Joe sent me a poem from Paris –
some American missed the crack of the bat
the dust - the tension
and the casual inattention that turns to a roar
without warning - untranslatable.

Each season would go by
and win or lose, we’d stand with the black and orange

That last season
when cancer was coming at him like an
inside pitch, he called
hoping we could go to the game
as he took me twenty years before to the
night game Mays won off Warren Spahn in sixteen:
one-zero
but by then I was asleep in his arms.

This time it was Dwight Gooden and the Mets
but I couldn’t make it –
you took the bus out there by yourself
it went extra innings again.

Can that many years go by
and still the zero be on the scoreboard?
The peaks and valleys of a single game
are easily described in a box-score
but extra innings
well, that’s just poetry.

The Day We Were Humiliated into Playing Horseshoes

Richard Rosen finds a new definition for Billy Ball!
Viola Weinberg starts Billy Martin advice column!
The Fearless Forecaster answers questions!
PLUS: Guera strikes back!
All this and more in the latest Archive issue.
Just click on the tab above & look for issue #16.

Adrift and Addled on the Mad River

By William Fuller

9:00AM Sacramento train station. If I knew how prophetic the name on our car would be, I might not have gone (which of course would have been a mistake). Of the six or seven major league teams that are currently playing the worst, Donna and I were on our way to see two of them. Next stop: The Oakland Coliseum.

11:30AM The train arrives! We make our way to the A's ticket booth and score some choice tickets (this is NOT the team across the bay). We're sitting one level up behind home plate, a little to the first base side. We decide to start this one in style, so we get a table at the Westside Club, looking straight out onto the field. Before we're seated, I need to use the restroom - more to collect my wits than anything else - caffeine and disorientation have me semi-reeling. I walk towards where I think the bathrooms are, but it's dark and somewhat confusing, especially in my condition. There's an open door; I walk through and marvel at how clean this ballpark bathroom is - probably because of the section we're in - it's so first class, they don't even have urinals - we each get our own private enclosed stall. I'm the only one in there, odd but it is an hour before game time. I do my business, and as I start to wash my hands, a woman's voice comes from the entrance: "Are you cleaning up in here?" I turn around and she's looking straight at me. I realize I dress kinda ratty, but what the hell is she talking about and what is she doing here? And then, finally, I get it - I've just spent the last few minutes in the women's bathroom. Needless to say, I make a quick, apologetic exit as the woman moves as far away from me as she can, not taking her eyes off me for a second.

12:40PM First inning and the A's are already ahead of the Orioles 2-0. This second baseman Jamile Weeks is really impressive, despite a flurry of recent errors. We've finally finished our lunch and are ready to take our seats. As we enter our section, the usher stops us and asks to see our tickets. Problem is, with the tickets we bought, we got $10@ off the bill - and now we're not sure if the waitress gave us back the tix. When we left our table, we were talking to the mother/daughter next to us and exchanging blog addresses. I can't find the tix. Donna thought she had them, but cannot find them either. The usher is adamant - there are actually some seats in the outfield today that are only $2 (it's Two Dollar Wednesday!), and he's gotta be careful no scofflaws like we appear to be get into the better seats. Finally, after several more minutes and a coupla runs scoring, Donna locates the tix. We're in our seats!

1:20PM A's first baseman Brandon Allen hits a huge fly straight into center field. O's center fielder Adam Jones misjudges it, and it soars over his head and hits the base of the 400 foot fence, bouncing back at him. Allen goes flying past first. Jones bobbles the ball as Allen turns second. Jones seems to get control, but amazingly, drops the ball again. Allen is waved home - Jones finally gets control of the ball and hurls it to the cutoff, who sends it home, but incredibly Brandon "Barry" Allen beats the ball! An inside the park home run! Never have I beheld such a sight live! Astounding!

2:30PM A sky-hi foul Oriole ball heads straight towards me - it falls one row in the empty seats in front of me. But at this point, slow witted and confused, I watch the ball come to a stop as the gentleman with a mitt to my right goes over the seats and snags it!

4:15PM Back on the train, Jack London Square: final notes. The game ended with a ninth inning out at home, the A's victorious. Exciting game, great day. Who cares if it doesn't matter one bit in the 2011 scheme of playoff hopes and world series dreams? Who cares if the bulk of the last few hours was one embarrassing moment to the next? Any day at the ballpark is a day well spent. Note to self: Will have to do this way more often.

Infield Suite

By Bob Stanley

As we file in
the symmetrical green
begins to play its little music
soft strum of gloves tasting soft dirt
swung by bodies loose and warm –

Fielding – being of the field,
at one, loose, low,
strong and centered –
the process of finding that center –
Fielding.

* * * *

Keep the ball down
comin’ in, comin’ in
two out, two on,
a jam you’re in
you know you’ve arrived
ball in hand
with a one-run lead
as you stand on the mound
you have all that you need
let fly the ball
let it cast its design

* * * *

It wasn’t recording the out at first base
it wasn’t the hand-slapping victory dance
the end of the inning, the end of the game

but the moment
two down
bases full
all at stake

when you paused and looked
into center
and back

at the game that had brought you
to stand in this spot

Evening warm
ball in glove

it’s small
it’s white
and forever
in this life
you will reach for it
in its flight.

Unwrapping Your Fourth Gus Zernial, Part II

By Richard Rosen

So what did I inherit from my nephews? I immediately wondered if something really valuable turned up, if I should come clean and share the money or ? So just to make sure I went to an on-line price guide to see what I actually had. The most expensive card: #1 Ken Griffey Jr., his rookie card worth $38, about five times the value of the next most valuable card, #25 Randy Johnson at $7.30. After this the prices drop precipitously, in the $3.50 to $4.00 range, Gary Sheffield, John Smoltz, Craig Biggio, and ironically enough, Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds, the former worth 1¢ more than the latter. In the $2.50 range, a picture of Nolan Ryan throwing a football, though from the looks of things I wouldn’t quit my day job. Finally bring up the rear in the Dollar Club, Ryne Sandberg, George Brett, Greg Maddox, Robin Yount, Mike Schmidt, Ozzie Smith, and one of my favorites, Donnie Ball Game, Don Mattingly. Most of the other cards fall between 30¢ and 50¢; the cheapest ones I found belonged to Rance Mullinicks and Paul Assenmacher at 19¢.

The other box my daughter handed me included some interesting players, and a few great ones. Here are three Hall of Famers, Nolan Ryan (who the year before was only 12-11), Eddie Murray (28 homers, .284 BA), and Bert Blyleven, who certainly didn’t have a Hall-of-Fame type year in 1988, going 10-17 with a 5.43 ERA. I also found Ken Williams and Al Leiter, both now Yankee broadcasters, and Joe Girardi, the Yankee manager, who spent 1988 in Pittsfield—that’s FIELD, not BURGH—and hit 7 homers in 357 ABs. Then there was Fred Lynn in a Detroit uniform, Jack Clark in a Padres uni (though he spent ‘88 with the Yankees), and Jim Abbott, the one-handed pitcher, the Angels’ number one pick in 1988, just coming off a gold-medal performance at the Olympics, where he went 8-1 with a 2.55 ERA. Moving from the famous to the infamous, we can start with Ozzie Canseco — that’s OZZIE not Jose — steroid-user Rafael Palmeiro, who was with the Cubs in ‘89 and hit 8 homers in 580 ABs (pass the syringe, Raffi), and Wally Backman, still a few years away from bankruptcy, DUI and being fired from the Diamondbacks for not telling the truth. Finally, believe it or not, I found Omar Vizquel's 1989 rookie card; Vizquel is now 44 years old and still active.

I’m not sure what I’ll do with that second box of cards. Guess on the one hand I could put them away for a rainy day; they must be worth in the vicinity of $50. Or maybe I could trade them, hows about Dwight Smith, Greg Briley and Rob Murphy for Gus Zernial? Nowadays he’s worth $8.

You Butchered My Story, You Heartless Assassin

BD staff stricken with grief!
Jack Hastings sets out for San Franciso, ends up in Ensenada, and finally makes it to Chavez Ravine!
The Fearless Forecaster sums up the season!
PLUS: Jagne Parks answers Guerra's attacks!
All this and more in the latest Archive issue.
Just click on the tab above & look for issue #15.