Baseball Larry’s Final Out
20 years and 50 towns later, the National
Anthem
and first pitch of the opener
still a few hours away
Larry gets called in to talk to
the skipper
and he knows and we suspect what it
will mean:
no more overnight bus rides
through sparse landscapes
Duluth to Boise or Sioux City, sticky
motels in the sticks
no more rub-downs, stubbed
fingers, sprained ankles
catcalls of drunken amateur statisticians,
flickering field lights
No more late-season call-ups or
snubs, no bubble gum or pine tar
no late inning zealous Christian bullpen
coaches leaning in
No longer are you a player-to-be-named-later
in the off-season
No next-day moves to Oklahoma,
options or demotions to A-ball
No winter ball, Japanese scouts declining
offers, spring training
No more wondering, wandering,
warming up wild pitchers
No late inning defensive substitutions,
Dog Days, dives for balls
mended uniforms, broken bats, worn-out
spikes and glory
Larry stands in the grandstand
shadow, nodding to the trainer
I feel my heart drop and take the
walk over to wish him well
In a line of teen-age rookies,
mid-career vets and old duffers
I wait my turn. In cliche I think, Larry always left it on
the field
I shake his hand, look him in the
eye and say You’re the player’s player,
Larry, it won’t be the same
without you,” I say it and I really mean it.
Larry puts a hand on my shoulder
and says, Yes, it will. A smile wrinkles.
Oh, man. Larry climbs down the spit-upon bush league
steps one last time
I stare till
I lose him in the morning Stadium Drive bus-stop crowd
I look at the scoreboard that
doesn’t say, GOODBYE, BASEBALL LARRY
But my heart lightens at the misspelled
lineup in the dugout: I’m on first
batting eighth - in for Buster
with his strained lat - another chance for me!
-No following Larry to the bus
station for a trip to Dubuque or home today
I start taking grounders and
think of him at the bus station sipping a beer
making non-existent plans: a
sports memorabilia shop, a coaching job
You never dream of life after your
career, just about getting another shot
until your last baseball card is just
a blurred image of a long bus ride home
