My Hero

It was slightly overcast, that day in April. The crowd was cheering. They always cheered for him. He was over age, over the hill, and over indulged. But, god how he loved this game. Squinting his eye, he stepped back from the plate and knocked a clod of imaginary dirt from his left shoe. Everyone noticed the cloud slowly moving to cover the evening sun. “Damn, these early season games” he thought. The sun fully blanketed now by the low hanging afternoon cloud, he shifted his weight and sidled back to the plate. He hoisted the bat once more, the weight of a thousand games on his old wounded shoulder, a remnant of Desert Storm. Shaking it off, he concentrated on the mound. He knew the pitcher well. The ball came fast and down the middle at 101 miles an hour. “Christ”, he thought, “an arm like that ought to be against the law”. He knew it would only get faster, if anything, “Give me just one more,” again to himself. He braced as the ball flew into the pocket at 101.9. “That’s right” he thought “come to Papa” and he locked eyes momentarily with the young behemoth. “Steroids, the dude is on steroids”. Still locked dead on the pitchers eyes the old warrior grabbed a hand full of protective cup and shook it toward the mound. “Is that all you’ve got, you young piece of crap. I’ve got your steroids hanging right here. Show me what you really have.” The manager stopped in the middle of loading another half of a chew, and fell backwards over the water barrel. Never had he heard such a tirade from that old guy. Dragging his folding chair closer to the batters plate he egged it on. “Come on Jake, come on boy, show me what you’ve got. Show me something boy.” The stands sensed the drama of the moment. One of the greatest hitters alive against the world’s fastest, and wildest pitcher. This is the stuff dreams are made of. This is what makes the world go round. The old boy, satisfied now that he had his quarry cornered, like the mongoose he slowly reeled him in, locking his eyes once more just as he started into the windup. The ball delivered at 103 actually picked up speed as it stopped spinning. It met the bat and left at 105.7. The old Trojan slowly dropped his bat and began a victory trot around the bases. A lot of records were broken that day. As in the case of all records it is good news for some and bad news for others. At the end of the day, the game fades into the distance. but, the record rides the wave of glory forever.