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Wicked Curves
James Austin Kerr |
I'm not going to try to fool you.
Friday was the biggest day of my life, with a gigantic white cloud shooting into the robin-egg blue
Florida sky like the plume of one of those Cape Canaveral rockets.
It was also the most confusing.
Big brother Bill-- he's not really my big brother, his name is Hart, mine is Moore, Curt-- took me to Risky's
Mean Dogs on the distant outskirts of Carson Beach to meet Trixie, Tricia Nelson, the waitress there, the
older daughter of the owner Risky, who got his name because he was always getting hurt and traded in
his time in the big leagues (just short of pension benefits) and his longer time in the minors trying to make it
back to "The Show".
Now bear with me. If you think that is the longest sentence you ever read short of that Faulkner fellow,
just try to deliver it without taking a breath. Now I'm not saying I'm William Faulkner whom they made us read
at Howling Green High, but he didn't have my curve ball that starts right for the bat, then drops right below
so they hit it into the ground or miss it completely.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
Bill took me to Risky's to meet Trixie. All the way there he kept telling me that Risky's was his little secret from
the rest of the wolves in spring camp at Carson Beach. That on account he was here for the second straight year
despite his 98 mile per hour heater. (I heard our pitching coach say his fastball's got to be heavier because
somehow the batters catch up to it and dispatch it, as he says, long ways.)
Well, all the way there to Risky's, I keep telling him about Lucinda back in Howling Green. She's my girl.
To prove it, I even pull out my picture of the two of us together at the prom last year.
It doesn't seem to make a dent with Bill. He wants me to meet Trixie. I go along for laughs and damn if
he isn't right about her. She is a knockout with the long strawberry, intentionally mussed hair and the kind
of figure you see in those swimsuit issues of so-called sports magazines. I am impressed.
But Lucinda is still my girl and I see Trixie senses the commitment someplace else and starts kidding Bill
by asking him why isn't he interested in her like he is-- ready for this?-- her little sister.
So that's it.
Then Trixie points to the swimsuit cover framed above the cook's window. And make no mistake, her
younger sister Melissa is also a knockout and, okay, maybe a first round knockout with Trixie being a
TKO late in the second.
But Bill is still pitching me hard and inside on Trixie. And I keep reminding him under my breath about
my Lucinda back home. And Trixie keeps riding Bill about his showing more interest in her.
Now here's where the story winds down because, like I warned you earlier, I'm no Faulkner.
Our manager Cal Meacham busts in there and says he's been looking all over for me and he thought he might
find me with Bill here at Risky's. (Cal roomed with Risky two years at Mecosta, the big club's AA farm back when.)
Well, Cal breaks the Big News: The Big Team wants me. No kidding. They want me to start against
the Yankees no less in the game under the lights at the main camp tonight. I guess they heard about that
wicked curve of mine and want to see what Jeter and Teixeira think about it.
So he herds me out of there and tells me he'll lend me his truck to get there in time for the 7:30 game.
How do I do? Well, I get through the first couple of innings without incident, but they kind of get to me in
the third, in large part because of a bad throw to first from yours truly.
But I'm promised another start before the big club heads north.
Story's not over yet.
Bill calls me late around midnight, he's seen the box score on the internet and say's he proud of me, that
he hopes never to see me again until we're rooming together in The Show.
And.
Melissa, the first round knockout from Risky's, he finds out she is now married and she is married to the
photographer who took the swimsuit cover shot over the cook's station, a guy he introduced her to from the local
paper last spring training.
That's what Bill gets for trying to play matchmaker for partners and careers. (I guess he was always telling
Melissa that she belonged in one of those swimsuit issues.)
Well, anyway, Melissa's got her photographer and they're living somewhere around Cocoa Beach.
I've got my Lucinda back in Howling Green. I also have another start with the big club, like I say.
And Bill's going to be taking Trixie to the show on the next off day Monday.
Baseball sure is a funny game.
Bet Faulkner never told you that, did he?
Friday was the biggest day of my life, with a gigantic white cloud shooting into the robin-egg blue
Florida sky like the plume of one of those Cape Canaveral rockets.
It was also the most confusing.
Big brother Bill-- he's not really my big brother, his name is Hart, mine is Moore, Curt-- took me to Risky's
Mean Dogs on the distant outskirts of Carson Beach to meet Trixie, Tricia Nelson, the waitress there, the
older daughter of the owner Risky, who got his name because he was always getting hurt and traded in
his time in the big leagues (just short of pension benefits) and his longer time in the minors trying to make it
back to "The Show".
Now bear with me. If you think that is the longest sentence you ever read short of that Faulkner fellow,
just try to deliver it without taking a breath. Now I'm not saying I'm William Faulkner whom they made us read
at Howling Green High, but he didn't have my curve ball that starts right for the bat, then drops right below
so they hit it into the ground or miss it completely.
I'm getting ahead of myself.
Bill took me to Risky's to meet Trixie. All the way there he kept telling me that Risky's was his little secret from
the rest of the wolves in spring camp at Carson Beach. That on account he was here for the second straight year
despite his 98 mile per hour heater. (I heard our pitching coach say his fastball's got to be heavier because
somehow the batters catch up to it and dispatch it, as he says, long ways.)
Well, all the way there to Risky's, I keep telling him about Lucinda back in Howling Green. She's my girl.
To prove it, I even pull out my picture of the two of us together at the prom last year.
It doesn't seem to make a dent with Bill. He wants me to meet Trixie. I go along for laughs and damn if
he isn't right about her. She is a knockout with the long strawberry, intentionally mussed hair and the kind
of figure you see in those swimsuit issues of so-called sports magazines. I am impressed.
But Lucinda is still my girl and I see Trixie senses the commitment someplace else and starts kidding Bill
by asking him why isn't he interested in her like he is-- ready for this?-- her little sister.
So that's it.
Then Trixie points to the swimsuit cover framed above the cook's window. And make no mistake, her
younger sister Melissa is also a knockout and, okay, maybe a first round knockout with Trixie being a
TKO late in the second.
But Bill is still pitching me hard and inside on Trixie. And I keep reminding him under my breath about
my Lucinda back home. And Trixie keeps riding Bill about his showing more interest in her.
Now here's where the story winds down because, like I warned you earlier, I'm no Faulkner.
Our manager Cal Meacham busts in there and says he's been looking all over for me and he thought he might
find me with Bill here at Risky's. (Cal roomed with Risky two years at Mecosta, the big club's AA farm back when.)
Well, Cal breaks the Big News: The Big Team wants me. No kidding. They want me to start against
the Yankees no less in the game under the lights at the main camp tonight. I guess they heard about that
wicked curve of mine and want to see what Jeter and Teixeira think about it.
So he herds me out of there and tells me he'll lend me his truck to get there in time for the 7:30 game.
How do I do? Well, I get through the first couple of innings without incident, but they kind of get to me in
the third, in large part because of a bad throw to first from yours truly.
But I'm promised another start before the big club heads north.
Story's not over yet.
Bill calls me late around midnight, he's seen the box score on the internet and say's he proud of me, that
he hopes never to see me again until we're rooming together in The Show.
And.
Melissa, the first round knockout from Risky's, he finds out she is now married and she is married to the
photographer who took the swimsuit cover shot over the cook's station, a guy he introduced her to from the local
paper last spring training.
That's what Bill gets for trying to play matchmaker for partners and careers. (I guess he was always telling
Melissa that she belonged in one of those swimsuit issues.)
Well, anyway, Melissa's got her photographer and they're living somewhere around Cocoa Beach.
I've got my Lucinda back in Howling Green. I also have another start with the big club, like I say.
And Bill's going to be taking Trixie to the show on the next off day Monday.
Baseball sure is a funny game.
Bet Faulkner never told you that, did he?
