The major league rule book is a masterpiece with all its numbers and sections and indentations and letters and amendments and that crazy, awkward legal speak. What the hell are they talking about anyway? Sometimes I wonder if lawyers create pig latin equivalents so the rest of us have to pay them to speak it to judges and plead our cases.
Rule 6.02(b) Comment (Rule 8.01(d ) Comment): A ball which
slips out of a pitcher’s hand and crosses the foul line shall be
called a ball; otherwise it will be called no pitch. This would
be a balk with men on base.
Or maybe that’s clear and kind of beautiful and bizarre, a ball slipping out of a pitcher’s hand that far! OK, an octopus would make one hell of an infielder. Could a team sign him or her as an international free agent. Or maybe it wouldn’t be international and would be subject to the draft? I couldn’t find a yeh or neh in the rule book, but either way, an octopus in the infield would raise Joe Maddon’s cool Carl Paranski shift to unprecedented effectiveness and the number of no-hitters might increase.
Maybe I’m a defeatist, but i have no chance of ever becoming an octopus. However, i can at least try and hold a book with my feet, between my toes, and see if i can see the words at the end of my stretch? I believe it might strengthen my eye sight, increase my stretch and so then i could maybe become first baseman for the local softball team. What happened to parishes and kids in the same neighborhoods building floats for holy week, the big Easter celebrations? I prefer a neighborhood with a doctor, bike mechanic, gardener, accountant, dentist, baseball historian, etc all exchanging gifts and services without the use of paper symbol money.
A doctor may not know why the Seattle Pilots played 163 games in 1969, but his neighbor – the baseball historian does. An aortic valve replacement in exchange for the box score from that 163rd game is probably not a viable trade, but something could probably be arranged.
I mention reading with a book between my toes as a sort of heads up to my other limbs, to think beyond their confinement or predestined or whatever it says my elbow can’t do in Better Homes and Garden Magazine. Why can’t rhubarb be cross pollinated or whatever it’s called, with say, Thyme? Sweet time. Take my sweet old-time and get it right.
I met a guy or he met me out in San Francisco, way out on those wonderful sand dune avenues, the great highway, that last bit of land before sea. He suffered from pigeon toes or whatever it’s called that forces your feet to face each other. Maybe I already wrote about this? Anyway, he imposed this rigorous walking routine, all around San Francisco with his feet pointing outward in an attempt to force his feet straight, to undo his pigeon toe destiny. Horror Scopes are meant to be hurdled I guess.
I was in Amsterdam once and met an old lady sitting by the church. She was like one of those ladies you might see in a kid’s story book or maybe not. She was begging for change and wore a torn sweater and talked to herself and talked to me too because I like people who talk to themselves or I used to anyway. Nowadays everyone has cell phones and appear to be talking to themselves, but I don’t talk to them because apparently they’re already talking to someone and sure as hell don’t need me. But back in the not so distant past, this lady in Amsterdam was talking to herself and she didn’t have a cell phone. This was back when Beatrice was the Queen there. I think she defected her throne or whatever it’s called. But back then this lady who by the way had no teeth, said she was waiting for her third set of teeth to kick in. I’m no scientist or dentist but that seemed impossible since we humans only get two sets. Our teeth fall out, usually when we are kids and ideally one at a time for two reasons. Firstly, it’s less painful and secondly, well, we put that tooth under our pillows and a drag queen appears in the night and replaces the tooth with a golden coin that we can redeem the following day at the local arcade. SO if they fall out one at a time, we get more golden tokens. Anyway, this old lady told me that she was waiting for news from scientists about this new third set of teeth, that she was gonna be the one who gets a third set, but that the problem or obstacle was that Beatrice was in power or wearing the crown or whatever and because of that everyone was preoccupied with beauty and wouldn’t talk to her because she had that torn sweater and kind of smelled like a dumpster and of course, she had no teeth. I said, “Oh” and was really glad we had that long moment together. I like meeting people who ask their limbs or in her case her teeth to go beyond their confinement or predestined or whatever it says her teeth couldn’t do in Better Homes and Garden Magazine.
and now for a poem that i think relates to the guy with the pigeon toes and the old lady with no teeth and all of our limbs and the things they might one day do.
as grass turns to gravel,
an outfielder knows its time.
a warning track is braille.
his feet read the signs.