he had no name, no birth certificate anyway, so he went by whatever strangers called him, look or shade, sometimes Moot, other times Quicksand and so with the world series over, he found old books, of Clem Bukaraskin in Cottage Grove, tossing pebbles at rodents to perfect aim and Clete Tamboykins swinging sticks at popcorn seeds to sync arms and hips dreaming of of a 27-game hitting streak by a boy born in far away town Idaho, a history of the PCL, Orlando Mitz’s trick pitches and all those tragic baseball suicides, and so he read and researched all the way to mid-February and full moon pitchers and catchers reported life all over again.
November 3, 2020 at 9:44 am
I assume there’s a Ken and Cloyd Tamboykins?
November 3, 2020 at 5:22 pm
a George too.