My Dear Duffy Letter

PITTSBURGH—Amy here.  I wrote a special letter to Duffy Dyer today after his absolute dashingness against the Astros. Not sure if we’ll be back for tomorrow’s doubleheader, but in case not, at least that backstopping hunk will know I’m following him.

Dear Duff (is it OK to call you that?):

First of all, I can’t believe you’re from Dayton, Ohio and your birthday is August 15th. I actually drove through Dayton once and my birthday is August 19th! I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to write, but because you’ve been backing up Ed Ott I figured you don’t get as many fan letters as he does and mine would still stand out. Your Pirates have been at the top or in the thick of the race for the first two months, and it’s amazing how many big hits you’ve had playing maybe a third of the time.  Well, from now on you can dedicate them all to me if you want.

Meet De Boys on the Battlefront

BOSTON and MINNESOTA—The dice split us up today, dropping us outside two ballparks, which was bound to happen with eight holiday doubleheaders being played.  Me and Amy and Fred took the Orioles at Fenway, while Lester and Sherman got the Royals at Twins.  I was actually going to let Fred report for me, but he’s a little burned out from that latest Yankee miracle, and it being Memorial Day and all, he’s also too busy remembering someone very close to him.

Seems that Fred’s older brother Lucius went off to fight in Vietnam around 1971 and got shot at An Loc around this time a year later.  They swapped some letters and had a long distance talk or two while he was in the vet hospital, but Lucius lost his fight with a serious stomach wound infection soon after that.  ”Didn’t even get to give him the Sly album I bought him for Christmas,” Fred said to me today while we watched the Sox and Birds warm up.  ”I was only eight or something but we were pretty damn tight.  Think I set my first mailbox on fire soon after.”  I teared up a little myself, put my arm around his shoulder and gave it a good pat as Fergie Jenkins walked out to the mound in front of us.  Thankfully we had at least six hours of ball to lose ourselves in, and good god, did we ever get lost.

Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle and Zeber

NORWALK, CT—It’s been a long, wiggy week. After two days in Texas old Buzz here needed to get his bearings back and work on his life a little.

Ready for this? I actually thought there was a way I could keep Pam from leaving me in twenty years, or whenever the hell it’s going to be. So when we showed up on the east end of the GW Bridge this morning I sent Fred and the gang on to Yankee Stadium for the game with the Indians while I took a bus up the coast to Pam’s home town.

Lone Star Encore

By Ed “Peachy” Calhoun
Jewett Babbler
Sports Writer

Let’s keep it right down here one more day, y’all. I wasn’t too thrilled about missing Houston ditching the Cardinal win streak last night, so tonight I’m cranking up the old tuner, making myself a mile-high beef sandwich and enjoying the action courtesy of our new announcer Dewayne Staats. We were lucky to get Bob Prince for a year after the Pirates booted him out of their radio booth, but I kind of like this Staats guy. He’s got one of them long summer voices that just wraps around every play, and if you’re a baseball fan how do you beat his name?

Hot Time Deep in the Heart

By Ed “Peachy” Calhoun
Jewett Babbler
Sports Columnist

Here I was kicking back on the porch with a Marlboro, halfway through my third bottle of Shiner’s Bock, when all of a sudden there was a rogue lightning flash and these five runaway baseball freaks just appeared in my back yard.

Think I’m kidding? You readers all know my stuff.  You know it’s against my newspaper religion to make something up.  Yet here’s this white guy with an afro haircut calling himself Buzz claiming that he and his weirdo friends are here from the future and they need to get to either the Astros or Rangers game because something “amazing and far-out is gonna happen,” like one of them life-and-death matters you always see on TV.

Nightmare on Landsdowne Street

BOSTON—Friendly Fred was anything but. Not after the Bosox had ambushed his Yanks 8-4 in the first game yesterday. Not when his Yanks were 0-3 at Fenway and people on every corner outside the park were selling “NETTLES SUCKS” and CRY ME A RIVERS” and “CERTIFIED YANKEE HATER” T-shirts by the gross.

“Ain’t no way! I don’t care a good goddamn if Guidry’s on the mound. Hell, I don’t care if Whitey Red Ruffing Gomez Ford Downing is throwin,’ you Boston bitches got our number so far and I’m no fool. I got better scenes to make than sittin’ with you and all the white cats in those seats built for midgets watchin’ our butts get whacked by Rice and Fisk and Yasmeltski or whatever his name is. HELL no! I’m gonna find me a righteous record store somewhere to occupy for at least an hour, tnen mosey back up here for a cold, tasty one at the Cask ‘n Flagon till the game’s done, which is where you can find my relaxed, not-caring-one-bit ass.” he explained.

Darth Foster, the Red Menace

CINCINNATI—So I grab a morning paper as soon as we make a dry landing in Fountain Square, and happen to see an ad for the Southern Ohio premiere of a new “science fiction spectacular” called Star Wars. And suddenly the Reds-Phillies game tonight means nothing.

“How can we not go to this movie?” I ask everyone, “I mean, do we evaporate or something if we skip the baseball game?”

“That movie’s lame,” says Amy, “and haven’t you seen it 65 times by now?”

“No, only 47, but who cares? We’re here on the day it’s opening nationwide! Is that wicked cool, or what?”

Can’t Get Enough of This Funky Stuff?

Beginning today, I have a new monthly column on the official Strat-O-Matic Web site called The Funk Zone.  It will feature loose, hopefully humorous ramblings about doing this replay which I have no room for here, along with other baseball obsession topics that skip through my brain.  Apparently, I needed to lose more of that pesky free time.  Here’s the link.

Arch Nemesis

I had my first dream since forever.  I was at Squallpocket Beach with Pam and Timmy, and we were building this beast of a sand castle, and Timmy had potato chip crumbs stuck in the peanut butter around his mouth, and a Go-Gos song was playing on a boom box nearby, but waves were rolling in and the water was flat-out boiling, and Pam screamed and tried to grab Timmy’s arm and then the water was crashing over us and —

Crazy Amy’s pale, once-pretty face was next to mine as my eyes opened. We were in some kind of narrow room with a hump-shaped floor, and morning light was slicing in through these weird slit windows on both sides. Fred was already up, peering through one of them.

Hospital Mum on Patient “Disappearances”

By Buster Finch
Maine Life Section Editor
Portland Press-Herald

SQUALLPOCKET—Local authorities in Beavertail County are investigating rumors of a recent disturbance at the State Hospital in which five patients may have escaped from the premises. The patients, whose names are being withheld, were involved in an apparent fight on one of the wards two weeks ago, and were not in their beds or on the hospital grounds the following morning

“We’re doing all that we can to locate them,” said Chief of Psychiatry Sheila Grossinger, “We have a large facility here and it’s possible they could be hiding in one of the storage rooms or service tunnels. Family members have been contacted and reassured that there is no cause for alarm.”

A hospital custodian, Seamus M. Headley, was reported to have more detailed knowledge of the ward disturbance, but attempts to interview the verbally impaired worker were unsuccessful.