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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
By Ed “Peachy” Calhoun
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? Continue reading
By Ed “Peachy” Calhoun
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. Continue reading
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. Continue reading
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?” Continue reading