CLEVELAND—The last pitch thrown by Mark Littell to Larvell Blanks was probably an hour ago, and me and Friendly Fred have already hitched halfway to Buffalo. By now they must know we’ve split. Jetted. Vamooshed. Gone from that crazy bus faster than a college calculus class for spring break.
Sorry, Seamus, Lester, Sherman, Amy, Little Me and even you Sheila, but YOU’RE the ones who are crazy, following these horror movie pennant races around to their deadly ends. Right, Fred?
“Damn straight and a half, fool!”
I mean, when the Patriot Act creeps showed up at my trailer or cot or wherever the hell it was back in February, I felt like I had a chance to do something special. You know, like perform community baseball service or something.
But not anymore. Nope. We’re not gonna be the ones to bend over and get time warped for these greedy techno-bolts. Me and Fred? We like it here in ’77 and we are gonna hide out where no one from Squallpocket is ever gonna find us.
“Damn straight and a half ‘n’ half, fool!”
Fred’s already said I can stay with him at his grandma’s in Harlem, but far as I’m concerned, it’s wide open. Camping in the Maine woods sounds like a possible plan. Maybe I’ll even go look up Pam again in Norwalk, CT, that girl I’m slated to marry, if Fred can help me get up the nerve. Hell, we can actually get real 1977 jobs, like working in a record store or starting our own weekly newspaper. Just long enough to hang in here until New Year’s, because I’m dying to find out what happens when the clock hits ’78.
“Watch it, brother. Don’t you be usin’ that nasty-ass word.”
Fred’s right. Not even the thought of dying or evaporating or even bad vibes here. Just keep us away from the sports pages and we’ll be fine. Just fine. And the baseball scores on TV, can’t forget those. And walking by newsstands.
And to think Seamus and Sheila and all them probably think our ball teams going in the crapper has something to do with this. Can’t figure out where they’d ever get an idea like that.
TEX 70 000 031 – 21 24 0
BOS 00 0 100 000 – 1 4 0
W-Alexander L-Wise HRS: Harrah (grand slam), Hargrove, Bevacqua GWRBI-Bevacqua
TEX 140 000 120 – 8 16 0
BOS 012 000 100 – 4 11 0
W-Devine (CG) L-Paxton HR-Evans GWRBI-Bevacqua
The Lester Line
WHITE SOX 5-6-0, at YANKEES 1-8-0
Fred jeopardizes our very existence by fleeing the mission, but after this I almost can sympathize. Catfish Hunter pitches great, but as usual, half of the hits he allows leave the park, two by Orta, one by Gamble, the Yankees go out of their way to destroy every one of their rallies against Barrios, and fumble a chance to move in front of Boston for the second straight day.
at INDIANS 6-11-0, ROYALS 3-10-0
ROYALS 4-10-0, at INDIANS 1-7-0
Andre Thornton has been tearing things up, and puts the Tribe ahead to stay in the opener with a 2-run smash in the 6th off Pattin. Garland with the CG. Later, Mayberry gets the biggest KC hit of the year, a 2-run smash in the 9th off Fitzmorris to snap a great 1-1 tie and keep the Royals a half game in front of the rampaging Rangers.
TWINS 4-9-1, at ORIOLES 1-6-0
A rare gem by Goltz keeps the quiet Minnesota resurgence going, while the Birds keep flopping around the .500 mark.
DODGERS 13-18-1, at PHILLIES 3-11-1
Hmm. Make it two straight L.A. wins with their new lineup, and this one features a decimation of Steve Carlton. Five Dodger homers leave the Vet, including two by Baker and one each by Smith and Cey, And Charlie Rau wins. And the Phillies are playing like a bunch of stinky hoagies right now.
CARDS 16-21-0, at PIRATES 6-13-1
at PIRATES 4-8-1, CARDS 3-8-0
Not Bruce Kison’s finest hour. St. Louis bats around in the first two innings of the opener, knocks him out in the 3rd, and has a 16-2 lead after six innings. Tom Underwood puts 19 Pirates on base but somehow throws a complete game. In the nightcap, Dyer and Garner homer off Falcone and Gossage saves it for Forster in the 9th.
at REDS 7-15-0, CUBS 2-9-2
CUBS 10-13-0, at REDS 8-8-1
Another sister-kisser, and a strange one for the Reds offense, which leaves 13 runners on in Game 1, and zero runners on in Game 2. Mr. Foster unfreezes and finally belts his 50th homer of the year, a two-run jack off Reuschel in the opener. Later, Mario Soto gives the Cubs seven runs in the 2nd before being liquidated.
at EXPOS 2-5-0, ASTROS 2-3-0
Ah yes. Relaxing peace and quiet at the Big O. Wayne Twitchell spins the hypnotic 3-hitter, with J. R. Richard the unfortunate victim.
EXTRA LINKAGE! In case you missed it, I did a guest post for The Platoon Advantage the other day about my first ball game experience, when JFK was still President and Eddie Bressoud played short for the Red Sox. Yikes.
American League through Sunday, August 24
National League through Sunday, August 24