You’re hooked on these one-beat riffs and soon they jump out at you—most of the time they’re quick, but once in a while a long one plays out and when you hear it, it’s rich. You’ve got the ballgame on, your team’s just won, you want to fry up that slab of rock cod you bought, but stay put for the post-game show to hear Huff, star of the game, still on the field, out of breath—Huff, who was benched (hurt his hand) then came back to go 3-for-4, and there he is, slug of gum in his mouth (back in The Day it would have been chaw), hat off, crew-cut, headset on, speaks not of his deeds—he’s a team man—but of the new guy they just brought up who had a great game, too—He’s a big down-home redneck boy not scared-a no one, you got him back of the dish out there, he knows what pitch to call, and it’s all good. He’s got an arm like gold, and man, can that guy hit. Me? Had two nights off, cleared my head, had a few good at-bats, that’s all. The Cards took 2-of-3 from us at Busch, but now that’s done with, we’re on a roll and we all feel real good...
Huff’s riff ends and you don’t go fry the fish but glance down at some old Post-it notes next to you on the couch: Welles: Five hands seen. White hands in black coats. Deep voice: “And say to all the world ‘This was a man!’”
Don’t know where they came from, those notes, nor what they were for, but your boys won, and though the last four words on those Post-its might have meant some big shot in old Rome, for you right now they mean Huff, who came off the bench to win a tight game with a huge shot to left, last of the ninth, first game of a six-game homestand.
Gerald Fleming | For John Contents | Mudlark No. 56 (2015)