![]() Once I get going here, I put it together. By no means can I put the uniform on and be pain-free or ache-free. ![]() ![]() “I can identify with it, that’s for sure,” the old man says in the dugout during a game. The fisherman’s hand would cramp and stick and look like a clenched claw. He is reminded of the old man in the skiff on the gulf. His hair is white like the batter’s box and his narrow face is held up by long and wrinkled skin, tanned by the sun hanging above the outfield. The old man loves the game and the game within the game.įrom afar he looks regal on the bag because he is tall and thin and wears the uniform the uniform doesn’t wear him. The cocky runner takes a big lead but moments before each pitch the old man loudly pounces his feet in the dirt, as if he was going to cover first for a pick-off. The old man recalls the batter’s penchant for hitting toward right field. ![]() In an extra inning of the second game of the doubleheader on his 81st birthday, he decides to not hold a runner at first. The old man scoots to the base just in time and then flashes a wry smile to the pitcher, because what’s there to worry about? More often than not though, he’s in command. Sometimes, a routine groundout to first becomes a bang-bang play. ![]()
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