Curve Balls

Originally published 1/96 in "The Silver Valley Voice" - Moonshine Hill Press



“Curve Balls” by Jeffrey Lageson

Years ago he was a heck of a catcher. Squatting for hours on end, digging the ball out of the dirt from pitchers who had no business trying to throw curve balls in a real game he would endure the pain. He would endure countless bad pitches and foul tips. He would try to be nice to the umpires, except for that one time he let the ump take a bad pitch right after a bad call he had complained about, the equivalent of a brush back pitch to the next batter by a pitcher who just gave up a dinger to a weak hitting shortstop to lead off the fourth. That ump deserved it. Most umps do. Still, he knew better than to argue, officials never change their mind, they are a stubborn lot that aren’t quite bright enough to know that refereeing any sport is a horrible job.

A long time ago he hurt his knee and on cold crisp mornings like this one he could feel the pain as though it was fresh and not phantom. It was the type of pain that would never go away. Reminders of a youth spent playing hard and an adult life still feeling every slide.

Baseball was only one of the games he would play. All the games were fun but he loved baseball. Curve balls were rapidly becoming his nemesis in life and a reason to sleep in. As opposing pitchers learned to throw the curve and coaches saw that he couldn’t come close with his bat there had been a steady decline in his batting average and a movement in the batting order from second to seventh. Only pitchers and weak hitting shortstops hit behind him, which guaranteed him no protection in the order and therefore even more curve balls. The trend was obvious. He was condemned to the ranks of being only a good defensive prospect. “Curve balls should be banned along with the spitter,” he said to no one, even though he wanted to.

The newspaper rack showed the World Series was over, a proud champion in the headlines. The copy showed the real story, players ready to ask for a raise or leave in the off season. A coach was still under fire after his team had won. Other teams were still threatening to move. The pain was in his knees as he read the grim state of his lost love. The day after the greatest annual day in American Sports and already the hangover. Baseball was quickly going back to what it really does best anymore, alienating its fans.

He didn’t bother to spend the fifty cents for a paper. He had other business to take care of. The cold air was fresh and the early morning quiet.

Errands to run.
Life to live.
The knee bugged him with every step. The only curve balls left to worry about were thrown at him from pitchers beyond his control. The world still seemed to know what kind of pitch to throw to him. On a beautiful crisp morning he chose to be a good defensive prospect and not care.

Jeffrey Lageson prays for the end of Astroturf in Pullman.