Tuesday, August 5, 2008

She gettin around.

She always come at the worst time, don't she? Right when you got sorted out and you puttin it together, she drop in and pay y'all li'l visit. F'it aint a beanball off the knuckles, s'a foul off a shin. Or a dead arm. I hate when she brang a dead arm.

She been travelin'a New York this week. Seen her.

She seen that boy Joba. One bad start'n theyre skippin'm, sen'in him down'a Birm'n'ham, see Doc Andrews. Shame of it is, that boy's got talent. Got a-hunnerd-four K's in eighty-nine innins. Seventy-six hits. S'rare t'see them boys up'n the New York media get one right. Be a damn shame t'waste it.

She seen that li'l redneck boy on the Mets this week, too. Got him on'a forearm. We see bout that, them thangs c'n move. Don't wan'a make light of the dead, but the funny part's they got that Heilman boy closin now. You seen that boy on'a mound in Shea? Hoo'h.

I seen a bear once. Twelve-years-old. S'with my cousin. Said my eyes got real wide'n big. My mouth kind'a fell open half-way. Years later, he told me it was'a first time in his life he seen terror. Course he did tour'a Nam, so he know a li'l bit. I'm stuck imagining, and I'm picturing I looked a bit like Heilman when he's giv'n up a three-run lead at home. But I don't wan'a joke on another man's misfortune, or nothin. That's just my over-active imagination, n'all.

No comments: