The Long Fly Ball Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki All rights reserved The Long Fly Ball So, you're what the town's been buzzin' about. A sportswriter, huh? My ol' coach once said that if 'n he needed a brain transplant, he'd a-chosen a sports writer. That's right - cause he'd o' wanted a brain that's never been used. Ayuh, I see you've heard that one before. Excuse my cough - it's that sharp November afternoon. I'm tellin ya, Autumn steals outta here faster than a split-fingered fastball. The trees rust like ol' barrels and before ya know it you're sweeping snow from your stoop. I'm supposin' that you're here to write about Merle, eh? Damn tragedy, that is. A tragedy is just about the only thing that woulda dragged a big city boy like yourself into these parts. Methinks we should sit down. This old man's knees are screaming like rusty hinges. It's the game, ya know. The game did this to my body. A friend of Merle? Well... Here we are. Mind the splinters, now, the bleachers need a sandin' and are beggin' for a paintin'. My knees? Ya, my knees ache. My back is just about useless. My eyes - hell, I used ta count the stitches on a baseball at twenty feet. Nows I squint just ta read the paper. I'm broken-down. Baseball players, methinks, are in the same business as whores - we ruin our bodies for the pleasures o' strangers. You write for one o' those big papers, huh? The Tribune? Well ain't that a kick in the ass? Sackville ain't seen the likes of a big shot like you since, well, since Merle and I played. It don't make a difference to an old man like me whether you take notes or not. Doesn't make a whole lotta difference. The funeral? No, I didna go. It was a sad time though. Hell, Brocklin even decided to close his bar that day and he didna even close it the day those Japs bombed Pearl Harbor. Baseball, though, baseball here in Sackville is more 'an just a game, it's more like a religion. Home plate is like the altar and these bleachers I'd liken to pews. Mythical proportions? Well, that sounds about right. Was Merle a hero? Mayhaps... Merle Kessler was a damn fine ball-player. Coulda turned pro, some say. Coulda played for the Cubs. Coulda been, but for the... What's that? The long fly ball? So, I've seen ya gone and done your homework, son. Ya, Kessler mighta been a hero, but, between you and me, heroes don't die that way. It was the brightest, most scorchin' day I can remember. The Sackville Mudhens was playin' The Cochran Town Chiefs in the Illinois State Champeenship. A day so hot ya coulda fried an egg on the blacktop outside o' the stadium. Jesus P. God, it was hot. You're thinking that I'm just some old washout rattling off my mouth, I know, but I don't know if there's been a day like that since. Ya see, Sackville was losing, and ya, Cochran Town - they were the favourites owin' to the fact that they was from a bigger town an' all. There were two men on base when Merle Kessler stepped up to bat to deliver Sackville their champeenship, ayuh. Who was on the mound that day for Cochran Town? Don't laugh now son, but I think the pitchers name was Goliath. Thomas Goliath. Ain't that a kick in the ass? Ayuh, I just mighta likened Merle to David that day. Merle was a helluva ball player, but he was a wiry little guy, he was tiny, he was dusty, he was just like... Sackville, ayuh. Well, the first pitch that Goliath delivered rumbled right through Merle's strike zone like the Chicago to New York. And hell, the second pitch -well that was the Express Train, if'n you know what I mean. And there was all of Sackville piled into this stadium here - with room to spare, mind you. They were jumping and screaming and yelling. Even with two strikes down, all of Sackville knew that Merle was a goin' ta rip that third pitch out into the field. Even with two strikes down, Merle knew he was goin' ta rip that ball. And when Merle connected with Goliath's pitch - CRACK - ya woulda thought that all o' Chicago and mayhaps most o' Illinois had packed themselves into these bleachers. The ball shot out from Merle'sbat just like a rock from a sling and climbed into the blazing sky. That long fly ball looped into center field and... died. Merle roped that long fly ball was driven right into the centerfielder's mitt. Yah, I guess Merle Kessler coulda been a hero. If that centerfielder had been playing a bit deeper, Kessler probably would o' played professional baseball. If that centerfielder had panicked at the crack of the bat, Kessler would've been Sackville's savior. He would o' made somethin' of himself. If that bastard had dropped that damned ball, Kessler probably would'na taken up drinking What's that? What did I do after that game? I went home to my Diane. I went home to Diane and we had a couple o' kids - they're both pretty successful ya know. Both o' them moved to Chicago as soon as they were gone and done with their schoolin'. Now, son - don't go kiddin' yourself. I know you're not here to write about a sorry old sack like me. You wanna here about Merle. What's that? What did he do after that game? Well, he never played again. No sir, that man took straight to the bottle. You wanna here about how much Merle drank? Just go an' ask Brocklin. He'll know. I'm supposin he got to be Merle's best friend over the years. Ayuh, mayhaps, if Merle Kessler had a girl like my Diane, he wouldna gone and done that. But it's all about that damn ball. If that fielder had dropped that cursed ball, none o' this woulda happened. I'm supposin' if he had let that long fly ball go, Kessler wouldn't have wrapped his Duster around o' that light polea few nights ago. No, if that ball had dropped into the soft outfield, Kessler would've been more than a few lines in your Tribune. Wouldna he? When did I retire from the Sackville Mudhens? My boy, I didna play for the Mudhens. No, I never played with Merle, neither. A friend? No, I'm supposin' I wasn't much o' that, either. Not family, my boy. I played for the Cochran Town Chiefs. What's that? What position did I play? My boy, I played centerfield.