mitts and monkeys dancing
I am going to have to get a summer job. I am more in debt than I have ever been, and my life is running short
Walking through the school yesterday, I had my mitt on --- my second mitt. My first mitt, my little black one, was given away when I was maybe seven. This mitt, became a second mitt and the one I have tucked away somewhere was my third. The second mitt is now my softball mitt. I store a softball in it and have retro-fitted a pocket for a softball. It is the one I bring to practice.
It (excuse the pun) fits me like a glove. When I have it on, it is like it is part of me. As I walked through the school I waved at a couple of the faculty taking a CPR course. I heard them laugh as I walked away, I think it was because I waved with the mitt, which I didn't even think about having on.
It got me to thinking how I have that mitt on my hand, it seems natural. However, when a girl forgets her mitt, I will offer her mine. The recipient never seems to enjoy the thought of putting the 'old man's' mitt on. To me it is like an old friend. To the girls, it is just plain gross. They don't like how the fingers have worn away and the years of sweat and dirt is not very pleasant to a stranger. But I am not a stranger.
I really miss wearing my baseball mitts. Coaching has reminded me of that. When I am pitching batting practice and a girl will try to impress me with a sizzler throw, I snag the past and the future.
When I was in the masters program at University at Buffalo I went to about a half a dozen Buffalo Bisons games (just for the record I am ashamed of how minorleaguebaseball and majorleaguebaseball have taken away the identity of and websites of teams like www.bisons.com). It was a lot of fun and the year I was there, they were the International League champs. Last year, the Toledo Mudhens (I grew up in Toledo, OH) won. [I'm glad www.mudhens.com kept their web site.]
Each game I went to I would wear mitt number three in hopes of catching a foul ball. In the last two years, mitt number three has gone to a Bison's game, a Mudhen game and a Detroit Tiger game.
I want to be the Library Monkey at the Bison's ball games.
My plan would be to dance around in a monkey costume in the upper deck down the third base line in Dunn Tire Park. When there is a home team strike out I would hang a red 'K' and when there is a hit I would hang a green 'H.' I thought it would be a good promotional activity and a good job for me during the summer. I hatched this plan, that got denied by the powers that be at the Bisons front office (might be why they didn't win last year).
It would give me the opportunity to wear mitt number three and make money.
The mitt thing is one of those weird ironies. It is holding on to a childhood. When I was the age of the girls I am coaching, I lived with mitt number three. This was around 1968 when the Detroit Tigers won the world series, which made it intrinsically more valuable
I slept with that mitt (I put a ball in the pocket and put it under my mattress.) Mitt number three is a Mickey Lolich autograph model. Lolich won three games in the 1968 World Series. That was sweet.
When the softball sinks into the pocket of mitt number two, I can hear my childhood pop. If I could be the Library Monkey with mitt number three, the pop might merge my childhood with my in ability to grow up.
Walking through the school yesterday, I had my mitt on --- my second mitt. My first mitt, my little black one, was given away when I was maybe seven. This mitt, became a second mitt and the one I have tucked away somewhere was my third. The second mitt is now my softball mitt. I store a softball in it and have retro-fitted a pocket for a softball. It is the one I bring to practice.
It (excuse the pun) fits me like a glove. When I have it on, it is like it is part of me. As I walked through the school I waved at a couple of the faculty taking a CPR course. I heard them laugh as I walked away, I think it was because I waved with the mitt, which I didn't even think about having on.It got me to thinking how I have that mitt on my hand, it seems natural. However, when a girl forgets her mitt, I will offer her mine. The recipient never seems to enjoy the thought of putting the 'old man's' mitt on. To me it is like an old friend. To the girls, it is just plain gross. They don't like how the fingers have worn away and the years of sweat and dirt is not very pleasant to a stranger. But I am not a stranger.
I really miss wearing my baseball mitts. Coaching has reminded me of that. When I am pitching batting practice and a girl will try to impress me with a sizzler throw, I snag the past and the future.
When I was in the masters program at University at Buffalo I went to about a half a dozen Buffalo Bisons games (just for the record I am ashamed of how minorleaguebaseball and majorleaguebaseball have taken away the identity of and websites of teams like www.bisons.com). It was a lot of fun and the year I was there, they were the International League champs. Last year, the Toledo Mudhens (I grew up in Toledo, OH) won. [I'm glad www.mudhens.com kept their web site.]
Each game I went to I would wear mitt number three in hopes of catching a foul ball. In the last two years, mitt number three has gone to a Bison's game, a Mudhen game and a Detroit Tiger game.
I want to be the Library Monkey at the Bison's ball games.My plan would be to dance around in a monkey costume in the upper deck down the third base line in Dunn Tire Park. When there is a home team strike out I would hang a red 'K' and when there is a hit I would hang a green 'H.' I thought it would be a good promotional activity and a good job for me during the summer. I hatched this plan, that got denied by the powers that be at the Bisons front office (might be why they didn't win last year).
It would give me the opportunity to wear mitt number three and make money.
The mitt thing is one of those weird ironies. It is holding on to a childhood. When I was the age of the girls I am coaching, I lived with mitt number three. This was around 1968 when the Detroit Tigers won the world series, which made it intrinsically more valuable
I slept with that mitt (I put a ball in the pocket and put it under my mattress.) Mitt number three is a Mickey Lolich autograph model. Lolich won three games in the 1968 World Series. That was sweet.When the softball sinks into the pocket of mitt number two, I can hear my childhood pop. If I could be the Library Monkey with mitt number three, the pop might merge my childhood with my in ability to grow up.
posted by Library Monkey at 2:26 AM
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