Baseball

Chapter Two

Baseball

I suppose growing up every boy has a best friend. How does a person pick out a best friend anyway? I think it's just one of those unexplainable, naturally occurring events. There are no complicated mathematical equations to solve, or odd ball calculations.

I mean, it's not like you're sending a man to the moon or something, it just happens.

For me it happened when I was eight years old.

Harry Borgest was skinny, awkward, and a real dweeb. He was frail and probably allergic to life.

Yep, we were polar opposites. It's like I said, I don't know how we pick our best friends, it just happens.

I think maybe I picked him because I knew he thought I was the greatest thing that ever lived.

And so there it was, my very own fan club.

Okay, so there was only one member, but he was as faithful as they come.

There's a funny thing about best friends, you tend to become like each other.

I mean, some of the good things about Harry began to rub off on me. Things like...well, I'm almost sure there was something, but for the life of me, I don't know what it was.

But for Harry, well... it was different. From me he learned a great appreciation for America's greatest pastime of all past times passable...baseball.

We played everyday, working on our skills, sliding into home plate, knocking the ball out of the ole ball park, and then taking in the imaginary cheers of our adoring fans. We used our imaginations a lot.

Yep, you could say we were baseballs answer to all that was good and wonderful.

We were super hero baseball players.

We were convinced that by the time we were both fifteen we would be playing for the Yankees, or Philly, or some other great baseball team.

I had speed and moderate talent. Harry had...well, let's just say Harry was Harry, and that's all that mattered.

Our plan for greatdom was on track to becoming reality when one fateful day we couldn't find our baseball.

We were desperate. Without our baseball fix we might go into a baseball coma.

I had heard of it happening before, but never actually experienced it. I think we were about to find out.

Then it happened, a golf ball. Harry's dad was a serious golfer, with serious golfing equipment. In his bag he had the finest super duper super flight golf balls ever known to exist to mankind. To a golfer it was the golf ball of all golf balls golfable.

Harry's ingenuity was beyond the limits of what was limited.

“Just think how far we could hit this thing if we wanted.” he explained.

Of course it all made sense. This time when we hit the ball we no longer had to depend on our imagination to wonder what it looked like soaring through the sky on a collision course with the moon.

And in theory it was a great idea, but in reality... Harry hit the ball straight and hard.

It flew with greater velocity than anything we could have imagined before.

I lost my front tooth that day. It fell out in Harry's mother's hand while she was inspecting the damage done. It was more than she could take and she started crying.

I loved Harry's Mom. She was young, kind, gentle, soft spoken, and pretty. He was lucky to have such a great Mom.

The dentist wasn't able to save my tooth, but he did make me a pearly white new one. It was a thing of great beauty and pride.

I guess you might say it was my badge of honor of sorts.

In reality, however, I think it served as a lesson about life.

Some things just belong together.

A baseball belongs with a baseball bat, a hockey puck with a hockey stick, a golf ball to a golf club. Try any other combination and the results could be catastrous.

Author's Note

Two best friends and as love for baseball.

Reviews

[Woody]

a humourous write (as usual) with endearing characters. you excel in describing kids. how old did you say you were?
another good one my friend.

[Marie]

I would like to have seen that golf ball flying...must have been a real thrill, at least for a few seconds...