we had an awful game to watch Tuesday, we’d all rather have been down the pub…on the other hand had we been there last night and subjected to the usual rabble we would have wanted to be home to savor what we saw this time…in a game of memorable images, woo-hoo feats, there was one i woke up with this morning above the rest.
if you watch a couple of hundred baseball games a year these images have a short life, almost always…but you never know, so here’s mine…
if i had attended the Centuro Educalivo in San Pedro de Macoris in the Dominican and finally found myself, age 25, in the majors last year with a bad team but a Major League team none the less who got me in the free agent draft back in ’06…and they had called me up last year and i had made an impression to the extent i was their starting CF this new season i would have gone to Atlanta as such with a good deal of pride…
and then in the first inning our man – our main man now the other guy’s gone down- is getting smashed around the park in the first innings…the crowd’s roaring, there’s some guy called Freeman up and he’s hot…crescendo noise as he smacks it over my head, i’m on alien ground…and i turn and i chase and i catch it high on the torn wall and the crowd is silent…
what impacted me in all this was not the marvelous catch per se but the look in his eyes as he took his position on the field…smouldering, FU!…this is what i can do, were you watching, did you see me? there was not a trace of hot dog in any of this, it was all in the eyes, pride…he had done something remarkable, on foreign soil, something he was intensely proud of and he wanted to be sure we Atlantans knew that he was.
‘What calls me is that lifted rough tongued bell
(Art if you like) whose individual sound
insists I too am individual. ‘
that was his art i saw last night…and i thank him for it.
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