Monday, September 15, 2008

Thunder on the Base-Paths!

Hurdy Chadwick and myself joined the throng of happy Rooters in Fenway’s commodious out-field bulwark yesterday for an afternoon of steaming wieners, refreshing suds and delightful ball-playing from the local nine. Adding to the merriment was the Boston Club’s formal recognition of Maine’s Rooting Regiment, and seeing the Pine Tree State’s blue standard sailing above the grand-stand, amongst the stars and stripes and a phalanx of League and World’s Champion banners, brought a tear of pride to my jaded scribbler’s eyes.

The morning’s drenching rains made the day seem better-suited to mud grappling than base ball, but we began our trek southward with hopes that the new-fangled weather prognosticators were correct in their assessment that precipitation would end before our heroes climbed from the dug-out. What science these “weather-men” must have at their disposal, for as sure as you’re born, the 1:35 start time arrived with narry a mist falling!

In fact, the only thunder heard that afternoon came after a decisive eighth-frame blast from “Colossus” Ortiz. To that point, the Bostons and Torontos had been ensnared in a high-class flinging duel, with our Ace, “Nothin’ Doin’” Lester matching Roy “The Wizard of the Pill” Halliday hurl for hurl. But the Colossus made sure to clip the wings of the recently high-flying blue birds.

Ortiz’s mighty ash delivered a cannon-shot to the right field, where the young patrolman made an ill-advised “dive” in his efforts to corral the orb. As the pill skipped past his prone, helpless figure, the Colossus stoked his locomotive engine and roared around the second-bag to earth-shaking effect. Before the Toronto third-sacker could receive his prize, The Colossus had settled safely on the pillow!

Mayhem and triumphal songs erupted from the assembled Rooters! And tho’ he may have desired a brief nap at the corner, Ortiz did not remain long in “scoring” position. The next bats-man, “Yukon” Youkilis, delivered a deep “fly” that allowed our Colossus to amble to the home-plate and notch the game’s decisive run.

Such was our abiding joy from the spectacle that Mr. Chadwick and myself did not even need a restorative pause at one of the innumerable gin-joints, honky-tonks and dubious road-side food sellers along the U.S. Postal Route that links Boston to Maine.

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