Ahoy Rooters. I must thank the Hon. Hurdy Chadwick for helming this fine ship of base ball reportage in my recent absence. You see, I was called away from New England unexpectedly to assist my uncle Stuart McInnes, who got himself in a spot of trouble down south. Seems he has been taken in by a real estate swindler from the neigh-on-lawless state of Florida!
It’s a depressingly common confidence game -- some fast-talking binder-boy proffers the paperwork for a Cocoa-Nut plantation befitting a Rajah, but the property in question turns out to be an infernal mess of saw palmetto and venomous vipers not worth the stamps to mail the deed. I received a cable from Ol’ Stu seeking my assistance in recouping his loss (or at least finding a greater fool to take on the plot), and within hours I was steaming south in a Pullman car.
Some good, at least, has come of this unexpected journey: I am amidst the spring-training locales of several base-ball clubs, and managed a few hours yester-noontime to observe an exhibition contest between the Metropolitans of New York and the visiting Detroits!
The red-earth of the base-paths and green of the out-field were a vision of Heaven here on Earth! The whizzing of a delivered pill and the crack of ash against horsehide sounded like the Heavenly Host itself proclaiming Hallelujah! White flannel shone like hammered silver under the Sun’s benevolent rays! Steamed wieners and chilled lager paraded past my grandstand perch in an endless, delightful banquet!
I say, it was better than a belt of Duffy’s for curing the non-specific sense of malaise that often befalls a Rooter at this time of year. Alas, I must soon pack my straw boater and seersucker suit and trundle north to the still-gray environs of Maine, but I will be buoyed by the knowledge that Opening Day of the 2009 base-ball contesting season is a mere 10 days hence.
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