I got off the train at the end of the line, crossed over Surf Avenue and walked along the edge of the midway. The season is over and most of the stuff is closed for the rest of the year.
SPANG!
I stood by a fence and looked at the original Cyclone, half-collapsed and overgrown with weeds and ivy. On the other side of the midway the “new” Cyclone teeters, looking like it might fall to pieces any second itself.
SPANG!
I climbed the stairs up to the boardwalk. A few of the snack shacks were open and I thought about grabbing a dog.Maybe later. I crossed the wood planks to the sand and walked over the beach to the edge of the water and sat down.
SPANG!
I sat there for a good long while, trying to clear my head, to think. No luck. I got up and headed back to the boardwalk for that dog. And that’s when I saw the guy tinkering around with one of the pitching machines.
SPANG!
He wasn’t planning to open, so I had to talk him into it. Finally I gave him a twenty and he showed me a cage I could use.A softball cage. I gave him another twenty and he said I could use the fastball cage. I bought some tokens, grabbed a bat and stepped into the cage.
SPANG!
I put Bud down out of the line of fire, slipped off my headphones and sunglasses and dropped a token in the slot.
SPANG!
The machines pitchSpaldings. A light flashes on the front of the pitching machine to let you know when the next one is coming.
SPANG!
I let the first couple whiz past to get the timing and placement,then I stepped into the box. The balls came in just a little high and outside. I let another one by,then got myself hunkered down. I balanced myself just back of center, so I could lift my lead foot before throwing my weight forward. I kept my elbows in and circled my bat. The light flashed. The ball came to the top of the machine and shot toward me. I stepped into it, rotating my hips and shoulders, extending my arms and pulling the bat through the strike zone, letting my whole body do the work, not just my arms. The ball was huge, brilliant white and moving about eighty miles per hour. I haven’t swung at a ball since the day I broke my leg.
The bat makes contact. The impact makes a noise. It echoes around inside the hollow aluminum cylinder and sounds like this:
SPANG!
If it weren’t for the fucking net, the ball would have gone over the Cyclone. And so would the next coupledozen I hit.
Now the torque I’m putting on my wound is starting to hurt like hell.
SPANG!
Jimmy crack corn.
SPANG!
’Cause I don’t care.
SPANG!
The balls jump off the bat like they’re scared and I groove homer after homer. My body relaxes. My mind clears.
SPANG!
I do the one thing I have ever been truly great at.
SPANG!
And for the first time I can remember, I look back at the road that led me here.
SPANG!
The long slide of my life from teenage superstar to alcoholic bartender.
SPANG!
The break in my leg that ended my baseball career before it started.
SPANG!
The calf that wandered out on the road and sent me and Rich crashing into a tree.
SPANG!
That sent Rich crashing into a tree.
SPANG!
The girl who dumped me and left me alone in New York.
SPANG!
The booze I poured down my throat.
SPANG!
