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Granville Wyche Burgess: Put Shoeless Joe Jackson in the Hall of Fame

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Dear Commissioner Manfred,

I write to add my name to the growing list of people who are outraged at your treatment of the Houston Astros, especially in light of your refusal to re-consider the case for removing Shoeless Joe Jackson from the Ineligible list and thus allowing him to be voted into the Hall of Fame, which he surely would, given his outstanding career.

In two 2015 letters from Arlene Marcley of the Shoeless Joe Jackson Museum in his hometown of Greenville, SC she requested that you remove Jackson from the ineligible list. In denying her request, you wrote that your research into the historical record meant that you could “not be certain enough of the truth to over-rule Commissioner Landis’ determination” that Shoeless be banished for life. With the Astros, you can be certain of the truth-they have admitted it! Yet you granted the players immunity before doing any research. Why have you reached a conclusion to continue the punishment of Jackson after research and refused to punish the Astros players without research?

You cite Landis’ decision as precedent. Let me note that he banished Jackson despite the verdict of innocence by the jury. (In another trial, the jury awarded Jackson over $16,000 in back pay from White Sox owner Charles Comiskey). If Landis is to be your guide, then I humbly suggest it is incumbent upon you to banish the Houston players for life.

Or you might consider this: Jackson was banished for life. His life is over, and thus should be his banishment. If you cannot rectify your treatment of the Astros, at least remove Shoeless Joe Jackson from the Ineligible list and allow him to assume his rightful place in the Hall of Fame.

Respectfully,

Granville Burgess
Author, The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe

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Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, published by Chickadee Prince, and which is available on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

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A last word from Alan N. Levy, on Colin Kaepernick and Abraham Lincoln

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[Editor’s Note: This week, NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell announced that the NFL has “moved on” from Colin Kaepernick, the great QB who dared to speak out about violence against African-Americans. At Audere, some of us feel that the blacklisting of Colin Kaepernick is a tragedy and an outrage, and many others agree. In the Atlantic, Jemele Hill wrote, “The league’s clumsy treatment of Kaepernick only showed what the quarterback’s supporters have been saying all along: The NFL is unwilling to tolerate black athletes’ outrage, outspokenness, and desire to exercise their power — even though all three are entirely justified.” The late Alan N. Levy, the novelist, who wrote columns for Audere and The Times of Israel, would not have agreed. As it happens, he wrote his very last column on the subject of Colin Kaepernic, just days before his death. We didn’t publish this at the time. But given the newsworthiness of the subject this week, and our personal respect for Alan, we are publishing it now. This column doesn’t reflect the opinion of Audere Magazine or Chickadee Prince Books. As much as we may disagree with his ideas here, he deserves to make his view known.]

Alan N. Levy: If we’re going to put one of these sort-of-look-alike gentlemen on a pedestal, please let it be the guy on the left [see above]. Ironically, this nation is great, and not because of the likes of Abraham Lincoln.

Surely he was a great president, and yes he had a way with words … any doubts, any newbies? Read the Gettysburg Address, one of the most profoundly written and moving speeches in the history of mankind. And, oh, by the way, the guy on the right carried the Union to a victory over the Confederacy in a bloody civil war that left more than 620,000 dead. Colin, now THAT was a Super Bowl.

No, Colin, this nation is great because of you. Not because of your position on things, and certainly not because you choose to show complete disrespect for this nation by kneeling while our national anthem is being played. And certainly not because of your questionable skill set or your mediocre gridiron accomplishments. This nation is great because we tolerate you, we listen to you, we allow you the right to free speech that more than 400,000 marked graves at Arlington National Cemetery have assured you. We tolerate you, and we tolerate anarchists. We tolerate the American Nazi Party moronic zealots and the Socialists, who, at least in my view, represent the North and South poles in a polarized nation.

So you don’t like the Betsy Ross flag. And you don’t like this and you don’t like that. Then work to change things. Become a force to be reckoned with, within whichever political party you may choose. We each have the power to exercise influence, we each have the ability to share our passion with others and transform thought processes and lives. Be more than a protestor; that’s all I ask.

Many years ago, I was a Service Director at a dealership in Atlanta. A customer pulled onto the service lane, and one of our porters greeted him before a Service Consultant could do so. The porter walked up to the customer, said something, and then shook his hand. When the customer walked inside, he very politely asked the Service Consultant if he might first have a word with me. The man was ushered into my office, and he closed the door.

I suggested he take a seat, and he replied that he preferred to stand. It was then that I noticed the anger seething within him, preparing to boil over.

He said, “Sir, I come from an impoverished childhood. But I realized at a very early age that the only salvation I had, the only thing that might pull me out of the ghetto, was an education. My Master’s Degree is from Georgia Tech, I have a loving family, and I am blessed to be able to assist my mother now, in return for all those years we struggled so mightily. I am a vice-president of a company here in Atlanta, and your porter, that poorly-trained young man, and I blame you for all this, sir, had the audacity to greet me outside with his version of a ghetto handshake and some sophomoric quip that he assumes has created a bond between us.”

As he turned to leave my office, he added, ”And please don’t insult me by assuming I’m just another average customer who’s complaining in order to get a free service here or a token discount. I intend to pay my bill, in full, but I shall never return.”

Embarrassment completely engulfed me. I’m a Jew, I comprehend prejudice and social injustice. I seethe at bigotry and the arrogant assumption that a people decides another group is inferior. In German, the word associated with that concept is “niedermenschen,” one of the most disparaging terms in that language. I contemplated joining that outraged man in the customer lounge, in order to explain that I grew up in a one-room apartment and that my parents’ bed dropped down from a wall. Of course, I didn’t do that, because the chasm between us would have widened. My personal contact with prejudice is primarily historical in nature, with few, although highly unpleasant, direct personal encounters. The black man in our society and his experience with prejudice is not only direct, but is normally a daily occurrence.

Can a white man like me possibly comprehend what moves Colin Kaepernick? Not completely, because the two of us grew up in different sides of this nation. But did I catch a glimpse of that, in the intensity of the man before me in my office that morning? Yes, I did.

Colin, you may think it a victory to convince Nike to cease sale of sneakers with a circle of stars on their label, but it was not. That’s not the way to change the world or to eliminate bigotry and prejudice in this nation.

Do better than to merely protest, Colin. One man can do great things.

Just look to Lincoln as the man you should aspire to be.

And if you ponder how to begin your journey within the law, of course, your battle cry is already there.

Just do it.

^^^

Alan N. Levy, who died in 2019, was a political columnist at Audere and blogger at The Times of Israel, and the author of The Tenth Plague, an acclaimed geo-political thriller that focuses on a future with a nuclear-armed Iran, published in September from Chickadee Prince Books. The book is available right now in paperback at your local bookstore, from Amazon and B&N, and also on Kindle.

 

Granville

Granville Wyche Burgess: Shoeless Joe and Me

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Rain. It started just as we left Greenwich at 3:30 pm on July 11. I was traveling with Reba’s aunt on our way to pick up Reba in Princeton, then on to Anna’s home in Talmage, PA to spend the night, then to Burlington, NC and my sister’s home, spend the night again, then on to Greenville, SC, where my friend, Ward, had loaned us his house for two days, all in preparation for my Sunday afternoon reading at M. Judson Booksellers.

It rained all the way to Princeton, so hard at times that cars pulled over. We had to slow down to a crawl on the streets near the train station, the drain pipes had backed up so much that the roads were flooded. Fortunately, it let up a little as Reba drove and we managed to get to bed at a reasonable hour. Errands the next day, including buying groceries for Anna since she doesn’t drive, pushed our start time back from 9 am till 1 pm, so I got to practice my Edgar Cayce meditation on patience. The drive down I-81, despite all the trucks, is always beautiful with mountains on both sides. Again, a reasonable bedtime and a pleasurable morning at my sister’s. I always enjoy sitting in her beautiful kitchen and just catching up. We managed to put together a quick breakfast with Reba’s sister-in-law and husband the next morning. They are always delightful company. And, finally, on to Greenville on Saturday morning. It’s a long drive from Greenwich to Greenville—some 700 hundred miles–, but, fortunately, we have enjoyable stopping places along the way.

We had a party for old friends at Ward’s on Saturday night. And by “old,” I mean people I have known for some 60+ years. I am always grateful to be able to get together with such folks. I thanked many of them for lending me their last names for my novel. When I was creating the narrative and it was time for a name, I just picked one at random from my Greenville friends. In this manner, I came up with names for the antagonist, the leather-lunger, the owner of the “good” team, the national-anthem singer, Crusher, and several people Jimmy and Rhoda meet on their trip to the mountains. I love having my friends somehow be a part of this novel, my homage to my hometown.

Greenville has become such a cosmopolitan city. Reba and I had brunch at Up On The Roof, a restaurant with great views of the mountains. I thought back to my youth when the only place to eat besides one’s home was the S and S cafeteria. We then watched the finals of the Tennis Open, but were spared Roger Federer’s excruciating loss because I had to go to M. Judson Booksellers for my reading.

The bookstore is wonderful—another great addition to cosmopolitan Greenville. It has a café inside and is spacious and, of course, filled with exciting books. For my reading, I described aspects of life in Greenville in the days of Shoeless Joe, then read relevant passages from the book. I talked about how life in the textile mills was incredibly hard, ending with the harrowing image that the lint was so thick that workers sometimes vomited balls of cotton. I talked about how Shoeless hated his first trips to the big leagues because his teammates teased him about being such a yokel—so much so that he twice simply returned to Greenville. I read passages about how he got his nickname and one about how the Chicago White Sox lawyer enticed him to lie about his participation in the Black Sox Scandal, and I ended with a baseball game sequence in which a potato plays an important part in an on-field argument.

There were some 40 people at the reading—apparently a record for a reading at M. Judson’s. Some of them were my friends, but many of them were new to the bookstore.

The line to have books signed was long, which, of course, was thrilling for me. I loved talking to a woman who was new to Greenville and came to the reading just to learn more about the town. The person who had been instrumental in getting the Shoeless Joe Museum underway was there, and I gladly acknowledged her. And many of my friends had never been to the bookstore before, so I was happy that I was able to introduce them to it. We need our independent bookstores, and M. Judson is a beauty.

All in all, Going Back to Greenville has been a wonderful experience—and I still have the Greenville Drive baseball game to look forward to! Stay tuned!

Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, published by Chickadee Prince, and which is available on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

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Granville Wyche Burgess: Yankees vs. Tampa Bay

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Went to a Yankees/Tampa Bay game on Saturday. While on the train to the city from our home in Greenwich, my wife, Reba heard an announcement that if you gave blood at Grand Central Station you’d receive Yankees tickets. She stood in line for an hour, finally got to the nurse, who told her it would take about 20 minutes to draw the pint of blood. Reba had to get to the office so she couldn’t give, but they’d already given her the tickets!

Not surprisingly, the tickets were in the nosebleed section behind left field. But it was a beautiful day and we were happy to set aside hours to relax and enjoy the game. That truly is one of the great things about baseball: it forces you to spend a long time watching a slow-moving game, which leaves lots of time to chit-chat, or daydream or, yes, look up answers on your phone to questions like “How many people did the Roman coliseum seat?” (Approx. 50,000. Yankee Stadium? 50, 285 with 2000 more with standing room.) It’s amazing that the Romans built a stadium that large in that time, but then, the Romans were an amazing people. But they didn’t play baseball, although a bunch of Christians wished they had. Anyway, hooray for a game that makes you relax, right?

The game turned out to be a pitcher’s duel, which can be tough to appreciate when you are sitting so far from home plate. I would watch the pitcher wind up and release and I could see the ball but I had no idea where it went. And if a batter hit it, often you would pick up the ball only after it started rolling along the outfield grass. But I did get a new perspective on those high foul balls and popups-they go HIGH, higher than the top of the stadium sometimes. And, from up above, you can see just how much territory the outfielders cover-it looks like acres.

A couple of plays made me appreciate what amazing athletes baseball players are. The Rays centerfielder ran down a hit, grabbed the ball running full speed, and while spinning around through a perfect strike to second base. And the game featured one of my favorite baseball plays: a batter strokes a line drive to left field, which the Rays’ fielder grabs on one bounce. The Yankee runner on second tries for home, the outfield throws a perfect one-hop bounce to the catcher who tags out the sliding Yankee. Turns out later we learned the runner ignored the coach’s signal to hole up at third. “I thought I could make it,” he later explained. Hey, they pay him millions of dollars to make these judgment calls.

The Yankees scored on a passed ball. The Rays tied it up with a homerun and, tied, 1-1, the game went into extra innings. In the top of the 11th another Tampa Bay player hit another homerun. The Yankees got a runner on their half of the inning, but Gary Sanchez, their star catcher, hit into a game-ending double play. BTW, Sanchez, struck out 4 times before that-hey, they don’t earn their millions every day, that’s for sure.

The best part about the day? The Yankees lost! I know this may cost me a lot of unsold books, but I’ve always hated the Yankees. They are just so damn good! I’m an underdog-pulling kind of guy. I grew up with the Brooklyn Dodgers when they would always lose to the Yankees and some feelings you just never forget.

Just like I’ll never forget the extreme pleasure of spending a leisurely Saturday afternoon at the park, watching one of the greatest games ever devised to combine ease and excitement. Take yourself out to the ballgame, why dontcha?

Design by Steven S. Drachman, From an Image by Hoerwin56. Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, published by Chickadee Prince, and which is available on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

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Editor’s Choice: Shoeless Joe Jackson was Innocent

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By Alon Preiss.

Shoeless Joe Jackson was innocent.

Granville Wyche Burgess, whom you remember as the playwright who brought us the hit musical, Conrack, is back with The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a new and acclaimed novel that imagines the disgraced baseball player, Shoeless Joe Jackson, in his twilight, and seeking redemption.

Granville is also making the case, wherever he can, that Shoeless Joe was innocent, and that justice is long past due.

This is personal for Granville; he grew up in Greenville, South Carolina, where Shoeless Joe died (Granville was a little boy at the time), and where his new novel takes place.

Granville says, “When I played baseball as a youth in 1950’s Greenville, SC, as an all-field no-hit second baseman, nobody ever mentioned that Joe Jackson, whom many considered the ‘greatest natural hitter of all time,’ lived in my hometown! Such was animus towards Shoeless Joe because of the Black Sox scandal. I think Joe himself wanted to keep a low profile. Years later, when I read about the scandal, I became convinced of Joe’s innocence and wanted to put the truth, as I saw it, out into the world.”

Read Granville’s take on Joe’s fate in History News Network, The Baseball Historian, Seamheads, in Audere Magazine, and in a Q&A with Deborah Kalb, and see some great reviews of Shoeless Joe from NY Post baseball columnist Ken Davidoff, Sport in American History, Booklist, BookAnon, Tehben’s Book Club and BooksNKisses.

Granville is also traveling around to make his case. He’ll be in Greenwich, Connecticut on June 12, Greenville, SC on July 14 and July 17, and in Manhattan on September 19 and, next year, on May 12, 2019.

Good work, Granville, and good luck clearing Joe’s name once and for all.

Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, published by Chickadee Prince, and which is available on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

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On the 100th anniversary of the Black Sox Scandal, GRANVILLE WYCHE BURGESS declares: Shoeless Joe Was Innocent

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Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, published by Chickadee Prince, and which is available on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

What inspired you to write his story and why now?

When I played baseball as a youth in 1950’s Greenville, SC, nobody ever mentioned that Joe Jackson, whom some considered the “greatest natural hitter of all time,” lived in my hometown! Such was animus towards Shoeless Joe because of the Black Sox scandal. I think Joe himself wanted to keep a low profile. Years later, when I read about the scandal, I became convinced of Joe’s innocence and wanted to put the truth, as I saw it, out into the world. An added plus: I love baseball, I think it’s a great game! As to why now, what better way to commemorate the 100th Anniversary of the Black Sox scandal than to publish a novel about it?

 

You believe that Shoeless Joe is innocent in the Black Sox Scandal. What makes you draw this conclusion?

First of all, we have Joe’s word, and there is nothing I have read about this Christian man that would lead me to believe he is a liar. Joe went to his grave believing “The Supreme Being will be my judge.” He says he told Comiskey about the fix and Comiskey ignored him—and plenty of what I have read about Comiskey would lead me to believe he was primarily interested in protecting his reputation and his money. As someone who could neither read nor write, I believe Comiskey’s lawyer, Alfred Austrian, tricked Joe into testifying the way he did. He certainly got him to sign a waiver of immunity that he could not read. What many people do not remember is that in a 1924 trial where Joe sued Comiskey for back pay, a jury believed him and awarded him the money. Then the judge, noting discrepancies in Joe’s 1920 testimony and his 1924 testimony, overturned the decision. What is indisputable is that Joe Jackson played his heart out in that World Series: no errors, the only home run, a .375 batting average, and 12 hits, which stood as the record until 1964.

 

Growing up in times of segregation, what draws you to stories about injustice, specifically this one?

Growing up, I saw the injustice of segregation all around me, from Whites Only drinking fountains to the squalid housing of what was euphemistically called “Nickletown.” Also, I was familiar with the ethos of the people who, like Joe, worked in a textile mill: they worked hard hours, loved their families and their communities, and were very religious. I was drawn to this story not only because I think Joe is innocent, but also because I think his hometown should celebrate, not ignore, this iconic baseball player. Happily, they now have. There is a Shoeless Joe statue in downtown Greenville and a Joe Jackson museum across from the minor-league ballpark.

 

What are some similarities and differences you find between writing plays and novels?

For me, the main similarity between writing plays and writing novels is story, story, story! I love a good story and try to write something that has people constantly wondering “What happens next?” As a playwright, I tell the whole story in dialogue, and dialogue is an important part of my novel-writing. I believe it is harder to depict character in playwriting because action is the best means of depicting character, and action in the theatre is limited. I can’t have a baseball game onstage—or at least only in a very limited way. I can’t do a scene sliding down a rocky river, as I do in the novel. Finally, the sheer number of words you can use writing a novel makes it a form in which one can more easily expand upon ideas and where one can spend time describing scenes and, especially, the inner emotional life of a character than one can in playwriting. I find the restrictions inherent in dramatic writing make it a much more difficult genre, for me, than narrative fiction, where I can let the words more easily flow.

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Granville Wyche Burgess: Take Me Out to the Ballgame (Part 2)

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The Orioles vs. Rays game begins at 1:05 pm on a cloudy day in Sarasota.  We are seated behind first base, which turns out to be a pretty good place to see some action. The O’s turn a nifty double-play: a grounder to the first baseman, who throws to the shortstop covering second, quickly retreats to the bag, and is there to take the throw to put out the runner at first. This is not easy to do, but as with many things professional ball players do, they make it look effortless.  So does the center fielder as he grabs a hit on one hop and throws a perfect strike to third base to get the runner there.  And this is just the first inning!

In the second, an Oriole batter draws a walk and the speakers burst forth with Fats Domino singing “I’m Walkin’,” another example of the good-natured humor to be found at a baseball game. Can you imagine such light-heartedness at, say, an NFL game?  No, football is serious business!  The Oriole player reaches third base, then the pitcher throws a ball in the dirt, which bounces out of the catcher’s glove, the guy on third breaks for home, the pitcher covers the plate, the catcher backhands a flip of the ball to the pitcher, who swipes it across the runner as he slides…. “safe!” signals the umpire, throwing his arms wide.  I love the sudden drama of a baseball game.  You’re just casually watching, nothing much going on, then—bam!—everything goes into high gear, 5-10 seconds of intense action.  Unlike football or basketball, where the dramatic action is pretty continuous, baseball, for me, is more enjoyable because there are stretches of time when you can relax, look around, soak in the scene, anticipate the next pitch.

You also have a very good chance of leaving with a baseball when you go to a spring training game.  Fans are always begging to be thrown a ball and players often oblige.  If the right fielder catches a final out, he will practically always throw it to a fan lining the small stadium wall as he trots back to the dugout.  When the first baseman throws the ball back to the dugout after he finishes tossing ground balls to warm up the infielders at the top of each inning, the player collecting it will probably throw it back into the stands, over the netting that protects the fans.  Boys are especially blessed with baseballs, it seems.  When a man catches a foul ball near me, he immediately signals to a nearby boy and gives it to him when he comes over, eliciting applause from nearby fans.  And another fan shouts every time someone captures a foul ball: “Give it to a boy, give it to a boy!” He succeeds in shaming quite a few fans into giving up their hard-earned baseballs.

I have my moment of glory with a foul ball, too.  It’s hit nearby and bounds off the cement right at me.  I reach up with two hands, no one is trying to grab it from me, it’s spinning easily, piece of cake catch, I see it descend into my hands… and I flinch and it bounces off my hands and someone else scoops it up.  I had it, it was right there, how could I blow it? For a moment I feel bad—I wanted that baseball! But I soon realize that I wouldn’t have kept it, I don’t need a baseball, and a kid gets it anyway, so what? I also realize that the fact that I had 3 x 5 notecards in one hand and pen in the other—I am taking notes for this column—probably has something to do with my fumbling the ball. But I also think with a smile about my days at second base in Little League, where I had made untold miscues on batted balls.  Yep, still making errors, decades later!  Some things never change.

The game ambles on and the time drifts by.  The O’s turn a classic double-play, Tinkers to Evers to Chance-like. A batter breaks his bat and the pitcher ducks as half of it flies over his head.  Chris Davis, the Orioles’ highly-paid first-baseman —something like $100 million for three years—earns some of his pay by blasting a homerun over the center field fence.  How can a ball player be worth $100 million dollars?  Then, again, how can CEO’s be worth the millions they are paid, even when their companies are losing money? But this is not the time to be unsettled by thoughts of income inequality. The O’s are winning, 4-1, it’s the top of the eighth inning, and we are getting closer to the real reason I have chosen to come to this particular game. Today is “Seniors Run The Bases” Day. Anyone over 60 gets to run the bases at the end of the game.  I can’t wait.  I have never been on a professional baseball diamond. This is going to be fun.

Then it happens, as it so often happens in a baseball game. The karma completely changes.  Suddenly the Orioles can’t get anyone out.  The Rays score a run, then another, and the score is soon tied.  The manager brings in a relief pitcher and he gives up back-to-back homeruns.  It’s 7-4, then 8-4.  Another pitcher in, and they still can’t get the final out.  How can it be that, batter after batter, you can’t get one more out?  Especially since you’ve been leading all afternoon?  This is one of the great unanswerable questions of baseball, one that, I muse, makes it a lot like life.  Sometimes you just can’t find the answer, you just can’t get un-stuck.

What’s worse, the sky is getting very dark. The rain that was predicted seems to be on its way.  Jim, Barb, and I decide to leave, the heck with running the bases, it’s not worth getting soaked.  On the way out of the stadium, I watch the Rays score even more runs, until it’s 9-4 as we leave and the Orioles still haven’t gotten the final out.  Barb and I reach the bushes and retrieve our umbrellas. Then the heavens open up. I mean, it rains not just cats and dogs, more like elephants and hippos.  I am trying to protect Jim, who did not bring an umbrella, but mine is really only suited for one person. After a while, Jim gives up and simply plows ahead through the rain.  Barb decides her socks and shoes are so wet she begins walking through puddles instead of around them.  I think about the cost of trying to save that $10 parking fee by parking at the far-away CVS.

Finally, we reach the car. Fortunately, we have towels to place on the seats. A homeless person knocks on our window in the pouring rain and launches into some story about needing money to get somewhere—“What’s your cell phone number, I’ll call you when I get there and you can tell me where to send the money back?”  Barb is too miserable to listen and gives her $10. So that’s where the parking fee ends up!  At last they drop me off at aunt Anna’s house and I peel off my drenched clothes and jump in a deliciously warm shower. Once I’m in warm clothing with a drink in hand, I think back on the day.  The home-team got clobbered, I got soaked, I didn’t get to run the bases and imagine I’m Jackie Robinson, I blew my chance at grabbing a foul ball.  On the other hand, I saw double-plays, several homeruns, plays at the plate, met The Elephant Man, had a beer, and enjoyed several hours of stress-free fun.  All in all, it was a great day. Of course it was, it was baseball!

CODA:  As I left the stadium at the Orioles/Rays baseball game, I heard the announcer say that Seniors Run The Bases Day would be held at the game against the Pittsburgh Pirates.  I made sure to be there.  It was a sunny day, a bit brisk, but no rain.  Jim and I joined at least 100 seniors as the Orioles mascot led us onto the baseball diamond. I took off running, not fast but slow enough to enjoy touching each base, making sure to step on it purposefully, especially home plate. Truth to tell, it was over much too fast. But, as with so much of my life loving baseball, I had the memories.

***

Granville Wyche Burgess is an Emmy-nominated playwright and novelist. He is the author of The Last At-Bat of Shoeless Joe, a novel about Shoeless Joe Jackson, to be published by Chickadee Prince in May, and which is available for pre-order on Kindle, and in paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and your local bookstore.

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