“Being sober on a bus is, like,
totally different than being drunk on a bus.”
— the prophet ozzy osbourne
I’m sitting on the picnic table in the shade at the Fifi Dubois Loop of Mystery after my run, checking on the results of the turkey election. How can turkeys even vote? And if they can, why has there never been a movement toward a constitutional amendment on that whole Thanksgiving massacre?
Directly in front of me are two baseball guys. That’s not unusual. A lot of guys work out here because we’re just a few blocks from the Giants spring training joint, and players use this park a lot. It has no backstop and the field is next to a sidewalk full of old people and chihuahuas, so I can see the allure.
What IS unusual is that they’re playing catch with a bat.
They wind up and throw it at each other. One of them wears a glove, but I don’t think he’s enthusiastic about catching it. I consider telling them they’re doing it wrong, but I’m looking forward to them trying to hit it with a baseball at some point. They throw for what seems forever, although forever is pretty normal when you run a loop that’s only 0.3 miles.
I go back to pondering the turkey thing. Does the president in Turkey get to pardon a turkey? Global politics is more complicated than one might think.
When I look up again, they’re throwing the bat as high as they can straight up in the air. Don’t these people know about video games? They take turns heaving it skyward. Throw, watch, retrieve. throw, watch, retrieve. Sorta like the turkey float at the Macy’s Parade on a windy day.
I go back to perusing the NYT. Exactly what IS a Turkish bath? And why do they have parliamentary elections but no funkadlicary elections? What would George Clinton say? Would be be available to run for the turkey presidency? Both George and Clinton seem so presidential-sounding.
A PIERCING SCREAM RISES FROM ONE OF THE BASEBALL PLAYERS.
I look up. He’s sprinting toward the Fancy SUV they came in, which is parked next to them. He is looking skward. The baseball bat is plummeting from the stratosphere. Straight Toward The SUV. He has the shriek of a little girl, if the little girl was doing a lot of steroids.
I’m not sure what his plan is. Does he hope to catch it? Does he plan to leap onto the hood, preventing damage at the risk of impalement? Will any turkeys be harmed in this endeavor?
His friend, quite sympathetic, is howling with laughter. Seriously. He actually Falls on the Ground Laughing. I am guessing this is not his car.
The player and the bat arrive at the same time. The bat hits the sidewalk barrel down, about 6 inches from the front bumper. It bounces twice and lands harmlessly on the sidewalk.
The relieved guy is gasping from the sprint, no doubt already regretting the deal he made with his deity of choice to ensure this result. The other guy has cracked multiple ribs laughing. Sadly, the bat didn’t hit any of the Annoying Motorized Cyclists who terrorize the trail.
And that is the end of the Great Monday Baseball Debacle. They gather their stuff shortly thereafter and climb into the SUV. I wonder if this ever happened to Barry Bonds.
They say you should never stop chasing your dream. I guess that’s especially true when your dream is headed for your windshield.
I hope we’re not having turkey sandwiches for lunch.