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March '04 BASEBALL! |
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A Nice Life Andrew Bomback |
Dave Clapper Joe Lee's Fastball |
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A Nice Life Andrew Bomback
Well, if you must know, I dreamt that we were twenty-two again, and at that Grateful Dead show at Giants Stadium, the one we went to with your cousin and his girlfriend. Except this time we were alone – no cousin, no cousin’s girlfriend. And no cousin’s girlfriend’s marijuana, either, which meant that we didn’t get high and sneak off to the men’s room and try to make love on a broken toilet seat. No, we were stone cold sober, just sitting in our seats, holding hands, occasionally singing along to the chorus of a song, which I think was “Eyes of the World,” but I can’t remember that part perfectly. Nor can I remember this part, how all of a sudden we were still sitting in a stadium, still holding hands, still smiling, but now we were at Shea Stadium, watching a Mets game. I don’t know who they were playing, so don’t ask. This wasn’t your typical Mets game. Wasn’t your typical team, really – it was like some All-Star lineup, culled together from all the Mets teams in the past, except everyone was in their prime, and they were all in their original uniforms. It looked kind of funny at first. Tom Seaver on the mound, Keith Hernandez at first, Piazza behind the plate, Tommie Agee and Cleon Jones sharing the outfield with Mookie, Casey Stengel pacing the dugout. It’s funny, describing this scene to you, because you were there in the dream, and I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain it to you, because you were there. But you weren’t particularly interested in the game. You kept your head perched on my shoulder and sang the first verse of “Uncle John’s Band” (maybe that was the song we were listening to in Giants Stadium, now that I think about it) over and over again, as if you were chanting some sacred prayer. I didn’t want to say anything, I didn’t want to jinx things, because your chant seemed to be working. The scoreboard said that the Mets were winning in the top of the ninth, and Seaver had yet to give up a hit, and we were just one out away from the first Mets no-hitter. I felt like something special was about to happen in our lives, like we were about to win the lottery or have a baby or maybe just move to a nicer neighborhood. I squeezed your hand as Seaver went into his windup, and I squeezed it again when he let go of his pitch. A pop-up, to the left side of the infield, and there was Bud Harrelson calling off the rest of the infielders, ready to make the catch, and I looked at Seaver, who was already grinning. I squeezed your hand one last time, and then suddenly we were back in this life, sitting in this kitchen, in our older bodies, drinking orange juice and sharing a bowl of popcorn. A Mets game was playing on the radio. They were getting blown out by the Braves (what else is new, right?). I put down my glass of orange juice and asked you, “This is a nice life, isn’t it?” You smiled and had a kernel stuck between two of your bottom teeth.
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