The ump makes a gesture and the Yankees manager heads back to the dugout.
Pitch three: Ball three. The catcher fires the ball back to me. The Yankee batter throws his bat down like I’ve walked him and runs to first. The catcher watches, then stares at the Yankee dugout. The third base runner makes his move for the plate. The catcher isn’t watching. The runner has a shorter distance to the plate than I do, but I have to be faster than the old guy, so it is a foot race.
I have to lunge to tag him out as he dives head first towards the plate.
I get him. Three outs.
That wasn’t supposed to happen, but I got the out and even the Manager congratulates me.
The Manager and coaches huddle, talking and looking over their shoulders at me.
The Yankees starting pitcher is still in the game.
The batting coach yells for me to get in the on deck circle. The Yankees know that the first batter is me or a pinch hitter so they’re going to wait and see who is batting before they put in their relief pitcher.
The pitcher finishes his warm-ups. I look back at the Manager in the dugout. He mimes a short baseball swing, meaning I need to go up to the plate and take my swings.
He’s taking a chance. This game could go into extra innings, so he is trying not to burn through the lineup.
The Yankees leave their starter in the game. They want to use his years of World Series experience to make me go away quietly.
If I just told you that I hit a home run that turned out to be a game winner you wouldn’t believe me and maybe if you saw it in person you wouldn’t believe me, so I don’t know what I have to do to convince you that something of that magnitude could happen without J.P. making such a prediction.
Let me take you through it for dexterity sake. I guessed right on the first pitch. For most of the game the pitcher had been mixing and moving his pitches around the strike zone. Nothing at the same speed. Nothing with the same movement. Nothing in the same location. So I thought he would show contempt for my minor league ways and just try to send a fast ball past me even though he wasn’t known for his heater.
I sent the slow motion fastball on a quick exit over the left field wall into the belly of the bleachers. Sligo, buy everyone a drink.
You think that is a happy ending. No, the story goes on and the worst of it is, after everything no one will remember that I hit a home run in the World Series.
CHAPTER 103
Blind Shane, Again
Saint Sligo O’Shaunessy. Mickey O’Really. The not soon enough departed. Say goodbye to the old ballgame. Wicked wonders, bathetic blunders, my world is good when I feel bad. I’m going solo and incognito.
My TV crew tried to turn me in. They came to the brilliant conclusion about my real intents and the seriousness therein of my modus operandi and that I wasn’t merely a lunatic willing to set myself on fire just to get my face on TV.
They went to the FBI and turned in all the film they had and made a statement in an attempt to exonerate themselves in my freedom drama.
They even showed the scene when I purchased a bomb from a group of Irish radical nuns. One of the nuns looked familiar. I’d like to see the tape again, but the FBI is only releasing a picture of me, so now I have to wear a disguise.
I’m the Village People. Each day I dress up as a different one of the Village People. In the neighborhood I’m hiding in no one seems to notice. I even have drinks at a local bar called the Horny Cockatoo where a lot of tough guys in leather hang out. They either leave me alone or look at me and say, “So old”, and snap their fingers at me.
I’ll just sit here and drink quietly. I’ve got a plan and a strap on bomb.
CHAPTER 104
So I hit my home run and now it is the ninth inning and we have two outs on the Yankees. One more to go and we can decide the series in game seven.
Shane shows up. He’s running onto the field dressed as a Yankee with what looks like a vacuum cleaner strapped to his back.
The crazy noise of the happy fans stops and all is quiet in Wrigley. He stops near second base and does a 360 degree turn to look at the crowd. He presses a button on a hand held device just before security can grab him.
Shane turns into a rocket man. He might have thought that he was buying a bomb, but what he was wearing that looked like a vacuum cleaner was a jet pack. He lights up the night sky as he flies higher than the height of Chicago’s tallest buildings. The jet pack runs out of fuel and flares out and a parachute opens and catches a breeze that carries him towards Lake Michigan.
Whoever sold him his bomb was nice enough not to drop him out of the sky onto his sorry ass into the tripping lane on Lake Shore Drive.
Everyone is shocked. We weren’t sure what to do, so the umps told us to go ahead and finish the game. We only need one more out and the next Yankee grounded out on the first pitch.
Enjoy the ride Mr. Shane. You can probably see Gary, Indiana from up there!
If there is a lesson here it is to never buy a bomb from a radical Irish nun, especially if one of the nuns has a face that reminds you of Saint Sligo O’Shaunessy. Sligo always told me that nuns have bad habits.
Sister Sligo wears sunglasses at night when selling bogus bombs to terrorists.
CHAPTER 105
The Final Game! Yankees must die! I’ll drop a bomb on them myself. Bayonet charge at dawn. Must kill Yankee dogs, imperialist bastards from the east.
Something is wrong. We’re winning by a score of thirteen to nothing. It is all seeming too easy. The fans are unusually quiet for a game seven of the World Series where they have an almost insurmountable lead. This doesn’t happen often at Wrigley. No one is sure how to act.
Thirteen to nothing. Nothing unlucky about the number thirteen today. I’m still sitting on the bench with my back against the fence in the Cubs bullpen down the left field line.
The family is here and JP is with them and there is a rumor that Sligo is going to try to sneak in unnoticed. One of the announcers asked me during warm ups if I knew where the uncle was because no one had seen him in Wrigleyville being his usual repentant self.
I notice in warm ups that there is a strange looking nun in the left field bleachers. Yes strange enough to look like St. Sligo dressed as a nun. Every time I look over there the Sister holds a program over her face. I guess our holy lady of the night Saint Sligo O’Shaunessy is ashamed that he broke her vows to never visit the inside of Wrigley again until the Cubs won the World Series.
I know it is Saint, her holiness. She finished her third beer before the start of the game.
The game isn’t even close, but I don’t think I’ll be off the bench and that is fine since we are going to win and the sooner we finish this, the sooner we have less of a chance of messing up the way everyone expects.
The fans haven’t gone crazy yet. There could be a conga line from Wrigley to Rush Street before this is over and the Yankees are done.
I can hear the radios of the fans listening to Lon and Ron:
Lon: It looks like the Cubs are going to win the World Series Ron.
Ron: Shut up Lon. You shouldn’t say that. It’s like saying ‘no hitter’ during a no hitter.
Lon: This is not a no hitter. This is a shut out. You can say shut out during a shut out.
Ron: You’re taking unnecessary chances with luck.
Lon: The Cubs are winning by thirteen. What could possibly go wrong?
Ron: Shut up Lon.
Lon: I can’t shut up this is radio. So you think the Cubs are in trouble because they have a huge lead and there is no reason they should lose?
Ron: What could possibly go wrong Lon?
CHAPTER 106* * *
A camera crew spots Sligo and stalks him, but he sees them moving in on him and he has time to make an exit.
Sister Sligo is gone. The camera crew slinks after him. They find
a nun’s outfit under the stands, but no Sligo.
Outside on Waveland Avenue he meets her, the one he left with a promise so many years ago.
“The game isn’t over,” says Sligo.
“I know. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you heard the words.”
“What words?”
“I do. Don‘t die. I’m not going to hold you to it.”
“I made a promise.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Have a little faith in your team.”
“They’re the Cubs. They’ll break your heart again.”
“Still a bum. You’re probably broke.”
“Nothing can break this bum. Did you want to get married here or in Vegas?”
“Vegas. Stadium weddings are so tacky. Or did you have your heart set on getting married at halftime?”
“That’s my girl. Never did understand the game did you? Let’s wait until the game is over.”
“What, you think they’re going to lose? They’re ahead by two touchdowns.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“Play ball.”
“Get your pencils and scorecards ready.”
I heard later that Sligo and his bride to be were seen walking away from Wrigleyville before the end of the game.
Hearing the story makes me think if I’ve ever made a promise to JP. I don’t think I have,but if I did I’m sure she’ll bring it up at a time when I am least likely to want to hear about it. Besides, I don’t know what is going to happen to us.
CHAPTER 107
You’re probably wondering how the World Series turned out. You probably aren’t one of those people who say they’re just happy to be here. You want your team to win.
It wouldn’t be fair of me to tell you the ending. The World Series is something you want to see and experience for yourself.
I know it is a baseball cliché to talk about next year, but that is all I can think of to say right now.
There is always next year.
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