The Boy The Man & Gravel Baseball

I’ve always loved baseball. Even though it’s a team game, I found solitary ways to embrace it’s poetic rhythms. I was a baseball Walter Mitty, transported to Busch Stadium in St. Louis. I straddled the mound glaring at the batter with annoyed disdain. I emulated Bob Gibson, throwing a rubber baseball against the brick wall of our house, aiming at a strike zone drawn with a chunk of sandstone. My heroes were perfect, immovable blocks of granite, statues without flaws. But I soon learned that heroes turn to piles of stone, and from piles of stone, perfection rises once again. … Continue reading The Boy The Man & Gravel Baseball