31 candles
PEOPLE! It is my birthday. For the past few months, inspired largely by my the desire to not be huffing and puffing my way through my Friday evening softball sessions, I have acquired some really fabulous habits (an addiction to running on the elliptical at the Y, uber-healthy eating, tracking my activity and food intake) … Continue reading
For Tim
FOR TIM suggesting I name ten things I truly believe, which is really fucking impossible I believe in Bobby Higginson the working class hero my father who rises every morning before it is morning to hurl watt after watt like lightning bolts from the open blisters of his palms. I believe in being five my … Continue reading
Miguel & Miguel-ela?
Well, it finally happened: I went down—hard—with the flu. Not the “oh-that’s-what-Coco-Puffs-look-like-in-reverse” flu, but the achy, heavy chest, head pounding, feel-modestly-normal-until-I-stand-up-and-am-dizzy kind of flu. The only upside to being home sick is finally having the uninterrupted access to the television and general home silence required to do something I almost never do, which today has … Continue reading
In which Miguel Cabrera breaks my motherfucking heart
“There’s no anger or animosity from us, your first reaction is for the person,” Avila said. “Millions of people have problems with alcohol and drugs. It’s something that can be overcome, but you need a lot of help.” —The Detroit News, February 18 Miguel Cabrera. Of all the strange ways life foreshadows itself, there’s this: … Continue reading
Love Letter Postmarked Michigan and Trumball
It’s time. Pitchers and catchers have reported to Lakeland. I saw five birds on my run yesterday. The snow is melting. We’re (allegedly) going to have an early spring. It’s a day after Valentine’s, and all I can think about is how much I love the Tigers. LOVE LETTER POSTMARKED MICHIGAN AND TRUMBALL It’s the … Continue reading
Wild Thing, or, Poem For Matt Anderson, Attempting a Comeback
They said he looked like Jesus, his beard full. They said he looked like Jesus when he walked in the gym, six years out of the major leagues and what, exactly, does that mean, like Jesus? Did they mean he was starved, like Jesus in the desert, forty days and whatnot and desperate to make … Continue reading
Springtime daydreams
Usually it’s mid-February before this particular bit of ants-in-my-mental-pants begins: the hint of grass I catch scenting the wind when I’m bringing the dogs indoors; the memory of the particular perfume dirt and sweat and freshly washed uniforms concoct, the way the dirt of the infield lingers so that later, your lips taste like beating … Continue reading
Make it hurt so good
1. When I was in sixth grade—the last year I played Little League fast pitch softball before quitting until high school—my coach, Mr. Tersigni, would pile us all into the back of his Ford Bronco and take us to Dairy Queen after a win. While the experience of that last season and my volatile coach … Continue reading
On geeking out
I’ve always been the sort of baseball fan who appreciates the tactile aspects of the game—the way the grass smells when winter breaks and spring training reports hit the local news, the endless patterns pine tar makes on a batter’s helmet, the unmistakable sound of a home run. But the more scientific parts of the … Continue reading
