I’m waiting in Section 148
down AT&T Park’s right-field line (just
in front of McCovey Cove) for my date
with The Record as ol’ Barry—Muscle
Mass Mammoth Man, baseball’s Dinger Despot—
cranks a Florida pitcher’s hanging curve
off his black maple bat, a searing shot
flying straight at us. It takes killer’s nerves
to fight off fanatics. My long arms flash
up; pained hands snag the white, whirling pellet.
I hear my pal screaming, “Go for the cash!
You’ll be a millionaire when you sell it!”
I spew flames: “Dirty money!” Lips grow sealed
as I hurl the ball back onto the field.
Roger Armbrust
July 27, 2007
