HALF-WAY HOME
It's summer again — summer all over — sunshine and late afternoon rains — splashing water and coconut oil scent — sandy beaches — baseball on the radio on an occasional afternoon —the twin peaks of the Fourth of July and the All Star game — what used to be Dominion Day in Canada, our northern neighbor, the return from which now requires a passport — Bastille Day — and we shall top it all off on the 15th after the Yankees' final game with a Side Yard Party. Y'all come.
I remember one Fourth of July party. The girl next door asked to use the side yard for a yard sale. It was a magnificent event that grew more colorful as the hours went by. I pulled out my CDs of march music, Sousa and all. We found some portable speakers and blasted marches all day. She wore polka-dot gloves and a big, floppy hat and entertained as though it were a garden party. Here was a wonderful time from out of nowhere.
Yes, the baseball year is half-gone, and waiting in the wings are the Boston Red Sox, the Detroit Tigers, LA and Oakland, tough customers all. But then, who isn't? The little losses, all those games just lost by a hair, have piled up. Manager Maddon has reached deep into his well of calm, somehow salving the buildup of steam and volcanic gas that must have been close to eruption on many a day as he watched late inning leads fade into losses. He would turn his back on the display of winners climbing around on each other like monkeys in a zoo and head for the tunnel back to the clubhouse. Perhaps there would be a report on one of the wounded warriors rehabbing in one of the minor league vacation spots. Upton? Baldelli? Riggins? Josh Paul? How about Elijah? He seemed to be doing so well, calm, playful, happy — before the ink hit the presses. We miss those catches in deep center field. Ah,well.
