“Not again,” he thought. “God dammit! Not again.”
He sat on the field, surrounded by teammates and a concerned training staff. A stinging pain cried around his knee. Something inside was damaged.
It was another setback. Touched by another episode of bad luck. He envisioned a future of rehabilitation; more time recovering and less time playing a sport he loved.
His hand formed a fist and he began to punch the grass. Everyone backed away.
He prayed that each blow would cleanse his body of pain, anger and poison.
It was the only way he could be better, stronger, happier.
The Great Coincidence
The southbound train crawled towards Davisville Station. We all collectively groaned. The TTC operator confirmed our fear:
“Folks, the passenger alarm was activated down the line at College,” said the operator. “We’re holding at Davisville, but the train across the platform will leave first if you’re in a hurry.”
I looked at the other train. The passengers were packed in there like sardines.
So it was waiting for an undisclosed amount of time or get to my destination sooner, but feel claustrophobic.
As I pondered my choice, I saw a passenger reading Catch-22.
A writer couldn’t have made this up.
She glared at him as he packed his gear.
“You know how important this is to me,” he told her. “Don’t make me choose between you and my career.”
“Your career died years ago,” she replied. “You’re turning 35 in a few months. Do you really want to toil away playing indy ball and earn a shit salary?”
“If I can’t play, then my life has no meaning,” he said.
“No meaning?” she asked. “How can you say that?”
There was silence.
“If you leave now, we’re done,” she declared.
He considered the ultimatum before grabbing his bag and leaving.
The End of a Relationship
Jeanna dreaded taking her boyfriend to baseball games. He was a classic anti-fan.
They sat in the bleachers as the seventh inning commenced. Jeanna was focused; he wasn’t.
Things were happening on the field and she was tense. She didn’t dare speak the unspeakable.
“Hey!” her boyfriend suddenly shouted. “The starter hasn’t allowed a runner on base. That’s a perfect game!”
Sure enough, the next batter walked. That was followed by a single.
“Darn,” said Jeanna’s boyfriend. “Now it’s just a regular boring game.”
Jeanna turned to him and provided her retort:
“You and I are fucking done.”