I climbed the
ladder and walked slowly to the press room. I went into the lavatory, closed
the door to the one stall and sat on the toilet with my head in my hands,
wishing there was a lid on the seat. It was entirely quiet, as if I were alone
in the stadium.
emotionally penniless," a girl had shouted at me years before from behind a
slammed and locked bathroom door.
That is what came
into my mind in my own locked cubicle.
I also thought to
leave the park, to take a walk, to just go away. Instead I decided to change
locations, to venture to the far reaches of the leftfield roof, out near the
A couple of kids
were running mindlessly around, chasing each other as if they were on a beach.
They pushed their way through clusters of writers and photographers who were
all standing, because there were no seats to be had. I sat down on the roof and
crossed my legs. I was no more than a foot from the lip, which was unprotected
by a railing or other barrier.
The wind had
picked up. Shadows dominated the field, except in right and right center. I
noticed that the clouds were just a bit thicker. A rain delay. Would the game
revert to the last complete inning? A seven-hour delay and finally a decision.
Red Sox win 2-0. I saw it as the only possibility. It had to rain right at this
moment. Torrentially. Monumentally. Before the new Yankee pitcher could
complete this last of the seventh. The new Yankee pitcher was Gossage, and Bob
Bailey was preparing to pinch-hit against him.
I bowed my
When I saw Bailey coming up, I said to myself, with all respect to Bob,
Bailey looked at
strike three and went away, out of my life, off the team, out of the league,
out of the country, away, away.