lUUIU)” ' - By Robert Ward Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Shiiiiiiittttttttttt. Jesus Fucking Shit. Oh Christ. Agh. Arg. . .1 can’t believe it. The Os have blown the World Series. I jest can't stand it. Can’t fucking stand it. It's making me wild. They can’t have pulled this shit on me. No. it didn't happen. In game two Dave Parker didn’t make that throw to the plate. He threw the ball in the stands. Eddie Murray scored. Then the Os went on and swept two in Iron City, and everything is all right? That’s what happened, isn’t it. Doctor? Yes, I’ll have the Valium. It's true. I’m 35. Yes, I know that my reaction is infantile. You’re entirely right. I've been doing a heap o’ work on my Baltimore Redneck self, and I understand that my connection with the Orioles is an example of magical thinking. 1 understand that I'm a successful writer, that my life is my life and that the ballplayers’ lives are their lives. But they lost the fucking World Series, Doc. You think this is just some kinda game when you’re from Baltimore? You think it’s some kinda ‘sport’? It ain’t got nothing to do with sports, Doc. No, it's more like this— when you’re from Baltimore, baseball is revenge. You don’t get it? Try this. You’re this little tough kid from Bawlemer and you’re used to getting throwed down the sewer if somebody catches you rooting for the fucking Yankees. That’s it. pal. Danny Snyder sitting in front of Pop’s grocery in 1956 and he makes the Mistake of His Young Life. Gets up, snaggletooth. Lone Ranger shirt, too-big short pants, newsboy cap with soda bottle caps pressed into it, and he says. "Yeah Yankees,” his mouth opening up realwide and hollow. like Iggy in Little Lulu Comics. And Beaner hears him, Beaner who comes into your house and lights fires (“Hi, can 1come in, Mrs. Ward? 1’11just wait for Bobby to get dressed. Isn’t his comic-book collection inna basement? At’s nice.” Ten minutes later ’ere’s a fahr down ’ere, anda fahr depardmend is screaming uppa streed.) Beaner, he don’t like nobody to say “Yeah Yankees,” especially when every time Whitey Ford puts on his glove, the Pop Gun Flock, as the Os was known in the ’50s, goes into their act, Willy Miranda hitting those Bromo Seltzer tower popups, and Bob Turley walking people around the bases like some religious ritual. So it’s downa sewer for Danny. Every1 y"1 ■'■■HU body helping Beaner pick uppa grate, and put Danny down inna sewer, and him screaming and me saying, “Aww, let him out, come on you guys, let him out, he din’t know what he was saying, he was offa his nut, you know he’s an Oriole fan.” But they are relentless, pissed-off Redneck kids in Go-vans, and so it’s the old grate treatment for Danny, and they’re telling him, “Now you know you wanna root fer a Orioles, doncha kid?” And God knows. Doc (excuse me when I slip back into Baw- lamerese, but it gets a hold of a guy), this isn’t a sport in Bawlamer. You grow up in that gritty, foul-smelling town where your granddad is an alcoholic seaman, and your grandma is pushing the religion down your throat, and your only friends are onna street, and there ain’t no allowing ‘books. .. okay, I know it’s the past, but you gotta understand. The Orioles and the Colts were the whole heat. And so you rooted! Rooted, hell, you prayed, scratched, clawed through flesh. In 1955, when Jim Mutscheller dropped a pass from Johnny U (Saint of Bawlamer), I walked real quiet, James Deanlike, across the room, and kicked inna fucking TV set. Smashed the son of a bitch with two good kicks! Sprayed neon all over my socks. Ma and Dad had me see the child psychiatrist, and I was diagnosed a Deeply Troubled Child. But the shrink could have made his whole career on the boys in my neighborhood. Ned Myers would simply go to his room and refuse to eat, and Charlie headed downna Food Fair to smash a shopping cart through a window. These were wild Redneck kids with deep, deep feelings, and no other place for ’em to g o . . .a n d so yes, I know it's crazy for me to be acting out these feelings now. Hell, I’m 35, and have had lots worse happen. Some of them boys I was with in those days are already dead, dead of alcohol, dead of smack, dead of car crashes, but that’s the point, Doc. They are all still alive when the Orioles play, and when the Orioles die, when they roll over and fucking give it away, after being up three to one, it makes you want to go a little nuts. Two fucking runs in the last three games, Doc. You think maybe I could have an Elevil script? Come on. Doc, I know you’re a good old croaker, and wouldn’t stiff a guy. Givya an autographed copy of my next book, getcha a date with some tough Voice girl who will beat you with Emma Goldman photos if you’ll just come across with a curativegrocery - naturaUvcd/ ^TeopleyJoodStore J 02^ SEXIST 2J2-Q0^I o^en 7 days a week^ 46
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