Thirty-Two
IT’S VINCE WHO convinces me to come by his softball game in the Cross Rivers Fast-Pitch League tonight. He gets an assist in that effort from Miss Abby Wells.
“The game’s early,” she tells me when she calls. “And afterward we can go to Rowdy’s for Grease Burgers.”
“Is this your way of finessing me into that second date you talked about?”
The game between Vince’s team—Lester Construction—and Rocky’s Ace Hardware is at Corley Park, on the same field where I’d played my high school ball. I leave the truck at Rowdy’s and Vince picks me up there in his old truck so we can ride to the game together.
“I don’t get around the bases the way I used to,” he says on the way over to Corley. “But if they’re keeping score, that’s good enough for me.” He gives me a sideways glance. “I even told the boys you might even get the itch to play for our team before the summer is over.”
“No chance,” I say. “Less than no chance, even.”
I see him grin. “Yeah, but you know what they say, dawg. Lot of green between now and the end of the season.”
“Not nearly enough,” I say. “Trust me on that.”
I’m surprised to see that the parking lot is almost completely full by the time we arrive, to the point where we have to park down by the kids’ playground. And as we get closer to the field, I can see the bleachers on both sides are nearly full.
“Lot of people here for a Wednesday night softball game,” I say.
“Well, in the interest of what they call full disclosure, I may have put the word out that old 109 himself might be in attendance tonight,” he says.
“You sneaky son of a bitch.”
“Well,” Vince Tarplay says, giving me a whack to my good shoulder. “You got me there.”
As we walk in near the first-base dugout, I hear the biggest cheer I’ve heard in a good long while.
Since I really was still 109.