Saturday, November 14, 2015

Batter Up! #144

When Doctor Livingston was a young lad of ten in 2264, he and his humble family lived on in a brown stone row house on the north side of Boston.  Boston Red Sox, the home of Babe Ruth, the home run batting machine of the early 20th century.  
Each spring all the other young friends of Doctor Livingston would gather together each Saturday at the neighborhood sand lot, a vacant lot full of weeds and empty beer cans.   After all the beer cans had been found and placed in a pile for the foul line, the protocol would begin of who was going to be on who's team for the days base ball game.  Being that Doctor Livingston was a small boy for his age he was usually picked last and placed in right field where no baseballs would end up.  
It was May 1st of 2264 top of the 9th inning and little Doctor Livingston's team was behind 5-6.  Johnny Smathers was on third base and it was two outs.  Up to bat strode little Doctor Livingston with his Louisville slugger on his shoulder just the same way the Babe would have swaggered up to bat.  
Shifting his feet in the sand at home place, the little slugger spit on the ground and pointed to center field just like the Babe would do.  The pitcher for the other team was Tommy Bucasky and it was rumored that Tommy was being looked at by several big league teams to be their next star pitcher, rumors started by Tommy just to impress the local girls including Sandy Malincohsky a raven haired girl that all the boys mooned over.
The first pitch was low and inside, swung and missed.
The second pitch was a slider about belt buckle high but alas another swing and another miss.  Strike two yelled Butch the umpire.  
Sweat started to form on little Doctor Livingston's face, "Strike Two" thoughts ran through his head!  "I've got to hit the ball and save the game!"  
Next pitch was way outside and the count was one ball two strikes.  
Little Doctor Livingston stepped out of the box and kicked his bat just like the Babe would do and once again stepped back into the batter's box and once again pointed to center field just like Babe Ruth would do.
Tommy, spit on the ground, shifted his pants, raised his mitt to his face and squinted at the little guy in the batter's box.  This was going to be a piece of cake.  Tommy took the ball in his left hand and began his ritual pitch.  It was a curve ball, low and outside.  Little Doctor Livingston swung and missed!   The game was over.

All these years that one game has haunted Doctor Livingston and with the light saber he was going to hit a home run or die trying.

Too bad Tommy wasn't there to see his home run.

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