Returning to SkyDome: A Baseball Microstory

As she walked to the ballpark, her heart started to race. 

Nothing felt similar. She never had to wear a mask at a sporting event or be cognizant of her physical distance. This was the dreaded “new normal.” 

She just wanted to watch the Blue Jays with a cold beer and some popcorn; the way she used to.

Anxiety set in. 

What if it rains and they close the roof? All those germs – COVID or otherwise – floating around. 

She turned and ran.

The wind forced her tears to flow sideways. 

She was never going to watch a live game again.

ER

Preaching on Front Street: A Baseball Microstory

“I have all the answers!” said a man on a soapbox.

“You know why people don’t watch baseball? Because it’s boring?

“You know why people are on their phones at a game? Because they are BORED!

“You know why old people love baseball? Because they have dementia!”

People walk by and laugh. Others ignore him.

“Stop wasting your time!” he continues. “Baseball is a terrible sport!”

Suddenly, a figure appears next to him and beckons for his ear. He listens attentively.

Instantly, his bravado disappears.

Grabbing his soapbox, he scurries out of the area.

The fear of God was present.

ER

Initiation on Front Street: A Baseball Microstory

A young man runs across the street, praying he won’t be recognized.

His hooded sweatshirt conceals his identity. A long coat conceals his uniform.

He’s the young rookie who just got called up from Buffalo; tasked with a coffee run by the veterans.

Of all days.

Of all the times the clubhouse coffee machine broke.

“The attendants are busy,” one veteran told him. “Go earn your stripes.”

So, in the middle of the downtown core, there was a touted prospect earning his stripes. For the archaic practice of hazing, things could’ve been worse.

Years from now, he’ll pay it forward…

ER

PS: More “Front Street” microstories can be found here. Thanks to Ari Shapiro for publishing them.

Striking Out on Front Street: A Baseball Microstory

“Honestly, I’m not a huge baseball fan,” she told him. “I just go for the experience.”

He tried to respond, but his mind was blank. A bountiful vocabulary evaporated. This was a symptom of his awkwardness. Instead, he looked ahead, praying his silence won’t deny a second date.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

The pressure to say something, ANYTHING, intensified.

“I go because art and science come together on the field,” he blurted out. “It’s better than sex!”

The regret on her face was painfully obvious. He struck out before the first pitch. There wasn’t going to be a second date.

ER

Sorrow on Front Street: A Baseball Microstory

“I’ve been looking forward to this game all week,” Luke said excitedly. “Thanks for getting the tickets, Mum.”

Shelia smiled back. She loved how her son – a grown adult – had the same enthusiasm for a Jays game as he did as a child. Countless times, they bonded over wins, losses and overpriced hot dogs.

“You’re welcome, hunny,” she said. “I’m really glad we could do this.”

As they moved closer to the stadium, Shelia felt sorrow. The tumour was inoperable and she knew she’d have to tell him eventually.

Tonight, at least, they could enjoy one last baseball game together

ER

Friday Night on Front Street: A Baseball Microstory

He’s made the pilgrimage for nearly 30 years. Probably could walk the path backwards and blindfolded:

Exit Union Station, walk along Front Street, turn left at John Street, up the stairs and over the bridge. Hello Skydome! Enjoy the game.

The weather is a warm tonic. It’s providing something he badly needs: A chance to take a breath.

The city was busy and his life was no exception. Anxiety and painful memories were far too prevalent. He needed a break. Baseball was that break.

So he walks, inhales the metropolitan air and begins to observe the people and their stories.

ER

Optioned to AAA: A Baseball Microstory

A bitter professional baseball player boarded the final Greyhound shuttle just after midnight. He was going back to the minors; optioned to AAA.

“We know you’re working hard,” his manager told him. “But things are getting tight and we just can’t wait it out.”

The manager wasn’t wrong. His struggles were well-documented.

But he had nothing to prove in the minors and hated giving up the sweet nectar of major league luxury.

So with the emergency exit within reach, he considered instant retirement.

The worst kind of anger is when you’re furious with the person you see in a mirror.

ER

Silent Siblings: A Baseball Microstory

Dinner was painfully awkward.

Such was the case with the Johnson brothers. They had nothing in common except for baseball.

Roger was the league’s best manager. Steve was a long-time umpire.

They reluctantly met, ordered and sat silently.

A young sports reporter out with his colleagues noticed the Johnsons and asked why they weren’t speaking.

“Wait for it,” answered one of the veteran scribes.

Eventually, Roger broke the silence.

“Can’t believe you threw me out,” said Roger. “That third strike was way outside!”

“It caught the corner and you deserved what you got,” replied Steve.

The young reporter instantly understood.

ER

The Surprise Visitor: A Baseball Microstory

The first stop after a ballgame: The washroom.

It was packed as usual. Young fraternity brothers resting their near-empty cans of beer on top of urinals.

I did what I needed to do, washed and dried my hands and prepared to exit.

Then she walked in.

“Miss,” I said, shocked and concerned. “You’re in the wrong spot.”

She just smirked, pulled her hat down and calmly walked into the only available stall. In unison, all the men stopped talking and watched in disbelief as she locked the door.

She knew exactly what she was doing and didn’t give a damn.

ER

Dilemma On The Mound: A Baseball Microstory

Joe was at a career crossroads.

He was facing a superstar and plagued with a dilemma.

The superstar had an irritating demeanor and wreaked havoc on Joe’s team.

Joe had two choices: Intentionally hit the superstar or try to get him out.

Hitting the superstar had consequences, but he’d gain the respect of his teammates and coaches. Pitching to the superstar – even if successful – would demote him to AAA.

“Beaning” was the old way, but being a team player was a hard temptation.

Taking a deep breath, he decided uncomfortable busses and dirty motels were better than a toxic camaraderie.

ER