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My old Mizuno died last week Oh, I hate to put it that way Had to replace it Tried to relace it Worked for a while, too But then other laces started to go And it was beyond my skills Too expensive for a pro to work on, I figured Kind of silly and indulgent And I'd rather, I guess, it sat in my Mets bag All broken and tattered Than to be dissected by some stranger Eighteen years I'd had that glove Right after I got married Had a Wilson before that But it was in the trunk when my car was stolen Found the car On Florence and Normandy Where the riot started Stripped and ravaged and left for dead But I got it running again Sort of But the Wilson was gone Next day, I imagine, the thief snared a liner deep in the hole Nice piece of leather, homie, the third baseman called over Through gold-plated teeth And the price was right too, bro High fives and knuckle bumps all around the infield She didn't know anything about gloves My wife My husband plays mostly softball She told that man at Hollywood Star Sporting Goods He likes to play third base He has big hands Long fingers I hope I didn't spend too much, she said Presenting me with the Mizuno And for once she hadn't A great glove Perfect It fit my hand like the cliché Sucked up short hops like nothing A cozy place for line drives to disappear Over time it got so comfortable And loose fitting I could extend and retract it with the slightest flexing of my fingertips Like a telescope It got a lot more use when the boy came along Got interested in baseball Dedicated Obsessed Work on your throws, I'd shout to him Throwing grounders I can catch them but your teammates won't Once he threw a wild pitch My arm shot out The glove slipped off and flew away About 20 feet When I picked it up The ball was inside I mean inside Where your hand goes Never do that again if I tried Not in a million years Bought a new Wilson last week He talked me into the expensive one You'll have it forever, Dad, you'll use it all the time He was right Probably the last glove I'll ever own, too He agreed too quickly Dark and thick and padded Snug But not so good at scooping short hops What are you doing He asked all panicky When I took off my wedding ring to make more room Where you gonna put it On my key ring In my bag It'll be safe You can't lose that, Dad, All scared and serious You can never lose that Copyright © 2000 by David Dixon Margolis |
 | DAVID DIXON MARGOLIS comes from a long line of Brooklyn Dodger fans, most of whom have refused to watch a baseball game since 1957. He attended his first baseball game at Shea Stadium in August of 1964, watching the Mets beat the Phils 12-4. (Or was it all just a strange and wonderful dream?) See also The Back Of Chuck Hiller's Card by David Margolis. |
