“But you do miss the noise and the excitement,” he said. “You never pass a ball field without lumping up a little in your throat. Goddam it anyhow, by the time you are old enough to have more sense than power you realize you already pissed away the most exciting days of your life.”
“Do they leave you swear like that out there?” I said.
“Everybody swears everywhere,” said he. “Shakespeare and all the rest, all up and down the years they swore at life. Plain old mother talk ain’t nowhere near strong enough to describe such a terrible mixup as life, Author.”
“Life is good,” I said. “How would you like to die tomorrow?”
“I would not,” he said, “because I am under contract to fill out the year here, and because I keep laughing every minute, and because I want to finish up a book I am writing, and because I would like to see if you boys can cop the flag which you should of copped by now. You should of shook them son of a bitches long ago.”
I don’t know the half of how he does it. Life and death and baseball. Hilarious, mad, and sweet.
“I been handed a shit deal,” he said. “I am doomeded.”
“I am falling off this board laughing,” said I.