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"Me,Joe and Marilyn Monroe" (standard:humor, 0 words)
Author: denis holzhauserAdded: Jul 06 2001Views/Reads: 1874/1054Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Many years ago Joe Dimaggio and I played a very short game of pitch and catch,neither Joe or I knew Marilyn at that time,I threw her in to get your attention.
 



It was a long time ago,I was maybe about twenty,but probably younger and
I was not a big baseball fan,but the Yankees were passing through, 
playing exhibition games on their way back to New York to start the 
season.It was a weekend game,a Saturday or a Sunday,I went to the ball 
park to watch the local club play the World Champions. 

The game was a sellout,not a seat to be had,but what I could get was
standing room in front of the score board in deep center field.I was 
dressed in a long sleeved,dark brown,silky feeling shirt,dark brown 
trousers and brown leather soled shoes.I was standing with,maybe a 
hundred other guys,with our backs to the score board,but I was in the 
front of the group. 

DiMaggio was playing in center field,the "Joltin Joe DiMaggio" of
song.The guy who would,in the future,marry Marilyn Monroe.A tall 
thin,hawknosed hero who played baseball with grace,style and ease. 

When it happened,it was the bottom of the ninth,with two outs,and a long
ball,hit to deep center field,right in front of a couple a hundred 
standees,and DiMaggio was in perfect position.He just stood there and 
waited,caught the ball for the final out and started running to the 
dugout,still clutching the ball. 

I was at best a halfassed athlete,a former high school track star,a
quarter miler with sprinter speed,and I took off too,so as to not be 
run down by the mass of fans running after DiMaggio.I was running 
easily with DiMaggio with about five yards between us,away from the 
crowd chasing after him. 

He was still holding the ball,when glanced my way and saw me loping
along with him.He lobbed the ball right to me,but it was just a little 
high,so,without breaking stride,I raised my hand to snatch the ball out 
of the air.This movement unweighted me,and with the damp grass and 
leather soled shoes,I lost my balance.I fell,face down,on the field and 
the ball jolted out of my hand.A mass of bodies piled on,all reaching 
for the damned ball,so I did what came naturally,I started throwing 
punches and struggling to get up and away. 

I rose with muddy knees,dirty pants and a bruised and swelling right
hand,grinning like an idiot,but without the ball,that was gone for 
good. I had really planted two shots,one each to two different guys.I 
knew it was one of those rare days that a guy will only have a few 
of,even if he has a long life. 

I went home,soaked my swollen,sore hand,hoped it wasn't broken and
stayed in for the night.The next day my hand was still swollen,but now 
it was also sporting a purple,pink,black and blue bruise.At the 
breakfast table,as I was trying to hide it,my Mother let out a 
screach,"What's happened to your hand,it's twice normal size and a 
horrible color." 

Dad looked up from his paper,glanced at my hand,looked at me,and
said,"Leave him alone,he probably just lost a fight with his little 
girl friend." 

"It was no worse than a draw,but I think I was ahead on points." 

Dad,without looking up from his paper,this time, said,"I'm proud of
you,son,I was never able to get a draw with your Mom." 

"I'm taking him to the doctor,go get ready,right now,I'm going to
change",and Mom started off. 

Dad,again without lowing the paper,said,"Here's ten dollars,catch a cab
there and back and I want my change." 

"Tell Mom I'm outside waiting." 

"Son of a bitch must hurt like hell,you okay?" 

"Sure." 

"You win?" 

"I don't even know who or how many I hit." 


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