|"Me,Joe and Marilyn Monroe" (standard:humor, 0 words)|
|Author: denis holzhauser||Added: Jul 06 2001||Views/Reads: 1837/1029||Story 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." Click here to read the rest of this story (51 more lines)
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