The Boys And A Stickball Game
Once again, the boys met in the diner.
“All the neighbors were watching. It was on a Sunday late in June. We were in our summer school vacation when we played that unforgettable stickball game.”
“It wasn’t June, it was July. I remember your mother walked on the field and brought you cookies and milk. We told her to get off the field. It was on a Sunday alright, but it was a hot August Sunday.”
“I don’t care what month it was. We beat you guys remember? It was a tie game when Moish hit a ball over Adoff’s roof.”
“In your dreams you would have beaten us. The Joe DiMaggio of stickball, The Creep was on our team. He never lost a game.”
“Jerry, do you remember that stickball game when the entire neighborhood was watching. Moish was on one side and The Creep was on the other?”
“Yeah. I remember. Moish went to Orchard Beach after the game. We used to call it Horseshit Beach it was so filthy.”
“Who cares what we called it. Do you remember that game?”
“It started to rain that day and we thought we might call it off. The neighbors, who were watching, held newspapers over their heads waiting for the shower to stop. My mother asked me to go to Jake for pickles after the game. I played a very good game. The boys congratulated me after it was over.”
“Stop it! Listen to him. I think he’s getting senile. Who asked you about the newspapers? Who asked about your mother and pickles? Who asked you how you played?”
“I’m not answering anymore questions if you’re going to insult me.”
“Go home to your wife and tell her about newspapers and pickles and what a star you were.”
“At least my wife respects me, not like you bullies. I can’t believe we grew up together.”
“Is there a pill you could take for your senility?”
“You don’t take pills? The last time we were in the diner you swallowed a pack of them for dessert.”
“I really don’t need them. I take them because my wife watches.”
“Bullshit. You had quadruple bypass, atrial fibrillation, you have a pacemaker/defibrillator stuck in you chest and you’re telling me you don’t need those pills?”
“Pills make money for the drug companies. They make me fatigued.”
“What about that stickball game?”
“After the game we went to Gitelson’s for pastrami on club sandwiches. I put a lot of mustard on mine and I remember that I had terrific heartburn that night. I was the star of the game.”
“Again a star? Another one with Alzheimers. If you could remember, what did you take for heartburn?”
“I took Vaseline. No, it was something like Vaseline, Milk of Magnesia. It gave me me the runs and left me irritated.”
”Irritated? You or your ass?”
“What about that stickball game?”
“Forget it. It’s history. Stickball isn’t played anymore in the old neighborhood. President Reagan had it flattened. There are only ranch houses scattered throughout the area.”
“I can’t go there. I’m afraid it’ll be too emotional.”
“You, emotional? I remember when The Parrot came to the candy store, you screeched like a parrot and she slammed you with her pocketbook.”
“She missed me, the bitch.”
“Do you think you could play a few innings of stickball?”
“If I could lead my walker to the home plate sewer-lid, I might manage.”
“That’s it. This demented old fart is going to play stickball!”