Dodo Eggs

When I was young, my biggest hobby was collecting baseball cards. Anytime I found change in my pocket, I would ride my bike to the grocery store and buy a pack or two. I did this fairly often for someone who didn’t have an allowance. The trick, as any corrupt accountant will tell you, is finding creative means for financing your endeavor. For instance, coins could always be found in the folds of the couch, the car’s ashtray, the pants my dad wore yesterday, and the stash intended for my brother’s braces.

The packs had nearly thirty cards and a stick of gum (if that’s what you want to call it). I always chewed the gum then molded it into cute animals using cigarette butts and bottle caps I found in the parking lot. It’s really a wonder I wasn’t sick more often.

What confused my mother about this hobby was the need for a monthly price guide to determine which cards (players) were worth anything.

“Why don’t you just watch the games?” She would glibly ask. “That way you would know who was playing well.”

Watch the games?! Are you kidding me?! The tension at a typical baseball game is barely enough to pull you from a light nap! Look, any sport where you can successfully work a crossword puzzle AND follow the game leaves a lot to be desired. (What’s an eight letter word for slow sport? It has several Zs in it.)

Do you realize that baseball managers are routinely interviewed during the middle of a game? How many other sports would allow such a thing. (You want to interview the football coach right now? He’s in the middle of a game you moron! He’s busy!)

One of the biggest problems is the ball movement to superstitious exercise ratio. The typical baseball game lasts about three hours. During all that time, the ball is in motion only twenty minutes! The rest of the time you’re watching the players run through their goofy, lucky routines. Here’s a quick rundown…

CATCHER: Scratch crotch – adjust facemask left then right – flash gang signs at pitcher

BATTER: Tap plate with bat three times then each cleat – adjust helmet five times – take two billion practice swings – adjust crotch

PITCHER: The farther you spit from the mound the more luck – nod to both the catcher and the first basemen in that order – rub lucky sandpaper – of course, adjust crotch

SPECTATOR: Crochet your entire Christmas list AND keep up with the game at the same time.

Anyway, my view of baseball cards was much an art dealer’s view of his stock. The name on the bottom determines the value and that’s all that’s important.

Extra inning #1: In grade school, my parents forced me to go out for little league. Its experience lasted one year and I hated every minute of it. I was even scowling in my individual picture. I had a grand total of one hit for the entire season. Man, did I stink.

Extra Inning #2: On the bright side, I was the only kid who insisted on tucking his ears into his cap. No one else perfected this aerodynamic technique. It was very useful considering the horrific winds in far left field.

Extra Inning #3: The only positive association I have with baseball was in college. I was sitting next to the future Mrs. Teply watching our “improvised” college team play in a church league. Mrs. Teply’s old boyfriend was the catcher. He ambled up to the plate and squatted down. As his nylon baseball uniform thinned over his rear one could see the effervescent hint of neon green! The guy was playing catcher with neon green, man panties on! I wasn’t sure if Mrs. Teply noticed so I pointed it out. At that point, it was safe to say he was “OUT!”

• Eggshells
• Wizz Kid
• Grandparent Syndrome
• The Boyd Ringo Interview
• Lost Coin