Wally's Home Run

It was the bottom of the 9th, score tied, and the opposing manager was taking no chances. He had heard the rumors of "Waste 'Em Wally" Wagler, the Orioles fantasy camp slugger, now signed with the Orioles, the oldest man ever to play in the major leagues. Now he called on feared reliever Pedro-Jose Martinez-Rodriguez, "El Commandante," who had not given up a run in three years, to face "Waste 'Em Wally" in his first major league at-bat.

Wally took his stance, his Edd Roush model bat resting easily on his shoulder. Roush, the Reds Hall of Fame center-fielder, used the heaviest bat in the majors, heavier even than Babe Ruth's storied whacking stick, but it felt light on Wally's shoulder. El Commandante wound and threw. Wally's beanball-addled brain read the rotation immediately. He lifted the bat and closed his eyes and swung as hard as he could at the point where he knew the ball would cross the plate. Came the age-old sound of satisfaction, hickory and horsehide in collision, and the ball sailed out of Camden Yards, over the house where the raven knocked at the chamber door of Edgar Allan Poe, over The Homesick Restaurant, over Pratt Street, that had run "with patriotic gore," in the Civil War.

There was an awed and eerie silence as the ball was finally lost to sight and Wally began his homerun shuffle around the bases.

As he ran to first base, Wally thought about his friends and family. They were all at home, for he had told no one, not even Randall Nathan, his college roommate, that he had actually signed with the Orioles. What if something went wrong? What if he got beaned again, and his brain went back to being normal? No, he was alone in Baltimore as he ran the bases. From the plate to first base, he heard the awed silence of the crowd as they watched the ball soar beyond belief, and then he heard their roar as they realized he had won the game. How much better could life be than that sweet sound in his ears?

But as he rounded first base, he thought about his parents, they of "the greatest generation," who fought a good war to help people be free and who loved him so much so that he could be free, too. He thought of his wife, Julie, who had been a famous athlete as a Roller Derby queen, wreaking injury upon her opponents, but who now used her knowledge of injury to help broken bodies become whole again. He thought of his children, who had overcome dyslexia and dysnomia and general dissing to become compassionate school teachers who taught and protected children who were labled "different."

As he rounded second and headed for third, he thought about his friends, the great Clarie Nathan, who as a high school teacher had helped so many adolescents bring order out of chaos in their lives. He thought about the great Jake Newland, who as a funeral director had been more of a grief director, helping those who mourned to grieve well instead of poorly. He thought of the great Kate Bates, hostess to the world, and the great Ben "Seymour" Bottoms, who always went the extra mile. He thought about the great Edith Whistle, who made lonely people feel at home in her restaurant. And he thought about the great Clara Wembley, only three years old, but able to bring a smile to the face of anyone who sees her, [except for Shingles, the dog], and how much greater can you get than that? No, nobody else calls those people "great," but Wally knows them for what they are.

He rounded third and headed for home plate and thought about his "clients" who had become his friends. Wally has lived his professional life as an addictions counselor. He thought of Billy Don Maginnis, who struggles every day with his addiction to booze, and Nancy Owens, who struggles daily with her addiction to gambling, and Keisha Johnson, who struggles constantly with her addiction to cocaine. It takes more courage for them, he thought, just to get up in the morning and face the day than it would ever take to face the fastball of El Commandante.

One step short of home plate, Wally veered off into the stands, into the crowd, his pink beard disappearing among the fans.

Fantasy is great, he thought, but reality is better. "Waste 'Em Wally" Wagler was headed for home.