Chapter 37.7: Moonlight Graham and Me

I played softball again last night. It’s the first game I’ve played in Springfield since April. (Or was it early May?) I’ve been so busy with work, umpiring, the novel, and getting my professional life in order [more on that in about 10 days] that I’ve not been able to play.

In my first at bat, I had the bases loaded and sent a fly ball out to right field for a run-scoring sacrifice. As I received the congratulations from my teammates, I thought about how similar the play looked to the first at bat of Moonlight Graham. Any viewer of "Field of Dreams" would know him as the guy who became a doctor in Chisholm, Minn.

He was a real guy, who played in one game with the New York Giants. One hundred days ago today, actually. There was an AP article in The Star-Ledger on Monday.

In my mind, I’m almost at that point in my life where I will be hanging up my cleats and breaking out my Mike Schmidt glove only when a brother or brother-in-law comes around and asks if I want to have a catch. The squad softball games will continue, I suppose, but they haven’t satisfied my hunger for competition for some time. And this past spring I’ve pitched more than play any other position. I’ve rediscovered that unless you’re winning or in a close game, pitching is frustrating.

This could be my final season, and I’ll be just another guy who used to play ball. I’ve already transitioned to umpiring. Perhaps one day there’ll be a child I can coach and teach the game – and the love of the game. One of my upcoming novels will be about a ball player.

I’m not quite as sad about this baseball reality as I thought I’d be. This spring has been eye opening in many ways. One game I played shortstop for the Fire Department and had several plays in which I didn’t field the ball cleanly. I couldn’t bend as I was accustomed to doing. My feet didn’t work the way they’re supposed to; my coordination was wrong. It felt odd. Foreign. That’s not me. But the painful reality was that it’s what I’ve become. Out of shape. Not in "game shape."

Yet, this past Sunday playing for the squad in our latest blowout loss, I was back in the outfield where I’d played in my 20s. I was able to judge the ball fine, and my arm wasn’t as soft as I’d feared it would be. Even last night, my baseball know-how helped the team keep a run from scoring. I was in right field and the batter was running toward second base with a double he’d hit to left. The relay from the shortstop tipped off the second baseman’s glove. I was backing up and the runner didn’t even attempt to advance. We got out of the inning with that runner spot-welded to second.

I still know how to play, and if I can improve physically then I might be able to continue. But work will be changing for me. Commuting will wear me down, and I think my future is arriving. Win one for me, will ya, boys.

Chapter 37.5: Change of Seasons

Yes, it has been a while since my last entry, but I’m not one of those three-months-and-out bloggers. I’ve begun some transitions in my life, which for me are challenging.

As a person who loves chapters, I recognize that I also like to linger with a bookmark at the end of one and before the next opens. I might look at the first couple sentences or paragraphs, but unless I know I can devote more time, I’ll leave it there until I return. Change doesn’t come as easily to me as I’d like to believe.

I’ve given notice at my current job, and will begin a new one in July. Out of respect, I’ll wait until I begin the new one before I go into any details – and even then I might keep it to myself as far as this blog is concerned. Suffice it to say, I have needed a change for many years. And at this point in my life, I want to seize an opportunity I believe could be very helpful for me and for which I’m uniquely qualified.

It should also help my book, as I’ll be returning to New York and cutting through Hoboken, where much of my novel takes place. Now, if I could also go back in time to 2000/2001, when it takes place, I’d have it made.

Change is happening in the novel too. I’m reworking the opening chapter, which has remained largely intact for the past several years. The writing’s fine, but it doesn’t move people the way it needs to in an opening chapter. I’ll reduce it to flashback and start where the action is. I’m sure my readers will appreciate it.

Change can be good.

Chapter 37.2: Another Finish Line

Ok, the implementation of my edits is complete, and I've trimmed back 12,000 words, which was 10 percent of the initial 120,000 version. I've gone from 390 pages down to 350. I still have problems to fix, which I'll handle in the coming weeks, but feel good about getting this step taken care of. It was three months, basically to the day, since I finished my first draft. Maureen is reading, and I had another friend read the first few chapters. Some of her comments coincided with Maureen's, some don't. One of the friend's comments was that I should have someone who isn't knowledgeable about Hoboken, NJ, where much of the novel takes place, read it also. It's a fair point: if I want to make sure I'm convincing someone about the locale, then I should see what someone who doesn't know it thinks about it. I have a person in mind who I'll add to the short list.

But while Maureen reads, I'm going to be researching agents. This is my new quest: Find a literary agent to work with by the end of 2005 and hopefully get the book sold while I embark on my second.

Chapter 37: Irish Fingerprints

I was sending off a copy of an encyclopedia entry I wrote about 19th century baseball manager Ned Hanlon and noticed something missing from among the other entries in this work. I've likely not seen the entire list of contents, but a work intended to make the Irish more accessible to Americans was missing one of the 20th century's most interesting Irish poets, Thomas Kinsella.

I chose "accessible" purposely, because Kinsella's work is considered to be complex and often dark, yet when I was one of his students back in 1989 in Dublin I thought he was remarkably accessible and even funny. I know that not all my fellow students agreed with me, but to me Kinsella was one of the most interesting writers I'd ever met -- and still is.

I recently re-read one of his most noteworthy books: The Tain Bo Cualigne (The Cattle Raid of Cooley). It is his translation of this epic Irish poem, part of the Ulster Cycle. I'd forgotten how graphic the book is, not only in its descriptions of the killings and beheadings of warriors but also the sex. The Irish of the pagan era were not prudes; there seems to be little worry about people sharing women -- and the women often took the initiative to join the beds of other warriors. If this story were put to film it would have to be rated at least NC-17.

For readers out there with interest in Irish history, strong stomachs, and good senses of humor, I suggest you pick up a copy of The Tain. For me, I'm going to go back to his poetry. The idea of picking it up again is daunting, as he's been writing for half a century and his oeuvre is vast. Yet, somehow I feel there's a reason I'm rediscovering him now.