The Thrill of the Grass by W. P. Kinsella

Author:W. P. Kinsella
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780143170365
Publisher: RosettaBooks

DRIVING TOWARD THE MOON

I give the batter my best fastball on the outside corner. He takes it for a strike. There are runners on every base, dancing back and forth like those little snake-like noise makers people blow on New Year’s Eve. I came in with the bases full and no one out. Got the first batter on a change-up, my best pitch, popped him up behind second. It’s the top of the eighth and we’re one run up. The next pitch is a slider, comes right in on his hands and he fouls it off. Dominuguez, the catcher, speaks no English except for “scrambled eggs” and “fuck off,” but he knows how to handle a pitcher. I stare in at him and nod my head; he has two fingers down for the change-up. The tricky part is the arm motion. Warren Spahn said, “All there is to pitching is keeping the hitters off-stride.” I have to use exactly the same motion as I do for the fastball, but, as the announcers always say, “take something off it.” I decide it won’t be a total change-up; I’ll let up, but only five miles per hour or so. The batter stands tight as a spring, stiff as if his feet were embedded in concrete. I’m betting he’ll think I’m going to waste one outside, try to make him go for a bad pitch. The ball is at his knees on the outside corner. He was guessing fastball and is finished his swing before the ball crosses the plate. The five hundred or so fans cheer. Two out, the worst of the pressure is off. Looks like another save coming up. I have six already and the season is barely a month old. I’m 4-1 with a 1.87 ERA.

This is Class D, or would be if there were still Class D leagues. Rookie League, they call it now. Wildly scattered teams in dismal, northern towns and cities: the Calgary Expos, Helena Phillies, Butte Copper Kings, Medicine Hat Blue Jays. Places so far from the real world a lot of us can’t believe they exist. Small baseball parks perched like buttons on the prairies of Alberta, Montana, and Idaho. Ice-sports are what people are interested in out here: hockey, skiing, something odd called curling. Though the weather gets hot during the day, by nine or ten at night what fans are left need sweaters to keep warm, for a chill wind drifts down off the mountains even in high July. There is forever a threat of rain; in the evenings, as the watery floodlights crackle, the western sky darkens and lightning knifes across the clouds.

These are major-league farm teams, so there are no local players. We come here from high schools, junior colleges, tryout camps, foreign countries. The league operates from June to the end of August. A game a day. Winding highways, the smells of diesel exhaust, bad restaurants, and cramped seats. There’s no place lonelier than the minor minor leagues.

“The tall

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