Words and Illustration by B.E. Sabin | October 3, 2024
Prologue
“But I’m dead. I’m sure of it. I went to sleep at Memorial Hospital in New York, sick as a dog, and when I woke it was dark out. I wasn’t in the hospital anymore. I was standing on a dirt road and carrying a bag full of baseball equipment. Look here,” Babe Ruth lifted a bag and put it on the bar.
The bartender, who had a thick white beard that had been yellowed by tobacco smoke, leaned forward and looked in the bag. He was drying a mug with a white towel he had just used to clean the bar. “Yep,” he said, “looks like a glove to me.”
“So where am I? What is this place? Doesn’t look like heaven. Just looks like a normal tavern in a backwater town.”
“Well, you got that right, Mr. Ruth. You are in a backwater town. You're in a place called Outsville. Almost as far north as you can go on Baseball Island. There ain’t much happening here in Outsville. The most exciting thing we’ve experienced in a while is you.”
“Me? You guys been expecting me or something?”
“Sure have, Babe. Is it okay if I call you Babe?”
“You bet, kid.”
The bartender poured Ruth a pint and placed it on the bar in front of him.
“Mighty kind of you. I haven’t been partaking in a while if you know what I mean.” Ruth patted his big belly and took a drink. “Goddamn, that tastes good.”
“The Corneaters, that’s the local ball club, have taken you in the first round for the last two years since the doctors found that tumor at the base of your skull.”
“So, I’m dead then?”
“Well, yes and no. You’re dead in your world, but here on Baseball Island you’re as fresh as a daisy. It’s not heaven, that’s way down the line. This is just the next step in your journey, Bambino. Do you mind if I call you Bambino?”
“Yeah, call me whatever you like, kid, it’s no skin off my back.” Ruth took another drink. “So, what now? You got a place I can stay until I get on my feet?”
“We’ve got it all taken care of, Babe. You’re a Corneater now. You’ll stay here tonight in the backroom. We got a cot all set up for you. And then tomorrow you’ll meet the team. We’re all pretty excited you’re finally here, Sultan. The ball club’s been in sorry shape for a long time.”
The bartender took out a long wooden pipe, lit it, pulled up a stool, and sat directly across from Ruth.
“So, I’m on the club?” asked Ruth.
“You bet. And like I said things haven’t looked too good as of late. The ball club could use a shot in the arm and we figure if anybody can give it to them it’s you.” The bartender took a drag and blew smoke rings up to the ceiling.
Ruth took his bag off the bar and set it on the floor. There weren’t many people in the tavern, but those that were kept an eye on Ruth’s every move. They were the lucky ones that happened to be there at the right time and most of them couldn’t wait to spread the gossip around town.
The night carried on and so did the pints. Slowly the tavern emptied, with the patrons off to spread the merry word of Ruth's arrival. Eventually, it was just the bartender and Ruth.
“Well,” said Ruth, “I think you’d better show me to my quarters.” Ruth stood and rocked unsteadily on his feet. “I’ve been through a lot today. I died, you know.” Ruth laughed. “Goddamn if I’d known that when I died I’d get to be thirty again, I’d have kicked the bucket years ago.”
The bartender smiled and showed Ruth the cot in the back. And the ballplayer, feeling no pain, laid down on the cot and drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
Comments