My old Mizuno died last week
Oh, I hate to put it that way
Had to replace it
Tried to relace it
Worked for a while, too
But then other laces started to go
And it was beyond my skills

Too expensive for a pro to work on, I figured
Kind of silly and indulgent
And I'd rather, I guess, it sat in my Mets bag
All broken and tattered
Than to be dissected by some stranger

Eighteen years I'd had that glove
Right after I got married
Had a Wilson before that
But it was in the trunk when my car was stolen
Found the car
On Florence and Normandy
Where the riot started
Stripped and ravaged and left for dead
But I got it running again
Sort of

But the Wilson was gone
Next day, I imagine, the thief snared a liner deep in the hole
Nice piece of leather, homie, the third baseman called over
Through gold-plated teeth
And the price was right too, bro
High fives and knuckle bumps all around the infield

She didn't know anything about gloves
My wife
My husband plays mostly softball
She told that man at Hollywood Star Sporting Goods
He likes to play third base
He has big hands
Long fingers

I hope I didn't spend too much, she said
Presenting me with the Mizuno
And for once she hadn't

A great glove
It fit my hand like the cliché
Sucked up short hops like nothing
A cozy place for line drives to disappear

Over time it got so comfortable
And loose fitting
I could extend and retract it
with the slightest flexing of my fingertips
Like a telescope

It got a lot more use when the boy came along
Got interested in baseball
Work on your throws, I'd shout to him
Throwing grounders
I can catch them but your teammates won't

Once he threw a wild pitch
My arm shot out
The glove slipped off and flew away
About 20 feet
When I picked it up
The ball was inside
I mean inside
Where your hand goes

Never do that again if I tried
Not in a million years

Bought a new Wilson last week
He talked me into the expensive one
You'll have it forever, Dad, you'll use it all the time

He was right
Probably the last glove I'll ever own, too
He agreed too quickly

Dark and thick and padded
But not so good at scooping short hops

What are you doing
He asked all panicky
When I took off my wedding ring to make more room
Where you gonna put it

On my key ring
In my bag
It'll be safe

You can't lose that, Dad,
All scared and serious
You can never lose that

Copyright © 2000 by David Dixon Margolis

DAVID DIXON MARGOLIS comes from a long line of Brooklyn Dodger fans, most of whom have refused to watch a baseball game since 1957. He attended his first baseball game at Shea Stadium in August of 1964, watching the Mets beat the Phils 12-4. (Or was it all just a strange and wonderful dream?) See also The Back Of Chuck Hiller's Card by David Margolis.

CBA menu

JCBA Vol. 19
Published: October 15, 2000
Copyright © 2000 by the Cosmic Baseball Association