My Musings

This text is currently hidden by a css change. Alow's me to go directly to the category description because it is editable in the front end,


You may not yet know of my finest hour as a baseball player, but let me tell you about my worst hour.

I had had some success as a Little Leaguer, which you probably already figured based on how I have maintained my sporting physique throughout the decades. I played on a team sponsored by Covino Brothers in the majors division of the East Syraucse, New York Little League. My skill back then was that I could judge and catch fly balls in the outfield. Sounds easy, I know, but many of my teammates were terrible at it. I wasn't a good hitter or a particularly good fielder, but most of the time I could judge where a fly ball was going to land and arrive there before it touched earth. My little league coach thus dubbed me "Pat the Magic Glove."

Not joking.

Call this the early- to mid-1970s, so maybe ten years after Peter Paul and Mary released Puff the Magic Dragon. It is only now that I realize that my skinny coach, who yelled at us bumbling fools in a British accent whilst guzzling milk straight from the waxed carton as a remedy for a stomach ulcer, might have been referencing that song when he dubbed me Pat the Magic Glove.

It is amazing how many Little Leaguers can't catch a fly ball in the outfield. They see the ball in the sky a hundred feet ahead and immediately run toward it, only to discover that it has a secret source of extra propulsion that causes it to sail right over their heads, pushing across four runs. I encountered this situation early in my Little League career enough times that I stopped running in and just let the ball come to me. Presto! I caught almost everything that was hit at me in left or center field.

So, they made me an infielder. I was, after all, Pat the Magic Glove.

Fielding screaming grounders that will knock out your teeth if the ball takes a bad hop and shagging lazy flies involve completely different skills. I much preferred being out there where the ball comes in on a noticeable arc most of the time. In the infield, especially on the left side, the ball came off the bat at 1,000 miles an hour from only 65 feet away. But like it or not, I was now an infielder.

One day, a kid from three houses down, Eddie Franz, who was playing on an opposing Little League team, hit a grounder to me at third base, which I fielded and threw across the diamond, hitting my sprinting neighbor square in the back. It must have stung something terrible because Eddie was in tears, thanks to my awful aim. This error got into my head, and when another ball came my way, I totally booted it.

From then on, I was incapable of fielding a ball or making an accurate throw in the infield. A short time later in that same game a ball was hit between me and the shortstop that I could easily have reached, but I pretended I couldn't get to it, knowing that they don't charge you with errors when you can't get to the ball. Best to let it go than have it bounce stupidly off the heel of my glove or have me throw the ball into the stands. I heard one of the parents holler, "The third basemen didn't even try to field it!"

I was exposed. No longer would anyone call me Pat the Magic Glove. 

I survived that experience and went on to play Babe Ruth ball, and later made the high school team. But never again was I put in the infield, to my great relief.

One day I'll tell you about my finest hour. 

Continue reading
  31 Hits



Daily Haiku


Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  


College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.


Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not


I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car


My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not


It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means


Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes


Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees


Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning


Subscribe To The Blog

Produce This Audio Play!

Ever wanted to produce a radio play?  Think you have the mettle?  Read on!

Tag Cloud

Advertising Football Chowder Vaughn acerbic high school principal Eating and Drinking Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde Royal Stuff tambourrine Bodysurfing Sports Psychology NFL Mass General Hospital Peter Paul and Mary Communication Channels Syracuse Work Sugarbush Hot Air Balloon Email The Old Days plan mid-winter vacations Dad advice Skiing Ticketmaster When I die the future Scotch and Sirloin Cornhole star Audubon Bar The future Me Roommates I've Had afterlife TV Hawaii Yeast Bicycles baseball nukes Sports Diseases Bands I've seen Stories I should write Pats Emergencies Masks town square Hurricanes Them Kids 1980s Bikes weather Rock Bands Soviet Union winter Red Sox Climate Change high winds Drumming China First World Problems Plastic War and Peace Halloween Theater Belgian Ales Religion My sisters The Past My Estate cornhole Earth Coyotes Mom and Dad COVID-19 Tom Waits Putin Imaginings Car Dealerships Eclipse Short Fiction Trump People I know The Future Mustard Texting Cars soapbox rantings Canadiana Bunker Cats Reveillon Godfather Smoke Meat Radiohead seasons Allergies Existential Crisis Knots Weather BB King US Senate My grandparents gathering throngs Food Bob Dylan Marketing Gimmicks Beer Quebect Liz Phair Zoom Hache Verde Skating the sea College Hand Planes Music Stairs Soccer Christmas vacation Peacekeeping Ketchup Reese's Peanut Butter Cups coronavirus Candy NPR My Parents Guns and Ammo New England Good Reads Bill Monroe Fiction Bands I've Seen Barber Shops Soup Spice Girls Things I've done Folk Music Elvis Presley Spoon the band Mike Doughty punk music Ice Dancing Europe curling shoes Grass Skiing Higher Education Teeth Brewing technology Biden Big Shoes Rabbit Hole Bands I haven't seen Canada Little League Audio Motorists Golf Soul Coughing Vaccines Butterfingers Martinis Head injuries midwinter vacations Ukraine Snow Guns Boston Accounting Politics As Usual Joan Jett Wind Brain Surgery COVID Art Real Estate