Joshie Cheers with His Team by Charles Harper Webb when the third baseman makes a diving grab—when the pitcher blows batters away— when the catcher tightropes the ball over the fence. But he loves best when, ten feet from first, the coach’s son trips on his own shoelaces, slides on his face, gets tagged out to end the inning, and leaves the field, eyes full of dust, blood, tears. He’s tried smiling, smacking his glove when Coach assigns positions. He’s scowled and slammed his hat onto the bench. Always, the effect is of a gnat attacking the windshield of a speeding truck. Always, he gets one half-inning per game, exiled to another time zone in right field, or—game out of reach—a quick walk to the plate, three strikes, and down. The coach is miles of snow and freezing wind. Joshie’s dad, self-exiled from the rest, stands alone at the snack bar, his son’s sins—what were they?— falling, fouling him.
Santa Fe Literary Review 2014
105