Las bestias

I showed up to a community meeting a few months ago and realized it would be a while before they would be ready to begin the meeting. I noticed that the kids outside were playing stickball. So my attention was obviously attracted to that.

It's not really stickball. It's more like piece-of-a-2-by-4 and a beaten up mini soccer ball.

I break the ice with a few questions, and I'm in the batters circle before I know it.

Hitting is not the strongest part of my stickball game. I don't know if I have registered a legitimate, round-first-base single in my last decade of playing softball. Combining that with a lack of great foot speed, and well you have an offensive liability.

So as the pitcher stares me down and gets his sign from the pitcher, my expectations are relatively low. The kids on the other look at me like I'm Babe Ruth, forget the fact that they have never heard of Babe Ruth before. Jaws are dropped. Eyes are wide open.

The first pitch I hit a grounder down what would be the third base line. The kids were very impressed, but I felt I could do better.

The next pitch was a bit low. I take a good cut at it but manage to hit a grounder down what would be the first base line.

The third pitch comes. I take a big swing and crush a fly ball to centerfield. The contact felt so good and pure. The ball sails over the street and into someone's yard. The kids start applauding, and I'm start asking the kids if we should go get the ball. They continued to applaud.

I was really surprised how little effort they were making at getting this ball back. It was as if they had already decided that this ball was gone. They would just have to wait for another day.

After this carried on for a few minutes, I ask why we can't get the ball. They say it's gone forever. Angry pigs live in the yard that I hit the ball into. Nobody goes in there and comes out unscathed. Plus, the pigs' owner isn't really nice. So that ball was gone.

I apologized profusely about losing their ball, and the kids said it didn't matter. That was the best hit they'd ever seen. I still felt horrible about it. I wondered if there was a way we could get that ball back.

I asked some people in my meeting. They confirmed that the pigs weren't supposed to be messed with, neither was their owner. Visions of the biggest pickle any of us had ever seen flashed through my head. But I realized that the ball was gone - plus it wasn't signed by The Babe. So it's much more replaceable.

And instead of just one beast that Henry Rodriguez had to outrun, this is an entire yard of angry pigs.