The commoners of the Greek empire turned to mythos to explain the natural processes that befuddled them. So they asked Sloppamedes, the village elder who carried the full freight of their oral tradition, yet another question: “Wise and sagacious Sloppamedes, … Continue reading Greek Myth: Why Fernandus of Rodney wanders the forest forevermore
Bill Greif will maybe at some point get around to giving a damn about what you’re telling him, but, brother man, it won’t be today. Not while the beer’s cold and not in light of the quality of the last … Continue reading Unlike you, Bill Greif just wants to relax and listen to some music
Survival is discovering you are out of stamps. Living is going to buy more and forgetting what else it is you need. Mayo Smith should have written it down. Mayo Smith should have written it all down. The great wheel … Continue reading Mayo Smith is aware of the years
Doug Jones did not ask for this fire. He did not volunteer for the strains of harnessing it. This is why he regards this fire like the severed thumb he once found in the nearby old growth forest. He is … Continue reading Doug Jones did not ask for this fire
In 2003, wildcatter archivists in West Texas made a compelling discovery in a fireproof safe that had been buried behind a storefront farmer’s co-op. That discovery was a series of four-track musical recordings by pitching legend Pedro Martinez. Unbeknownst to … Continue reading Selected Lyrics from Pedro Martinez’s Country Music Album
You could not say Kevin Kiermaier’s eyes looked like the remembered Blue of your older sister’s nail polish remover, Towed from shelves, dutifully regretted, litigated — the fumes Of which smelled of camphor and surgery and sent a cancer Galloping … Continue reading Kevin Kiermaier’s Eyes Are a Certain Blue
The front leg bends back like a bough Before it snaps in a boy’s hands. The cleats stomp shallow hollows into the clay As the belt buckle rolls toward sundown. The elbow strokes the ribs, the bottom arm locks tetanus … Continue reading Ichiro’s Swing
At birth, Sparky Anderson was 5-foot-9, 170 pounds. Those dimensions would not change. The delivery was almost too much even for his prairie-stock mother, who frowned while sleeping. “I counted the seconds,” she told him years later. “Thought about each number going by, and that each second brought me closer to the end of this pain.” He was also born with a full shock of hair, as white as fresh baseballs. His face was already engraved with furrows. Years later, his wife would recognize the pattern they made as the byways and rural routes of McCook County, South Dakota. His … Continue reading Sparky Anderson was born this way
When St. Peter came to Irvine High School, he bid the people to “give an account of the hope that is in you.” It fell to Bob Hamelin to introduce to the world “apologia via placard” … “Bob Hamelin,” St. Peter said. “Why do you present to me a placard that reads ‘Bob Hamelin’”? “Because,” Bob Hamelin said, “You told me to account for the hope that is in me. Bob Hamelin is in me. Thus, ergo, and therefore: Bob Hamelin is the hope in me. Q.E.D.” Bob Hamelin wandered off, and the slapping and fapping of his weathered leather … Continue reading Bob Hamelin Accounts for the Joy within
The god he does not believe in has never been more absent. It is not like the time when he thought he saw his father, who had been dead for 20 years, standing in his kitchen in the middle of the night. But something — an unnameable something — has grown restless and turned back. It is nothing he could impart, nothing that even has a name. But the continental-drift of a gnaw is enough to tear notches into the strong hearts of oaks rooted forever to the floor of the world. His library is but a burnt offering to … Continue reading The sad baseball frog
