Pitch

He had been following her for over an hour. She had seen him before and was concerned. Bulging belly, dirty holey sweatshirt, grungy jeans at half mast. Just his luck, she walked into an alley. When he followed her, she reached into her bag. When he became conscious, he turned his head and picked up a baseball by his head. It read, "Stalking a star pitcher is a really bad idea. Don’t do it again." The next thing he noticed was that his pants were around his ankles and his drawers were down to his knees. The police showed up then.

From Guest Contributor Doug Hawley

Beauty Of Life

Walking through the park's garden, the fresh scent of grass and flowers soothes me. The leaves are slowly blowing in the breeze and the chipmunks race around the path.

Children are laughing and playing baseball while their parents proudly watch, and it reminds me of my own childhood summers, playing catch with my friends while my father coached us on our throws.

I wish I could go back and be young again, but I can’t change time. I’m elderly, brittle and fortunate to be able to walk at my age.

This is why I’m thankful for the beauty of life.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

It’s Not Me, It’s You

You hear the thin cries of a drowning man. You notice that seemingly innocent words like “today,” “yesterday,” and “tomorrow” have been censored. You pick quarrels with the baggers at grocery stores. You try but fail to ignore the prevalence of right-wing militias, foreign movies dubbed in English, shark sightings. You prefer baseball to football and a medically induced coma to either. You wonder what it’d be like to suffer a gunshot. You have a recurrent dream you’re lost in an old abandoned warehouse, usually with a friend you had growing up whose brother played Russian roulette once too often.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author of THE DEATH ROW SHUFFLE, a poetry collection forthcoming from Finishing Line Press.

The Untimely Demise Of Adrian Perez

HUBRIS CONTEST:

Joe, doing his best to hide the fear bubbling up from within, kicked dirt from the mound as the next batter sauntered to the plate. This was Adrian Perez, MVP, future Hall-Of-Famer, and the best home run hitter alive.

Ninth inning. Bases loaded. Two outs. Clinging to a one-run lead.

Before Perez entered the batter's box, he did the unthinkable. He pointed towards the outfield, confirming what everyone already knew about the ball's final destination. Joe winced at the shame that was sure to follow.

Nobody was more surprised than Joe Flack when Perez hit a soft grounder to first.

From Guest Contributor Bill Kern

Homer

Marjorie and her husband Herbert thought that names were important. When their first child was born, they named him Homer in hopes that some day he would be a major-league baseball player. Herbert used to laugh at the concept even while he predicted that Homer would be inspired by his suggestive name.

When Homer was three, Herbert bought him a baseball bat. Then it was Little League and high-school baseball and finally the college baseball team. Marjorie and Herbert were ecstatic; their dream was coming true.

In the end Homer majored in Classics and wrote an epic poem in Greek.

From Guest Contributor Anita G. Gorman

The Standard

"Don't get me started on politics."

May took a drag from her cigarette and rolled her eyes so only Sal, the bartender, could see.

"All them crooks in Washington robbing the money right out of our pockets. It's a travesty."

"If your Pappy was alive, he'd be at the front of the revolution."

"Damn straight he would be."

May and Stan started laughing. Bill didn't seem to mind. He just frowned at his empty cup of coffee.

"Let me get you a refill, Mr. Guthrie."

She returned with a steaming pot.

"What was I talking about again?"

"Tonight's baseball game."

Sensitive Weather

It was the eve of the Little League finals. Bobby looked out his window and cursed the gathering storm clouds. He desperately wanted to pitch in tomorrow's championship.

The clouds, as all the wise men know, are temperamental. They especially don't take to being ordered about, by God or anyone else. Certainly not by thirteen-year-old boys.

When Bobby woke up the next morning, the clouds were no longer in the sky. They were stuffed into his bedroom. They chased him about for the rest of the week until he finally apologized.

"Next time, don't be so mean," the clouds insisted.

Sibling Rivalry

They were both failures in life.

His brother was the one destined for greatness, until his inner demons and thirst for heroin derailed his ambitions.

For some reason their parents, his brother's girlfriend, their mutual friends, his therapist, they all blamed him for his brother's failures. They never seemed to realize that he was also a victim. He was always being compared to his brother's lofty standards. His success in school, his victories on the baseball field, his general affability.

So yeah, he'd gotten his brother hooked on heroin. But couldn't they see it was actually a cry for help?