Lunch for me has been a solitary endeavor since moving back to the Bay Area. A nice sandwich and a good book were the norm, but then I committed to the daily postings of this site. Since then, a couple of bean burritos are eaten as if I were in a contest, and I spend my hour in the Foster City Library. Just like John Steinbeck, if Foster City had been a city when he was alive, Steinbeck had worked there, and he spent his lunch hour rapping out baseball-related piffle on a keyboard with sticky, sticky keys. In my more optimistic moments, I tell myself it was just a wayward Hi-C juice box that was responsible.
Today was different. I hopped in my car, and turned on the radio to the voice of Jon Miller. Baseball. As the principal rounds the corner, winter has no choice but to stop hoisting us by our underwear, and let us go about our lives. Baseball, damnit. Miller was laying down an anecdote from the previous day, about Willie Mays telling Kirk Rueter how their matchups would go:
Woody: Well, I wouldn't call it that.
Mays: You throw a breaking ball, right?
Mays: I'd take it deep.
Woody: Where in the park?
Mays: Well, that depends on where you threw it!
Hell, it could have been my own roof we were tarring....