John McGraw stood at the end of the dock with a lineup card in his hand. Well, it had started as a lineup but now featured enough scratch marks and shorthand that a chicken could mistake it for its tracks. The cleanup spot for today’s game was giving him trouble.
Mantle? Nah, Mantle’s been a slump ever since St. Peter got in his ear. McGraw wished ole’ Pete would mind the gate and stay out of the locker room. Sure it’s a shame that Peter has to get the day games on the radio but up here the broadcast is perfect so he can’t really complain.
McGraw lifted his cap and wiped his brow. Hot one today, but then again summers in Heaven are not for the faint of heart. Where was his delivery? He heard a voice from behind, “Sweating already John?”
McGraw turned to see Connie Mack grinning at him. “I know you’re nervous, but at least wait for the game to start.” Mack turned and spat through a hole in the clouds (tobacco was of course strictly prohibited in Paradise but old habits die hard, even after death).
McGraw mumbled something nondescript to Mack but didn’t want to address him further. McGraw never cared for Mack, even in eternity. Plus he despised getting fraternal with the competition the day of a game. Mack persisted.
“Where are your boys playing next week, John? Ebbetts? Sportsman’s? Riverfront?”
“Ah, the pride of Cleveland’s East Side. I’m sure Ruth will be happy to get back there.”
Mack was infatuated with Ruth, and for good reason. The slugger had 20 home runs over the first fifty games. This made McGraw nervous. Little Napoleon knew the rules; he could only protect him for one more year in the draft and Mack was enough of a sly dog that he would strategically tank to snatch him that season. Begrudgingly he conceded, “Yeah George is eager to get back on the road.”
Of course up here, “the road” is a relative term. The soul cares little for movement and the Good Lord is kind enough to bring the ballparks to the teams. And when the Cherubim sing the National Anthem? Forget about it. Everyone cries whether they want to or not.
If Mack perceived McGraw’s disinterest in his presence he ignored it. “Yeah I got Cy pitching today. I don’t mean to brag, but that curve of his is really a dandy this year. He might be up for his own award!” Mack choked out a laugh that could have doubled for a cat struggling with a hairball. The kind of joke you laugh at when you are just HILARIOUS. “I’m excited to see Mathewson in person today too.”
Even McGraw had to let slip a smile. Ah, Christy Mathewson. In life and now after death that boy still made him proud. 373 wins on the mortal coil, over 1,800 in the clouds. Still the workhorse, McGraw would need Jeremiah’s chariot to get him off the rubber. Mathewson would indeed be pitching today and his fastball was showing some serious life (no pun intended). He hoped Mack’s boys were ready.
HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNKKKK
A giant ship let loose its bull horn as it snaked through the clouds. The Titanic deftly maneuvered up to the dock with its cargo following closely behind. Hubert H. Humphrey’s Metrodome was once the pride of the Twin Cities. Now it was just another ballpark McGraw had to investigate.
Mack whistled. “What were they thinking? A dome? That cheap felt carpet in the outfield? What a shame.” For once McGraw had to agree. The ‘Dome was not trying to be a pretty ballpark, it was economical. The city had a football team as well as baseball and they both needed a home so the Metrodome came to be. Now it had been torn down and sent up to The Big Bullpen in the Sky. It was McGraw’s turn to inspect it for defects, of which there would be many. Muggsy had to appreciate the system that the Lord put into place. Have the managers take turns inspecting the newly arrived ballparks, they can make some recommendations, and The Eternal Umpire would handle the renovations. Simple, elegant, holistic. Still, McGraw sighed. He had a lineup to finalize and wanted to chat with Speaker about his swing.
McGraw could care less about the ‘Dome. The ballparks he wanted, the ballparks everyone wanted, were on Chicago’s North Side and Boston. Wrigley Field and Fenway Park were the gems that remained out of their celestial reach. It’s hard to complain in Heaven without sounding ungrateful (it is Heaven after all), but most of McGraw’s players acknowledged that they missed the Green Monster and Ivy.
But rules were rules and so long as they existed on Earth they would be unavailable in Heaven. McGraw would have to wait. “You want any help looking it over?” Mack inquired.
McGraw looked over at Mack. Love thy neighbor, do unto others, all that mantra came to McGraw and he decided that a little fraternizing with the enemy could be acceptable. “Sure,” McGraw conceded. “If you want to, but I make the final decisions.”
“Of course, of course.” Mack proceeded into the ‘Dome. “We are going to dispose of the baggy in right though, aren’t we?”
John smiled, “No argument here.” The two managers, adversaries in the afterlife, walked into the ballpark together, united by the love of baseball.
“So whom are you having hit fourth today?” Mack asked.
