Baseball

Put a dozen well-fed Cubans out to pasture on the grass and you get baseball.  The pitcher spreads his legs like an American matador and stares at the batter.  The batter, the trickster, does a little leg wiggle to show his virility. The catcher squats to support his belly.  The pitcher leans forward and kicks his leg back up over his head, throwing his arm out.  Somehow, despite years of daily practice, the batter misses the ball.  The umpire pumps a fist to the right.  The crowd couldn’t care less.  It’s a subtle sport.

Between batters, the stadium sound system plays bowling alley noises.  A mascot dressed as a big baseball waddles towards the sidelines.  The back of his shirt says, “Mr Met.”  He, assisted by a middle-aged woman, throws baseballs out into the audience.  The crowd goes wild, jumping and waving, hoping to attract his attention.  A young man catches a ball and hands it to the nearest child.

Time for another beer.