Wild Pitches
Dirk Hayhurst
Language: English
Pages: 196
ISBN: B009T9SCIK
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
As a major and not-so-major league pitcher, Dirk Hayhurst has learned to master more than striking out batters. While waiting for his name to be called in the bullpen, he honed his gifts as a storyteller, one the New York Times calls the "best writer in a baseball uniform." In this often hilarious collection of adventures on and off the diamond, Dirk details the intricacies of pulling off an epic team prank, even if it's at his own expense;the art of creating the perfect professional baseball nickname;his comically ineffective attempts at writing romance novels;and the bizarre tale in which a bear gets punched in the face (yes, really). No matter how wild his story, Dirk proves once again he knows that it's all in the delivery.
51,300 Words.
afterwards he was going to get his real meal at the Chili’s bar across the parking lot. I had been learning to count calories, a skill that paid off when I got my fat test this spring. Aden, on the other hand, wasn’t as keen on the idea. He caught three to six pens a day and come day’s end he needed extra calories, or so he said. He insisted he needed to gain weight, though he looked in no danger of starving to me. Personally, I think all this weight-gaining hype was just an excuse, seeing as how
afterwards he was going to get his real meal at the Chili’s bar across the parking lot. I had been learning to count calories, a skill that paid off when I got my fat test this spring. Aden, on the other hand, wasn’t as keen on the idea. He caught three to six pens a day and come day’s end he needed extra calories, or so he said. He insisted he needed to gain weight, though he looked in no danger of starving to me. Personally, I think all this weight-gaining hype was just an excuse, seeing as how
anything. I just didn’t speak. Some weeks after things started going south, I walked alone to the park, dwelling on my situation. When I got there, it sounded like a game was already being played. I rushed inside, wondering if I had misread the batting practice times posted on the clubhouse’s exit doors. I’d never missed BP in my life, and the prospect of doing so startled me. When I made it in, however, I realized the Beavers weren’t the ones causing the commotion. Our field had been divided
was slapping his boyfriend. It was obvious he was not left handed. I don’t think he could have got the ball across the infield with his motion. “Yeah, his mechanics suck, but it’s about more than that.” “Yeah, I know, it’s about him getting back into the game. Great story. But if I’m the guy they made this movie about, I’m still cringing every time he throws.” “I think they did the ‘missing the family’ part well.” “That was okay. A little too Hollywood. Maybe it’s just that Quaid is the same
extrapolate what he was saying in a way I could understand, and when I repeated it back to him it sounded like, “Blacks aren’t demeaned or denied because they are black, as if a white man looks upon a black player and swears blacks won’t make it in this game—like something Jackie Robinson would have dealt with—but that whites are more comfortable with other whites because they understand whites better, share common ground. Blacks have a different view on the world, no less valid, no less