HOME RUN

THE HOME RUN BALL... AT HOME

"Now at bat, The Pittsburgh Pirates newest star Roberto Clemente. A Puerto Rican native, this young man has a fire in him when he plays that is a thrill to witness. And, here comes the pitch, a swing, a hit........... LOOK OUT the bat cracks in half, the bat flying, the ball flying and I MEAN SAILING OUT OF THREE RIVERS STADIUM AND INTO THE ONE OF THE THREE RIVERS OUTSIDE THE STADIUM......it’s a home run ball once again from this talented young player."

THE BALL'S NEW HOME

“Well, we sure appreciate you having us, it’s been a wild three months in the car and on the road, and, with a dog, well, you can’t always find dog friendly hotels, even though Dash is well trained and well behaved...........speaking of Dash..........where is he.......Dash? DASH??!!!”

We run through the very large Country Club Manor.

Through the jazz room....large hand painted portraits of many of the greats...Louie Armstrong, Etta James, Cole Porter...all in very large, museum looking frames and wired with a security system...it’s dark and cool in this jazzy space.

He’s not in here.

Into the music memorabilia room....guitars, moroccos, tambourines all grace the walls in specially made shadow boxes. The bleached highly polished hard wood floors house a white baby grand that Liberace owned. Every corner a celebrity owned instrument. Shit, this stuff must be worth a fortune.

SECURING THE BALL

I look through the window to the country club lawn, perfectly green, no dirt holes peeking through like at our house.

I see a police type looking man pacing round and I call out..."Mr. Diboro? The Police are here! Outside of your house. Is everything okay???”

He chuckles at my stupidity.

“That’s our private security.....they’re supposed to make you feel safe, not scared.”

"Of course, I knew that.....not."

Anyway, no Dash in here either.

I am starting to get worried, because there are no doggie doors here and he was just in the kitchen a minute ago.

I round the bend of the long hall to see....

“OH MY GOD.....DDDAAASSSHHH....... NOOOOO. DROP IT, DROP IT!!!” I command through clenched teeth in an urgent hushed plea.

You see, Dash has managed to open the glass case door of the ‘collectibles case’ in the Sports Memorabilia Room.

Joey, eight years old and a student of mine, knowing the sports fanatic that I am, and upon arriving for an overnight stay in their museum, I mean mansion, I mean home... proudly took me right to this room when we arrived to show off his rather LARGE collection.

Footballs, Soccer Jerseys, Bats, Helmets, you name it, but the prize of the room is this glass ‘collectibles case’......that with a light tap on a metal tab opens with ease, and designed just for little Joey’s eight year old height and Dash’s ‘on his back paws’ stance.

Joey and Dash had more than their height in common. This case was Dash’s obsession too.

It was filled with.......BALLS.....BASEBALLS......SIGNED BASEBALLS.....ONE OF A KIND SIGNED BASEBALLS ON STANDS IN A SPECIALLY MADE TEMPERATURE CONTROLLED SECURITY RIGGED CASE DESIGNED FOR EIGHT YEAR OLD JOEY DEVORA.

Dash is growling and drooling now.

I am trying not to shit my pants as my entire life savings and then some flashes before my eyes. I try the ‘GOOD DOG, BAD DOG’ technique.

I try standing over him with authority.

I try straight up begging.

And, just when I think I might get it out of his mouth and back in the case with a little drool, Joey rounds the bend.

He stops momentarily, eyes wide in shock, and then his possessive little ‘only child collector man’ takes over and he screams louder than any scream I have ever heard.........

“TTHHHAAATTSSSSS.......... MMMMIIINNNEEE......... GGIIVVVEEE......... ITTTT BAAAACCCKCKKK. NNNNOOOOOOWWWWWW!!!!”

He lunges at the ball still in a now frenetic Dash’s mouth.

Dash is now dashing.....around the room, out the doorway and through the house at a greyhound’s speed. Joey and I, and eventually Mr. Devora in chase.

This is not going well.

At all.

Dash’s well groomed claws are clacking on these shiny beamed floors, and we, having had to take our shoes off, are slipping and sliding and making poor chase.

Little Joey, bright little man that he is, and knowing the floor plan of this mausoleum, takes a short cut and ends up in front of Dash, stopping him in his tracks, and in slow motion I see Joey grab for the ball in Dash’s mouth.

“NNNNOOOOOOO!!!”

Too late.

Joey gets the ball and Dash gets Joey.

THE COST OF THE BALL

“AAAHHHHHH. AHHHHAAAHAAA.....he bit me, I’m bleeding.”

“Oh, okay. but how’s the ball? I mean, let’s get your hand washed in the sink.”

His mother comes to do just that.

I pick up the ball to see a signature drooled on, but still legible. The whole ball has a weird texture, like it was wet, but Dash couldn’t have that much drool in him, could he? I dab at it and take it back to it’s case until we could figure out what to do.

"Joey needs stitches."

My dream trip just turned into a nightmare.

Off Mom and Joey go to the emergency room.

“I am so sorry, oh my gosh, I can’t believe this.”

"It’s ok, he’ll be ok." Mr. Devora assures me.

"Joey had to have a tetanus shot a few months ago when he cut himself on the fence at the baseball field....so a few stitches....he’ll live."

“And, this ball...?”

I go to the case and show him the offended treasure.

“It’s funny your Dash picked this one,” he says casually, “We were in Pittsburgh visiting Joey’s grandma, and she likes to hit the Estate Sales in Mt. Lebanon. We went to one where this young man was going 'on and on' about how he and his father were outside the stadium, on the Allegheny, in their boat, when Roberto Clemente hits a homer out of the stadium and into the river.”

"As per the boater game rules, we all jetted for the ball and me and my dad got it," he told us, "then waited outside the stadium for the young rookie after the game, to sign it......that’s why the ball has a weird texture."

“Well, I thought it was quite the fantastic story...but Joey bought it hook line and sinker. So what the heck, we bought it for next to nothing. Anyway...... it’s only money right?”

"HAHAHAHAHAHHAAAAA."

I laugh like a fish off the hook thrown back to it’s life line in the water.

"YES, hahahhaaaa...only money."

"So, if your Dash had to pick a ball, this is the one......Pittsburgh dog that he is."

"Hahha........ yeah .... sooooo ..... we’re good …….. right???"

P.S. The Dog, The Ball & The Boy Lived Happily Ever After !

***No Boys, Animals or Home Run Balls Were Hurt In The Making Of This Story.

HOME RUN Written & Narrated by Trisha Simmons