newyorkette

^{Batter up! (No KFC jokes, please) [Image: carolita johnson]}

Well, I had allergies, so I was useless. I spent most of the night on the bench striving not to scratch my itchy eyes. I was good for one thing, though. I had an eight-pack of baby-Buds in my bag, which I added to the bag of Corona’s bought from the ubiquitous Mojito Joe. (I think I’ve even seen him on Brighton Beach!)

Practice was at DeWitt Clinton Park on 11th avenue and 54th street till late last night, and there were lights! (Quite a change from the illumination we’re used to at Central Park: fireflies). We were joined by a few street kids, one of whom, Kyle, was an urchin straight out of a Norman Rockwell. He patiently waited for his chance at bat, hanging on even as his buddies headed home, calling, “Kyle! Go home!” So I gave the kid a break (in addition to my glove), and got Josh Hersh, ever the silver knight, to let him cut the line. After his last hit Kyle composed himself and raised the bat over his head with both hands to yell the words:”Never underestimate the little guy!” (Actually he did the same thing after his penultimate hit, mistakenly thinking it was his last hit, but had no qualms about repeating his finale.) Then he sauntered casually beyond center field adjusting his sweatjacket, and I watched him squeeze through a gap in the fence and disappear into the night.

The team is gonna be great this year! Josh was slugging away, Crawford inspired a shifty man standing behind the dugout fence to exclaim, “the old guy can hit!” (he later exclaimed, “the old guy can catch!”), Gus Powell brought to mind Sidd Finch, and there were a couple of new female fact checkers with incredibly powerful arms. (Leading me to suspect that Canby has realized that good fact checkers are desirable assets to the magazine, but good fact checkers with softball skills are even better.) The regulars were there, the usual mix of cartoonists, inveterate fact checkers, the odd writer (he’s not really odd, just eccentric), and of course, the coach: Dellinger, without whose exhortations nobody would ever use the mitt to catch the ball instead of for protecting their face. No, that’s not true. Just me. I’m the big chicken (as per the drawing above).

Andy Friedman (of cartoonist and Other Failure fame) is on Weight Watchers, and duly calculated the “points” of a baby Bud before enjoying it, leading me to believe there is nothing cuter than a man on Weight Watchers. I invited him to join Marisa Marchetto and I the next time we do our mani-pedi. I will take pictures.

Finally, I came home, turned the TV on and discovered I must have turned the TV off switched to channel 13 last night, but it was alright because David Remnick was in Charlie Rose’s usual seat. Phew! I reach convulsively for the remote whenever I happen upon Charlie Rose, who evokes for me all the unfortunate consequences of mortality with his dusty-looking pinstriped suits with the peak lapels and, atop, the ever world-weary face, whereas Remnick wasn’t even wearing his glasses and was looking very fresh and motivated by the curiosity of someone who hasn’t yet seen it all (or who hasn’t yet realized he’s seen it all). He was interviewing Wole Soyinka, Nobel Laureate.

Posted Thursday, April 27th, 2006 at 11:00 am under NYC, TNY. Feel free to trackback from your own site. All images on newyorkette.com are the intellectual property of Carolita Johnson, and you must ask (and receive) express permission to use them or reproduce them in any way whatsoever.