The Doubleplay's the Thing

by Richard Dodge Zboray

Color Announcer (CA): The Yankees were far from alone making changes in the off-season. Perhaps no team made more changes than what used to be called simply the Kansas City Royals. We'll see for ourselves today as Mike Mussina and the New York Yankees take on the Kansas City Royal Shakespeares.

Play-by-Play Announcer (PBPA): Right now, we're waiting for the first pitch. It's a brooding April afternoon here at Kauffman Stadium and on the mound for the Shakespeares is Hamlet, who leads the league not only in having the lowest ERA but also in the longest games. His last, a very unmanageable nine-and-one-half hours.

CA: Ouch. Jeter's been in the box—what?—about seven minutes already, and we're still waiting for the first pitch. Hamlet's good, but he takes forever figuring out what to throw. I've also heard a lot of grumbling that Hamlet's just not a team player. There's his complaining. He's annoyed that he lost his catcher, Yorick. Then their GM shipped off their middle infielders, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

PBPA: Yes, they were good and turned a smart DP, but they weren't Tinker and Evers by any stretch of the imagination and the Royal Shakespeares did pick up Armando Benitez, who seems to have at last found a home. But then, when the Royals refused to give Hamlet's Mom tickets ...

CA: Let's be fair to the kid, though. His father did die abruptly not so long ago.

PBPA: But you got to get over that. You got a game to play. And there's the first pitch of the game. Finally. And it's a ... "

CA: Jeter's looking puzzled.

PBPA: That's because the home plate umpire, Polonius, has yet to make the call. He seems to be gesturing that the pitch was a bit inside but not too tight. Well, I just know that this is going to be a long, long game.

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Hamlet felt uneasy on the mound. It was the top of the third and the game was already two-and-three-quarters hours old with both teams scoreless. Hamlet looked at his manager, King Lear, in the dugout and then over at the bullpen to see if anyone was warming up. Benitez separated the two lefties, Banquo and Macbeth, who grimaced. Macbeth had a really nasty splitter, but he knew Lear would bring in Banquo first. Banquo and Macbeth roomed together, partied together, and even sat together on the team bus. But maybe Lady, his wife, was right, Macbeth brooded. Maybe Lear was going to designate Banquo his closer and trade him to the Nationals. Maybe, just as Lady had told him, he had to do something. Maybe. Just maybe.

"Want the chew?" Benitez asked, holding forth a can of tobacco. Macbeth spit at the tip of Benitez's cleats, which pleased the set-up man profoundly.

On the mound, Hamlet didn't like that ambitious look in Macbeth's eye. Or was it just the cold Missouri wind making him tighten his eyes and pace so furiously?

Hamlet was ahead of Williams and he wanted to throw a curve. Suppose he missed and evened the count? But to throw number one here low and away ... Suppose Williams was looking for it? Ay, there was the rub. The fear of a finger only slightly ajar or a muscle only a hair out of joint made him a coward. But the fences had been moved back in the off-season. King Lear and his teammates urged him on. Still, he would need to re-conceptualize the perfect pitch.

"Hump" Richard the Third behind the dish put down two fingers. Was Hump playing with his sanity? Off-speed now? What if Williams was expecting it? Hamlet shook him off.

And yet again two fingers.

"Time!" Hump called, and hobbled out to the mound. "Shake me off again, you Danish fop, and I'll kill your barking dog, Horatio."

As Hump limped back to the plate, Hamlet didn't know what to throw. He had a good team behind him:  at first base, Richard the Second, batting third; at second, Henry the Fifth, in the four slot; Henry the Sixth at third hit fifth and Puck, at short, filled the number two spot. Iago, who played in the Turkestan winter league, was in left, Ariel in center, and Othello in right. Caliban, who many compared to a young Manny Ramirez, was DH.

Hamlet saw Macbeth hovering behind Banquo in the bullpen. Hump flashed two fingers. Horatio's drooling face flashed in his mind. He threw a change-up that Williams launched up and over the left field fence.

Lifting his mask, Hump told Polonius, "I told the kid cutter."

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PBPA: Oh, what a dandy we have here. One-nothing with Mussina and Hamlet throwing a masterpiece. Sure, it's a bit long ..."

CA: It's only the bottom of the fifth and the game is already four-and-a-half hours old. And those clouds coming in look threatening. The one thing we don't need in a game like this is a rain delay.

PBPA: The Shakespeares are back to the top of the order, Ariel, Puck and Othello. Aside from the walk and single to Ariel, Mussina has been brilliant.

CA: But how's Mussina supposed to pitch to someone invisible?

PBPA: That's the problem pitchers have faced and no one's been able to crack. Mussina delivers and Ariel drives a bouncing ball right at Matsui. I guess Ariel was batting right-handed.

CA: Now Mussina's got himself a problem. Right now, Puck is regarded as the best number-two hitter in the league. Martinez holds the runner at first. Mussina doesn't bother looking over because there's nothing to see. He delivers, strike one. It was a breaking ball that just nipped the outside corner. Wait a minute, Martinez is backing up and Jeter's moving closer to second. So I guess it's another stolen base for Ariel. Now, a lot of people are comparing Ariel to Juan Pierre ...

PBPA: And Homer Bush, or Tony Goodwin of the Giants from a few years back, or Maury Wills from a lot more years ...

CA: But it's really an unfair comparison because Ariel is a spirit.

PBPA: And being invisible really helps you get a good lead off a base. I think that's why he's already stolen a league-leading forty-three bases and it's only mid-April.

CA: Now the Yankees have a point that an invisible player is unfair. But any team was free to sign him while he was playing in the Italian league. Oh no. Rain is beginning to fall. And the skies look bad.

PBPA: Mussina delivers. Low inside, one-and-one. And Ariel must have moved to third because Jeter's back.

CA: That Ariel really must be fast. But it's too bad. You bring a kid out to see Ariel steal and what is he going to see? Now the rain is really coming down. Mussina's looking to see if the umpire's going to call the game, but he doesn't.

PBPA: I don't see how you can play in a downpour like this, but with how long this game is taking ... hang on! Look at that. The downpour lets you see Ariel! The drenching rain outlines him! Now Mussina spots him. Ariel has wandered too far off the bag. It's pouring buckets. They have to call the game, but ... Mussina throws over. They got Ariel! They picked off Ariel!

CA: And after he slid back in the mud, you can see him fully. And Ariel's hot!

PBPA: King Lear dashes out of the dugout. The storm is pounding in Lear's face and he's mad. Oh my, I've never seen Lear so mad!

CA: He's saying the game should have been called. Lear is just wailing out there. His arms are flaring the rain and he's fuming! He's imploring the heavens!

PBPA: Now Polonius has stopped the game, but not before he throws Lear out! Oh, Lear is raving! The grounds crew is racing out. The players are running in and lightning is cracking open the sky! It's bedlam here at Kauffman Stadium, so let's pause right here for a commercial announcement.

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PBPA: The thirty-seven minute rain delay did not affect Mike Mussina. Now let's see how Hamlet responds. He's been sitting in that dugout a long time and he's facing a red-hot Posada.

CA: And there's got to be a lot weighing on Hamlet's mind right now. After Lear was ejected, bench coach Falstaff took over. Don't get me wrong. Hamlet and Falstaff get along great. Falstaff has shown he's a master at developing young talent. But just in case you're joining us late—and with an eight-hour, twenty-minute game, that's understandable—during the storm, Banquo died in the bullpen, and the police refused to let play resume even after the rain stopped. The police are now questioning Armando Benitez, who seems to be holding up better than when he has a one-run, late-inning lead.

PBPA: Hamlet is ready. Now he steps off. His face has turned white and his jaw dropped, just like Mariano Rivera a few seasons ago when he gave up that bonker in the ninth, giving the Arizona Diamondbacks the World Series. It must be something horribly frightening, but, quite honestly, folks, there's just nothing there. Go figure.

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The burly ghost of Hamlet's father moaned as he lifted his great weight over the retaining wall and ushered himself onto the playing field. "Oh-h-h-h," he moaned with an unearthly wail.

"It's the hot dogs," the ghost of Babe Ruth said, hoisting himself over the stadium edge onto the field. "It's just gas, so push from both sides."

The ghost of Hamlet's father's simultaneously belched and farted with a deep, unnatural, furious sound. The Babe slapped his meaty hand on the ghost's shoulder. "Feel better now, don'tcha?"

"Oh-h-h-h," the ghost moaned. "A bit."

"Lighten up," the Babe said. "You gotta let bygones be bygones and enjoy yourself. So what if your brother killed you and he's banging your wife? What are you gonna do, right? You still gotta enjoy yourself. That's why we came out here." The Sultan of Swat passed the ghost another Bud.

"Tastes like piss," the ghost said.

"That's one thing I wouldn't know," the Babe said philosophically and gulped down his brew. "Hey, it all doesn't mean she don't love ya. Yer just not around no more, you know?"

"I want to kill that son-of-a-bitch," the ghost said.

"Geez, let it go," the Babe said, biting into another hot dog. "I was pretty mad at the Yankees, too, back when they released me. Think I didn't want to get back at 'em? But I figured what the hell. I wore the uniform so long and I liked the guys. Nobody's fault really. And I still can have a good time with the team. So fergetaboutit. Enjoy the game. We got the best seats in the house back here. Look at that JumboTron in left. And lookie there who's on the mound."

The ghost was startled. "That's my Hammy. How did he get there?"

"You never know. Trade, free agency, what the hell. Enjoy!"

"Let's see what you got today, kid," the ghost called.

They watched as Hamlet went into his motion, kicked high, pivoted and hurled. But Hamlet was shaken by their presence and soon the kid was in trouble. Posada stood on second, Matsui on first and the Yankees were threatening to blow the game open.

"My Hammy's getting hammered," the ghost said.

"Naw, he'll be okay ... with some help," the Babe said.

The Babe lumbered up against A-Rod at the plate. As A-Rod began his swing, the Babe grabbed his bat. Late on his swing, A-Rod looked about confused. The ghost started laughing. Again the Babe grabbed A-Rod's bat, and the huge ghost pulsated with laughter. Just as A-Rod's lumber started towards the plate, the Babe motioned as if he would grab the stick, but stomped on A-Rod's pivot foot. The ghost's armor clattered as he rolled and held his sides.

"Strike three," Polonius called, punching him out.

And so it went into the cold April darkness. Base runners lost their footing, balls took crazy hops, fielders made wild throws. The Babe glazed his hand on Mussina's, slowing down pitches that the Shakespeares skied out of the park, to the great delight of the ghost who enjoyed the waterfall blasting into the night and the fireworks. What once was a close thriller soon ballooned to a 12-3 laugher for the Shakespeares. Sure, the Babe usually sided with his Yankees, but tonight the ghost, with his son on the mound, needed a good laugh and a win—and the Babe understood baseball well enough to give him both.

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CA: Well it's been a crazy one here tonight. On a night when Armando Benitez was charged with Banquo's murder, the Kansas City Royal Shakespeares defeat the New York Yankees.

PBPA: Quite a night for Ariel who picked up 13 more stolen bases. A great performance by young Hamlet who records his third win of the new season, and Macbeth looked strong closing out the game.

CA: Tune in tomorrow for the battle of unbeaten lefties when the Big Unit faces inside-knock-'em-down Titus Andronicus. See you then.

Copyright © Richard Dodge Zboray 2005