The Skinny Guy in the Pittsburgh Pirates Cap

Warning. I’ve been drinking. A lot. This could get ugly

What? Wait..No, not that kind of drinking! Drinking in memories. Drowning in remembrances. Drunk on stories from the old days. Thinking of a skinny guy in a Pirates cap who we lost  a year ago.  Heck, maybe a bit of the “Irish wine” is not such a bad idea at a time like this. Ray and I’ve shared a fair bit o’ the Bushmills in our time.

Some of you long time readers remember me talking about Baseball weekend being my gateway drug into the game? You know, that time in October before the MLB Channel when you could watch four post season games in one weekend from the comfort of your couch. You weren’t allowed into Baseball Weekend unless you could recite the infield fly rule. (The infield fly rule, it actually came into play last season several times and has been modified so brush up, girlfriends.)  Ray was one of the three founders of Baseball Weekend along with The Boyfriend and The Baseball Buddy. It was only later that Girlfriends (me and Miz Jennifer) starting scootching onto the couch and mixing up the pheromones. Trust me, that’s when baseball got really fun.

I shared baseball with Ray in other ways. During a couple bluegrass festivals, I remember clearly Ray and The Boyfriend throwing a baseball in the dusty gravel field of the Cantwell Festival. The Boyfriend kept a ball and glove in the trunk of his 1968 Plymouth Valiant for just such occasions, the thwack of a ball against a leather glove with a banjo/fiddle sound track in the background. I got my own glove from the Boyfriend not too long after that. That’s when I knew it was love.

During one beautiful Fairbanks summer, taking advantage of the midnight sun, a bunch of us would play regularly play softball in the baseball field behind a church that also backed up against a friend’s house.  We did a lot of damage to ourselves- sliding, running, throwing, showing off, and barely able to walk the next day. (Or was that due to dancing to the jukebox at the Boatel until 5 a.m. in the morning? Ray was an important part of my wayward youth and an exceptionally good two-stepper.) 

Someone took a great picture of us gathered in that field-- a motley, young, joyous crowd in baseball gear with the Baseball Buddy down in front holding on to Fred the Best Dog in the World. Ray is dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and his hat, with the Prominent Pirates P clear as a bell.   

We played softball in that field regularly until the pastor from the church came out and checked on us.  He said it was fine we used the field and chatted us up a bit. Then he asked if some of the single people from the church could join us for this nice wholesome activity. He, of course, was looking directly at the very attractive Meg and Sue, who happen to be also killer on first base and right field respectively.  We, of course, said yes, all the while hiding our Miller Lites behind our leather gloves. We never went back to the field after that. (But we did continue to frequent the jukebox and do damage at the Boatel for a few more years.) 

In so many ways, Ray was our Captain even back then. King of the Crew. King of the Krewe.

Ray and his extensive family were from McKeesport, Pennsylvania. I thought of him a lot last season when the Pirates were was so close to making it into the Series. This was going to be their year.  But then it wasn’t and they lost to the Cardinals.  Baseball will break your heart.  The people you love will break your heart even more when you lose them.

As I drink in these old memories, I feel like I am sitting in a huge baseball stadium.  It might even be Three Rivers Stadium, where I hope to go some day with the Boyfriend and drink Rolling Rock and watch the Pirates win in front of the home crowd.

It also feels like there’s been a big crack, and those giant lights all went out, leaving me sitting in the dark after the end of the ninth inning after a stunning unexpected loss, staring at the field, trying not to look up and accept the score.  Knowing that nearby, close to the field, is Jen, sitting alone.  Behind her are Karen and Steve.  And Bob-oh, Eric. And the Pirate crazy Garrity clan with Pittsburgh roots. Emily. Smokey. Meg. Jane. Scotty.  Jeff. And so many others. There are a lot of us scattered about, sitting with our thoughts in the dark on this anniversary. Remembering. Drinking in memories.  And over there, in a silent duo of a silhouette are The Baseball Buddy and The Boyfriend. Short of a trinity.

We wanted this game to go into extra innings. One more run around the bases. We wanted one more Baseball Weekend with The Skinny Guy in the Pirates Cap.

We were all big fans.