Second Base

I love playing second base. I spent most of my baseball career playing second base. I possessed the quick hands and feet needed to be a good second baseman. With Mikey on first, I started countless double plays grabbing the ball and throwing it over to him so quickly only a few other second basemen of my time were able to. Plus, Mikey and I understood each other blindly on the field. We still do. It was a pure joy to tag out so many players together with him today.

It was a charity game, I know, no need to hang in as if we were playing the World Series. But a leopard can't change its spots, and neither can a professional athlete, even if he's a retired professional athlete. As pros we had once faced a humiliating defeat against some of the today's opponents, revenge was overdue. And we took revenge, which makes this victory taste even sweeter.

I hurt my shoulder badly many years ago sliding to home plate, so I guess it wasn't very reasonable to perform the very same maneuver again today. I might've hurt myself once more, probably even worse compared to when I still was a young man. But I wanted to do my best to help the team, and I wanted to impress today's most important fan, Angela. I hope she didn't look away that very moment when I scored the run. She doesn't know much about baseball and maybe she didn't realize that we were at a decisive moment of the inning with all bases loaded and one batter already out. I count on Pam that she told her.

We won. We won 6-2 and it feels so good. Winning has always put me in a cheerful mood, I've never been a good loser. I tried to teach my children to be fair losers - yes, I consider Jonathan to be my son - but I didn't serve as the best role model myself. I'm too ambitious and too competitive. You have to be as a jock, otherwise you won't be successful. And I was successful. I wasn't a nationwide celebrity like Reggie Jackson and I was never offered a highly renumerated contract, but I was popular within the baseball community, especially in the city of St. Louis. I received quite a few love letters from female fans and my baseball card was out of print quickly after it had been issued. Unfortunately, there never was a second edition as my accident forced me to retire before it got into print.

Only pros know the exhilaration you get from winning a professional sports competition. Nothing equals the emotional ups and downs a sports career makes you go through. You're on top of the world after a victory and down in the dumps after a defeat. And when you retire, voluntarily or not, you ask yourself whether you'll be as successful with whatever you do afterward as you were as a jock. When I woke up in the hospital after my accident with a plastered shoulder, knowing I wouldn't be able to resume my career, I didn't know what I would do with the rest of my life. What kind of job would I take? Would I still be able to provide for my sick wife and my little girl? At that moment, for the first time, I regretted lacking a higher education. I had no college degree, no vocational training, no nothing. All I was good at was playing ball.

I became a fish truck driver. I wasn't above working as such, don't get me wrong. My father had worked as a garbage truck driver and had never been ashamed of it. I was thankful Mrs. Rossini offered me the job, but I always had the secret feeling I had more in me than that. I never dared to voice my dream of going to college, of becoming the first Micelli to work in a suit. I was afraid the others would laugh at me. Angela didn't laugh when I said I wanted to enroll at Ridgemont - my buddies flipped me the bird, Mrs. Rossini touched my forehead when I told her to see whether I was running a fever, and even Sam thought I was kidding at first - but Angela motivated and pushed me and has supported me ever since. She was the first person who saw in me what I always felt was in there.

That's why I wanted her so badly to see me within my former world. If I screw this whole college thing up, and I might, I don't want her to believe I can't get anything right in my life. I got my sports career right. Too bad fate cheated on me with my accident and didn't allow me to show the world what I was capable of. I might've made it into an All-Stars Team and not only an Old Timers. I might've been inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame. I might've earned a lot of money. I might've... Yeah, right, subjunctive! A lot of my life has to be spoken of in subjunctive mood. But some time ago I decided to no longer ask myself the what-if question. Maybe my life needed to go the way it went to meet someone like Angela. Since I know her, I have the feeling that I'm not living in the subjunctive mood anymore. I've matured since I'm living in Connecticut. I'm developing and I'm finally growing into the man I always wanted to be. With the help of Angela Bower.

I'm going to find out soon whether she enjoyed watching the game. Our 'spouses' are waiting for us in the locker room. Angela is not my wife but someone very close to my heart, so I willingly accept her as my spouse on this occasion. Even if we hadn't started faking a couple, I would've wanted her to wait for me in the locker room together with the other women.

For us players, the men's locker room used to be a sanctuary where we were allowed to walk around scantily dressed, throw saucy jokes at each other, and have a beer or two. I've never seen a woman there. I remember one team having a lady manager for a short period of time who wanted to get into her team's locker room after the game. Well, she brought about an uproar. She wasn't allowed, of course, and quit her job shortly thereafter. The Coach allowed the ladies in there this time because this whole event has been a charity thing and rather a family reunion than a competitive game; not as long as we were on the field but for the rest of the weekend. We're celebrating our victory but most of all our years and years of friendship and our common love for baseball.

"Micelli, that was a nice slide to home plate. I didn't know an 'Old Timer' was still able to take off like this," Pedro, one of the outfielders, teases me.

"Yeah, I'll give you that! Your run marked the beginning of our winning streak!" Mike says, patting my shoulder.

"And our double plays were awesome, don't you think?" I wink at Mikey. "As they used to be."

"You can say that again, Pal! Unless some other people, we still have it in us." Mike turns away from me at stares at Butthead. "How often did you miss that ball, Butthead? You used to catch them out of the air as if they were apples in a tree ready to be picked! What happened to you?" He shakes his head and shrugs.

"I was blinded by the sun!" Butthead gives us as an explanation, but the sad fact is that his hand-eye-coordination isn't as good anymore. "But I wasn't the only one making mistakes. Pete's fastballs have become so slow, my grandmother would've been able to hit them out of the stadium."

"Easy for you to say, you haven't had three surgeries because hundreds of thousands of fastballs ruined your shoulder joint," Pete defends himself

"The only one whom the passage of time didn't harm seems to be Micelli," Dave interjects now. "He's still sliding to home plate as ever. Weren't you afraid to hurt your shoulder again, Tony? Or was it more important to put on a show for your sweetheart?" He elbows me in the side. "Hoping for a sign of her awe later?"

Some of them chuckle because of the unmistakable allusion. I was the same back then, we always teased each other about who would get the most attention by the female fans. But I don't want them to talk like this about Angela and me. Firstly, because our relationship is not of that kind - but they don't know, of course, and secondly, because Angela is too classy to be spoken of in such a manner. She's a lady and not some chick one of us picked up somewhere near the dugout.

"Hardy har har, Dave! This coming from a man who sucked in his stomach when that reporter took a picture," I reply, hoping to end the conversation. The others obviously realized my state of mind for they stop making fun. Instead, we intonate the song we always sang on our way back to the locker room after a victory. I feel as if I were beamed back in time and still a successful second baseman playing Major League Baseball, not a housekeeper aspiring after a college degree. I'm surprised I'm enjoying this so much.

"Boys!" Coach Forrester holds his hands up to make us stop chanting as we arrive in front of the locker room door. "Pull yourselves together now! We've invited the ladies in, so I don't want to see any indecent behavior or hear any bad language in there! You got that?" He treats us as if we were still the same bunch of crude fellows and not the grown-up and well-settled family fathers most of us have turned into.

We're pouring into the little locker room, searching for our spouses. Harvey is the first to be welcomed by his wife Bernadette. "So well-played, Honey. As if you never quit!" she happily exclaims and kisses him passionately. Pedro's wife Rosa puts her arms around her husband's enormous waist, beams at him and whispers into his ear, "You were terrific, Cariño!" Even Marcus, who dropped the ball twice and didn't get to first base even once, gets praised by his wife. "Baby, you looked great! Come here, I wanna kiss a winner!" With this, she presses her corpulent body to his and smooches him on the mouth.

I'm scanning the room for Angela until my eyes find her at the rearmost corner. She looks a bit tensed and insecure; she's nervously skipping from one foot to the other kneading her fingers. Then she sees me and the way her face lightens up with a smile warms my heart. I work my way through the crowded room, my eyes never leaving hers.

"We won, Angela," I tell her as if she doesn't know. Stupid.

"I know," she answers in her soothing voice, "I was there." As I said, stupid!

"Did you see how I scored that run?" Gee, I sound like a kindergartner who proudly presents the smiley face a teacher scribbled below his homework.

"Yes, I saw. You were amazing, Tony!"

"You think?" Super-stupid!

"Absolutely. I'm very proud of you."

Now that really warms my heart, it makes it leap for joy actually. That was what I was trying to accomplish in the first place. I wanted to show her what I can do on the baseball field. I'm not sure whether what happens next is part of the role she's playing as my wife or something she simply feels she ought to be doing. Whatever, she approaches me, puts her hands on my chest and looks into my eyes with a smile. "My hero," she breathes into my ear while she's placing a soft kiss on my cheek.

I enjoy the kiss, the feeling of her silky lips on my cheek, but what Angela just said was completely unexpected. I am her hero? No kidding?

She pulls back and looks at me shyly. For a moment, we gaze at each other, not knowing what to do next. The others think we're newlyweds, so we should probably share more than a short peck on the cheek. But I'm all dirty and sweaty, Angela might resent to kiss me. Plus I was the one who threw her into that game of playing newlyweds and I can't tell how seriously she's willing to play. She seems to be as uneasy as I am, being the only ones in the room not kissing like a married couple is weird. So I take her in my arms and place another kiss on her mouth. I keep my tongue where it belongs and pray that it still comes across convincingly enough. Not that I wouldn't like to give her a real French kiss but I don't want to impose anything on her.

The kiss is still nice, though. Angela's lips are full and soft, and she responds. The lip gloss she applied tastes like strawberry. And...wait a sec...holy cow! Is Angela just taking me to first base? I can't believe it, but she's pulling me closer and that definitely is the tip of her tongue on my lips! She's timid but in a way also determined to enter my mouth. Cute. And surprising once again. I'd be a fool if I held her back. I'm definitely not holding her back! She has to know I'm enjoying this. I better show her how much I'm enjoying this.

I'm French kissing Angela. Pinch me, I must be dreaming!

This definitely is the best kiss we've shared so far: we're not drunk, we're not completing some list, we're not observed by anyone as the others are all pretty occupied themselves, even Butthead. Betty has administered to his needs. Coach Forrester is the only one who's without a woman in is his arm. He's talking to a reporter being well-accustomed to this kind of 'post-game practice'.

So, Angela and I are on first base.

She seems to be as comfortable about this as I am. Too bad that although I'm known for my skills as a second baseman, I won't reach for second tonight. Some of my teammates will make it to home plate before the closing banquet starts, I'm pretty sure. 'Old Timers' or not, they still need to work off the adrenaline that floods the body after a victory, and sex is a good method. As a married man, I used to do a hundred push-ups in compensation when Marie was back in Brooklyn with Sam. Push-ups will have to do tonight, too. There's no way Angela and I'll end up in bed, even if everyone will think we do.

Maybe there is a chance to get to second base with Angela after all. I'd love to touch her - not at spots which are inappropriate and too close to third - but her face, her hips or her sweet little tush. Okay, her tush would be pretty much third base, but it looks so appealing. Angela is slender as a wand but nicely rounded where need be. Some men may find her too flat-chested, but I don't. Big boobs never did anything for me, really. Marie was also rather petite with perky breasts.

'You've already checked your boss out quite a bit, Pal!' you might say, and you'd be right. Heck, I'm a healthy male adult with natural desires, and Angela is an attractive woman who stokes a man's fantasies. But for now I'm happy with holding her close and kissing her. I have to think back to our first grown-up kiss at camp. That one lasted 57 seconds and yielded a considerable amount of money. It was a childish competition among half-baked wannabe-Romeos, I know, but the moment I was kissing Ingrid - uh, Angela - I wanted the kiss to go on forever because it was a terrific experience and not because of the bet. My heartbeat accelerated, my stomach did somersaults, and my knees got wobbly. I would've never admitted that to my friends, of course. I was their hero because none of the other girls had hung in with them nowhere near as long as Angela had hung in with me.

Like then, I want this kiss now to go on forever. I was at an emotional high when I entered this room because of our victory, but now I'm going right through the ceiling. My heartbeat accelerates, my stomach is doing somersaults, and my knees start getting wobbly. This woman smells and tastes fantastic. Contrary to me, I'm afraid. I'm dusty and sweaty, but it doesn't seem to bother Angela much. Surprising, as she is a cleanliness fanatic and usually disgusted by dirt and sweat. I remember when she rinsed out my mouth piece before she put it back in during a boxing event. And now she's pressing her body to mine and encircling my tongue like there's no tomorrow. Enigmatic Angela, wonderfully enigmatic Angela.

"Batman truly upholds his reputation, I must say. Get a room Micelli!" I hear Butthead murmur right beside us. As much as I liked being observed and stop-watched by my friends when I kissed Angela AKA Ingrid at camp, I'm annoyed now. And embarrassed. Not because of them, but because of Angela. That was some kind of kiss we just shared. Angela is a sensitive person, she must've noticed that I wasn't kissing her only to put on a show for the others, but that I kissed her because I wanted to. Have I gone too far? But to be honest, the way she reciprocated felt as if she wanted it, too

What is happening with us here? I look into her eyes when we pull apart and see that she's asking herself the same question. She blushes. Poor Angela, she hates showing her inner self to the outside world. I swear if Butthead drops one more indecent remark, embarrassing her even more, I'm going to slap him.

I don't know whether Butthead was going to say anything because suddenly Coach Forrester's deep voice bangs through the room. He wants me to talk to someone from a local newspaper. Bad timing. I don't want to leave Angela alone now. I'd rather take her hand, pull her some place where nobody eavesdrops, and ask her if everything is alright; and probably kiss her again.

"Micelli!" The Coach's commanding tone leaves no loophole, I have to talk to that stupid reporter now. I excuse myself, and Angela lets me go with an encouraging smile as if she wants to tell me that we could resume whatever that was later.

"Coach?" I say once I reached the other side of the locker room where he's been talking to a lank man with a half-bald head and metal-rimmed specs. The guy wears brown cloth pants, a yellow sleeveless sweater over a gray-striped shirt and dark brown suede slippers. This is a sportswriter? He doesn't look like any of the sportswriters I talked to throughout my entire career.

"Tony, this is Marvin Drewinski from the St. Louis Post."

"Happy to meet you, Mr. Minelli!" the guy says holding out his hand. Is it trembling?

We shake. Yes, it's trembling. "It's Mi-c-elli! But you can call me Tony." His hand is sweaty and he seems to be nervous.

"Fine. Thank you. Uh,...Tony,...how do you feel after the victory?"

"Good. I feel good. Winning is nice." I throw the coach a questioning look. What kind of stupid question is this?

"What was it like to play for the St. Louis Orioles?"

"Orioles?"

"I mean, Cardinals! Cardinals, of course!"

Is this Candid Camera? I look at Coach Forrester once again, but he only shrugs.

"Coming back feels good. I missed St. Louis and Busch Stadium."

"Oh, so you've played here before?"

What the...? "Are you making fun of me?"

"No, Sir! I would never do such a thing!" He nervously adjusts the specs on the back of his nose.

"This was an Old Timers Game, all players are former Cards pros!"

"Ah, well, yes, of course, Sir!"

"Are you really a sports reporter? To be honest, you don't seem to be a baseball expert, Marv."

"Actually..." he scratches his head.

"Actually?"

"I'm from the features section," he admits with a nervous cough. "Our regular sports reporter made me come here at short notice because he had to cover a college football match. I...well, I don't know so much about baseball really."

"You don't say!"

I can't believe I let go of Angela because of this dork. It's not his fault that his boss thought college football was more important than some retired baseball pros coming together for an Old Timers game, but he had to go and interrupt one of the best moments of my life. Angela and I might've kissed once again.

On the other hand, where is this supposed to end? I mustn't jump to conclusions just because she kissed me once when our little game asked for it. Angela and I are not a courting couple. She's my boss and I'm her housekeeper. Friendship aside, those are the bare facts. Our family is a complex structure based exactly on this very relation. If we change the founding element of the structure, it might collapse. And we cannot let that happen. We owe it to Jonathan, Samantha, and Mona.

But it's going to be hard to keep my fingers off of her tonight. We share a hotel suite, and I won't spend another night on Butthead's sofa, that's for sure. It's the honeymoon suite, it's made for people sleeping together and not apart. But I saw a sofa in there, I guess it will serve as my bed tonight. I hope it's more comfortable than Butthead's because one more night on a short, hard bedding will ruin my back.

But there's definitely only one bathroom, Angela and I have to share it. Not at the same time self-evidently, but how am I to stand the vision of Angela under the shower just behind the bathroom door? I have to find a way to distract myself when she's in the bathroom. The Coach has just reminded us to get showered and dressed for the closing banquet, so changing into our evening attire will be the first difficult situation we have to overcome.

We follow the others out of the locker room. Most couples are closely embraced or are at least holding hands. All I dare to do is put my hand on the small of her back when I guide her through the door. Some of my teammates are very eager to get to their hotel rooms. They are rather dragging their wives along than guiding them. I know what they're up to. I will work off the energy my body has been flooded with a few series of push-ups. Maybe I manage a hundred like I did when I was still a pro. If not, no problem. All I need to do to get rid of any fleshly desires is to tire my muscles, then everything will be fine.

I hope everything will be fine. I don't want this night to throw a shadow over our friendship. I simply want us to have a wonderful evening at the banquet, and a peaceful night. That's all. And we will have a wonderful evening. We will enjoy the food and the wine, we will have nice conversations, we will dance. Then we will go to our room and have a restful sleep without anything happening whatsoever. And tomorrow morning, everything will still be fine. We will pack our suitcases, fly home, and go on with our Fairfield lives; a beautiful weekend to remember in our luggage. Nothing will have changed between Angela and me. Our friendship will remain unaltered by this night.

Yes! So be it!

Why oh why can't I believe a single word I am saying?