From the desk of the TOTS' historian...
My current sleep pattern seems to be in two-hour intervals, and when I do fade away, my imagination rambles...and that seems to be a safe place for me to go. It means I'm still alive.
Suddenly, a city transit bus appears amongst the cypress trees and comes to a stop just a few feet beyond the centerfield fence. The familiar sound of the hydraulics echoes toward the TOTS' infield as the door of the bus slowly opens. Big John Mathews exits. He smiles, takes up his position at the bottom of the steps, and offers his hand as his precious cargo emerges -- one by one.
First to return to earth, the TOTS' smiling scorekeeper, Jim Pagels, and behind him, today's pitcher, Chico Bigham, with the game ball in one hand and a rake in the other -- just in case the infield needs a slight sprucing up. Brad Tolson, Jerry Smarik, Ed Rife, Carl Brutovksy, Clarence Fieber, Conrad Royksund, Richard McAnnaly, Bunny Bechtold, Floyd Lance, and Don Wood all emerge and quickly gather their gear and head for the third-base dugout.
Pagels sets the batting lineup. Bigham toes the rubber, and McAnnaly takes his spot behind home plate.
"Play ball."
"Clarence, you are up!"
The fielders are set. Smarik at third, Rife at short, Royksund at second and Lance at first. Brutovksy hustles to left field, with Bechtold in center and Wood in right.
The sky is a dark blue. The field, void of players the past three weeks, is alive again. A warm breeze follows Chico's first pitch to the plate...
I look at the clock nestled in the corner of my bedroom. It's three o'clock in the morning. How long have I been away?
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