Willie Waltz divided hi time between pinball &
baseball on TV. Although stubborn scenes of tenderness
persisted in his life, like really great kittens waiting
to be let out, their voices didn't travel in such
an overcrowded atmosphere. Events! Plot! Mitchell Page
throws up on his own shoes right before Vida Blue's
first pitch. Ty Cobb's second cousin, the pinball champ
of the financial district, shown him how to rake it in.
Willie's indigent punk nephew steals a car & winds up
in jail, & the wife goes back to visit her folks in Corpus
Christi. At this point, Willie takes a good look at his
life. It's all springs & pings, bright lights, the buzz
of the crowd, the grey of cathode ray, the green of
astro-tuff. It's beautiful. Down the alley, he gets a
whiff of burnt sugar - cotton candy? Further on, he
can smell cold beer & a million hamburgers. Lines of
neon beckon like three or four warm winters, like the
fingers of an elegant hand. Spirituality & Marilyn
Monroe, those perfect twins, turn to look at him from
the counter as he enters the Studio Diner. He's an AP
wirephoto of Joe DiMaggio, he's a paragraph in tomorrow's
paper, he's a well-turned phrase, he's a comma.
Baseball I Gave You All the Best Years of My Life
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