AUGUT 25, 2021 – Yesterday, while sitting on the porch, working away on my laptop, I espied our neighbor Kent walking past in the alley. Anticipating a profitable diversion from work, I called out to our local curmudgeon. He’s a retired English teacher who’s devoured nearly every piece of American fiction worth reading. He’s also a former baseball coach and . . . a former Republican.
Kent’s disposition links to his antennae for human stupidity.
“Hamline and Idaho,” he said, with his signature directness, sparing me every superfluous word, including, “Hello.” “Twelve-thirty a.m. A woman with a nine-month child in a Tahoe crashed doing 90 miles an hour. High speed chase. She hit the retaining wall of the lot on the southwest corner. Flattened the stop sign, which has been replaced, then shot across the intersection—the kid’s car seat was thrown from the vehicle. Kid’s okay. The woman was arrested on a felony warrant in Wisconsin. You can still see the oil slick on the sidewalk.”
I felt like a batter hearing the ump yell, “Strike!” upon the impact of a fast ball smacking the catcher’s mitt.
Kent walked a tight circle, then wound up for his next salvo. “This Saturday, an anticipated crowd of 600 protesters will be at The Hole [the low-lying park a block west of Kent’s house, which is at the opposite end of our block].”
“Protesting what?” I asked, unsure if the protest related to the high-speed chase or if Kent was on to another subject.
“Medical workers protesting a vaccine mandate,” Kent said. “They’re gathering at The Hole, then marching down Snelling to University and east to the Capitol.”
“What’s happening to this country?” I said in implicit reference to the 0 – 2 count.
“Have you seen our new street signs?” Kent said, signaling an up-coming curve ball.
“No,” I said. “We’ve been out of town for a while.”
“Our councilwoman, Melanie, thought we needed a more welcoming falcon [we live in Falcon Heights], so for twenty-five hundred bucks, we now have a friendlier falcon on our signs. Go look and tell me if you feel any friendlier.”
I didn’t swing, and I didn’t hear the ump call, “Strike.”
Kent wound up for another pitch. “Got my 20,000 steps in today.” Ball two.
“In this heat?”
“Rode the bike for eight miles too.” Full count.
“Joan and I are boycotting the fair this year,” said Kent, setting up the payoff pitch. (The Minnesota State Fairgrounds are within walking distance of our neighborhood, and after last year’s cancellation, the fair is back, starting Thursday, despite the Delta surge.) “There’s no mask mandate. They’re using the excuse that information is too confusing. Bullshit. It’s not. What they’re not saying is that they’ve already ordered the food.”
I hadn’t anticipated a knuckle-ball in the form of a pronto pup. The imaginary ump shouted, “Strike three, you’re out!” With that, Kent said he had to get home in time for Jeopardy.
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© 2021 by Eric Nilsson
