December 3, 2020

The Softball Game

I ran into Lana Shindler today at Starbucks. She told me she had reverted back to her maiden name. Lana Green. We had a friendly chat. They say time heals all wounds. I’m not so sure. I think she still held a grudge. For the longest time, she insisted that I had ruined her wedding.  Needless to say, I had the best of intentions.

One of the best weddings I have ever been to was that of my friends David and Amy in Philadelphia. Though I pretend to be a bit of a curmudgeon when it comes to weddings and bar mitzvahs, the truth is I have always been a fan of, and have had a great time at, destination simchas. I’m not sure what it is. Perhaps it is a bunker mentality. Maybe it is the forced comradery. I’m not sure. But I kind of like it. David and Amy’s was no different. I had never been to Philadelphia before and it was fun to explore the city of brotherly love. A few of us went down to the Jersey shore for a subdued but really fun bachelor party. The ceremony took place in an historic synagogue only steps away from the famed Liberty bell. But the event which made the most impression on me was a BBQ and softball game organized by Amy’s brothers on the Saturday before the wedding. They made up hats and t-shirts and we were split up into two teams. It was a beautiful day, the burgers and beer were great, and the easy going softball game was a perfect way for out-of-towners and family members to bond. It was a cool event and I always remembered it fondly. So when, a few years later my old friend Ritchie Shindler, not wanting to have to choose one brother over another, asked me to be his best man, I knew a Saturday BBQ and softball game was in the offing.

A softball game was perfect because that is how we all met Ritchie and became friends.

It had started as a post shabbat lunch throw around. We would walk down to the field on Chaplin. It may have been just Harry, Bernie and I at the beginning. Then Elan,  Teddy and Steve. The first year, it wasn't even a game. Just shagging flies and batting practice. Goldfarb and Lewberg didn't start coming until the next year and they were the ones who brought Ritchie. I think he might have been Lewberg’s cousin. Ritchie was crazy for baseball and he never missed a Saturday. Even days when it rained Ritchie would trudge to the park. Often he was the only one to show. He was famous for saying “ we can play in this.” Guys came and went but we had a core group. Chuck pitched for both sides and Sheldon, who we we called The Dooner, generally played catcher.  Everyone kind of knew how good or bad they were and teams were split up in an organic and equitable manner. Nobody really cared which side won. In fact, players sometimes switched sides in the middle of the game if someone had to leave early or if there was a latecomer. But everyone knew their own individual stats. For days after we would greet each other with a 3 for 4 with two ribbies kind of salutation. There was no beer but someone would invariably go to the corner store for a popsicle run. The wives and girlfriends would often come by to watch and play. In the coming years they would visit with their strollers. When Lana and Ritchie started dating, she came and played with us a few times.

For years after, Lana insisted, swore up and down, that she was dead set against the softball game. But that’s not the way I remember it.

Now, it is no secret I don’t have a good memory. My stories sometimes take a short amble from the truth because a lie or exaggeration makes for a better telling, but sometimes it is just because I don’t really remember what happened. I mention this because in this case, I remember exactly what happened. I remember where we were. I remember what I was wearing. I remember what we had for lunch. Most of all, I remember exactly what was said.

Three of us in Ritchie’s, soon to be Ritchie and Lana’s, condo on Roehampton. Here’s the conversation:

Me: “We are going to have a BBQ and softball game on the Saturday before the wedding.”

Lana: “Do you think it’s a good idea to have a softball game the day before the wedding?”

Me: “I think it’s a great idea.”

That’s it. That was the entire conversation. Bring me a stack of bibles. Was there more conversation after I left - after a lunch of salad nicoise hold the anchovies because I didn’t like anchovies and that was when Lana didn’t hate my guts. Maybe. I don’t know.

Ok. Full disclosure. The transcript is absolutely positively word for word. Hand to god.

But

But

But it doesn’t capture the look Lana then gave Ritchie. That’s not on me. What do I know about looks. But knowing what I know now, that look meant “Are you fucking kidding me?!?”

Here’s the other thing.

Lana had a great time on that day. She flipped hamburgers. She wore her Lana and Ritchie hat backwards. She high fived her cousin Shelly when she stole home. Honestly, it was a great day. Even though the weather called for rain and we almost cancelled, the rain held off and we managed to eat and play before it started coming down.

This is where things begin to get a little hazy. Call it the fog of war.

This is what I know:

I am pitching.

Ritchie is playing third.

Lewberg is coming to bat.

It starts to rain.

Someone says “Let’s call it a day.”

Then someone says “One more batter.”

Someone.

It could have been someone from the field. It could have been someone in the stands. I don’t know. There is video from that day but the video ends before the incident. Where is Zapruder when you need him?

I toss the ball.

Lewberg who, by the way, gets off scot free in this story, hits a sharp grounder to third. He doesn’t even pretend to run to first.

The ball takes a bad bounce. An unfortunate bounce. An untimely bounce. An unlucky bounce. And hits Ritchie in the eye.

The word I have used to describe Ritchie’s black eye and accompanying welt is ‘grapefruit’.

The wedding photographer should have gotten an award for what he did with makeup and angles for the pictures. Then whoever later touched them up. I’m not saying it wasn’t bad. It was bad. So maybe not a grapefruit. But definitely something in the citrus family.

Honestly, the black eye wasn’t even the most memorable thing from the wedding. Lana’s father sang Sunrise Sunset from Fiddler on the Roof and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Plus, one of the bridesmaids had a wardrobe malfunction. The black eye was three. Although not so much for Lana.

Lewberg had the good sense to wait until Ritchie was finally divorced before reminding him of what he said to him in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

“Ritchie. I’m not sure if you believe in god. But I’m pretty sure that was a sign.”

The end.