Sig's Final Catch

Sig Nificant a career left fielder, almost made the bigs. He was finally called up the night the immortal Rodrigo Clandestino was benched with an astigmatism. The rain delay turned into a rainout. A miraculous recovery on the off day sent him back to the minors where he was remained until not renewed at age 47.

He happened to be at the parade only because his aunt had taken ill in New York. As the president approached on foot Sig noticed it. And only he would. A moving speck in the sky. A speck wider than it was a nanosecond ago. Instinctually he jumped the baricade. "I got it!" he screamed, still not sure what "it" was. The secret service agent was expecting a cry of martyrdom or something, but not "I got it." Sig shoved the agent aside. With rage in his eyes he shouted "it's mine!" at the president and shoved the commander and chief to the ground. He planted on his spot so hard he winged the edge of the manhole lid and it popped open beside him.

In the next few nanoseconds it became obvious the speck was a bundle and the bundle was cloth and the cloth held a baby who's face he could see as it spun. A baby tossed from atop the Empire State Building falling at 32.185 feet per second squared. Many couldn't tell what it was. Many had not yet even reacted enough to look up. But Sig calculated this was his chance to be a hero.

A secret service agent rushed him, but a last second effortless elbow deflected him. It was Sig's catch. He slammed his right fist in to his left hand rhythmically, timing it so that last hit was not his fist, but the catch.

However the angle was not a ball trajectory. The tower was four times as tall as the distance from the plate to the left field fence. A sphere the size of an orange didn't flap. Or spin. Or wobble. The hand was open. The slap anticipated. But there was a void.

Sig missed. The bundle went straight into the manhole and splashed hard into the muck below.

What Sig did not know was that the baby was not a baby, but a doll with a bomb inside. It had been tossed by a terrorist from the observation deck. This became evident a moment later when the baby went off. A mushroom of brown sludge spurted from the hole It winged the president with muck as he stood. Sig ever the gentleman handed the president a hanky.

Another muffed catch. A hero. A parade. A head held high, but not with pride. Sig hawked the ticker tape. Looking for the one speck in the clouds that he wouldn't catch him off guard again.


©2009 J. Kevin Wolfe. Photo: iPhone 3Gs processed with Shake Pic and Blurred Photo