Time Out In Time

Okay, here it is. After long agonizing hours of pondering what to entertain you with, I've fallen back on two tried and true staples: Baseball and Time Travel. See if you can discern the subtler themes.

“Okay, What are we going to call this little adventure?” I ask as we sit down to pen our travels.
“I don’t know,” my partner Erik adds, “but change the font. I like the one that looks like typewriting better.”
“Are you kidding?”
“No, why would I be?”
“Right,” I question, “when would you ever be kidding? Okay, is this the one you’re looking for?”
“No, the one that looks like typewriting. Like the screenwriters use.” Erik swats at an imaginary bug, “Get this crap off me. I don’t like it,” he changes his voice to do a M*A*S*H joke, “I don’t like it at all.”
“Okay Corporal Captain, how’s this?”
“Can’t see enough. Give me a larger sample size.”
“Nice, getting all Sabermetric on me.”
“Okay, yah, that’s it. That’s the one I like, now I feel like Julius and Philip Epstein. They wrote Casablanca.”
“Great segway as they’re also the uncles of Red Sox brainchild Theo Epstein and here we are after all telling a baseball story.”
“Good follow but I do believe what we’re doing here is so much more than just a baseball story. After all, what is the poetry of baseball if it is not that the game itself mimics life? It’s always so much more than what it appears to be at first glance.”
“Okay, you’re getting a little philosophical for a roofer.”
“I’m also a second baseman.”
“Well that explains it better. So what is our bigger story here?”
“Oh I don’t think we should give that away right from the start.”
“Leave something for the dramatic question?”
“Exactly.”
“So let’s try this. This is a story about two people named Erik and Carney, who found a time machine and took it for a spin. How did they find a time machine, you ask? Well it happened one day when....”
“Whoa whoa whoa,” Erik interrupts, “what are you doing?”
“What, I’m telling our story. We agreed I’d narrate and you’d provide comic undertone.”
“And impersonations.”
“We didn’t agree on that.”
“But we need to agree on this, we can’t tell people how we found the time machine. Remember, because then we’d have to kill them?”
“Oh yah, we don’t want to have to do that.”
“No, too messy.”
“In any font. Okay, so what’s important then is this...Somehow you and me...uhhhh......”
“Came upon.”
“Yes, came upon a time machine and well, no one from this modern time comes across a time machine and doesn’t hop in it for a spin.”
“Michael J Fox ruined us in so many ways.” Erik seems forlorn, “We are a lost generation.”
“Anyways, there we stood, Erik the roofer, a modern day pirate if you will and...”
"Whoa whoa whoa again,” Erik holds up his hands in protest, “whoa.”
“What?” My patience grows thin with interruptions.
“I got no problem being a pirate but I need to make this clear, I am not wearing a puffy shirt.”
“Did anybody say anything about wearing a puffy shirt?”
“No but even the hint of having to wear a puffy shirt definitely warrants proactive behavior.”
“Fair enough but trust me when I say, I am not the puffy shirt type,” pause for dramatic effect, “at all.”
“Okay then, carry on.”
“So there we were, the pirate and the medic, standing on the precipice...”
“Is precipice another word for linoleum because I believe that’s what the floor was actually made of?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“So there we were, standing on the precipice of time, staring it coldly in the eyes and laughing at its limitations. We for the moment were immortal and our travels merely subtext.”
“Wow, you’ve really committed to a tone there. Are you going to be able to sustain that for the whole piece?”
“No actually, that took a lot out of me.”
“Well feel free to dial it back some. We are talking to a baseball crowd after all. You know, the people pleased with the mastery of ‘hey batter-batter.’”
“Yah you’re right. How’s this...”

So there we were somewhere in Southwick where Erik and I had come across a time machine. Generally being of the belief of “what the hell could go wrong?” we jumped in and began our journey.
“Maybe it’s one of those gizmos where you have to push in two buttons at a time to start it.” I offer.
“I’d believe that if I could find two buttons. These are more like wing nuts.”
“Hmmm, you know, maybe this is a sign. I’ve always lived by the credo that you should never start something you don’t know how to stop.”
“Well worse comes to worse we still got this big red panic button over here.”
“Boy OSHA’s every where, huh?” I search for an owner’s manual in the glove box, “Hey look here. There’s a switch marked TECH SUPPORT.”
“Well all right. Switch it on.”
“You got it.” PHERRRERRRRERRRRR WHIRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL SHAKEKEKE SHAKEEKAKKEEKE PHERRRERRRRERRRRR WHIRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL

“WHOA”
“YOU’D THINK TECH SUPPORT WOULD BE A LITTLE LESS DRAMATIC.”
“WHAT????”
“A LITTLE LESS DRAMATIC.”
“YOU’RE RIGHT, A NEW PNEUMATIC PROBABLY WOULD HELP.”

“Hey!!!” A gruff voice proclaims, “Who dare wake me from my restful slumber?!?!?!?”
Erik and I look at each other as we ask in unison, “The Great and Wonderful Oz?”
“No idiots, Ty fucking Cobb. But you two morons can call me Mr. Ty.”
“Mr. Ty?” I may have giggled inappropriately.
“Yah, that’s right,” he snapped, “Mr. Ty.” He turns to Erik, “So I take it that it was your bright idea to bring the skirt?”
“The skirt?” Erik looks at me and laughs, “Oh no, she’s no skirt. She’s more of a...”
“Tough broad.”
“Yes,” Erik points into the air, “she’s a tough broad.”
“Thanks, that’s so much nicer than skirt.”

“Yah yah honey. Could you just go get us some coffee?” I blankly stare. “Hmmm, yah I heard times had changed. Something too about the president being an actual ni...”
“Nigerian?” Erik quickly offers, “No, I think he’s from Illinois actually.” And in an pale effort to continue the diversion he adds, “So about the wizzenstang, is ours supposed to be connected to the thing a ma bob?”
“What? Spit it out kid, what is it you really need?”
“Tech support,” I answer, “we flipped the switch for tech support. We’d like to take a little trip through time.”
“Oh so you’re looking for a getaway day. Sure, that’s what I’m here for.” Mr. Ty begins fiddling with wing nuts, “But there’s something you nitwits need to know about this baby. This is not your ordinary time machine.”
“You mean there’s such thing as an ordinary time machine?”
“Yah,” I agree with Erik, “they all seem pretty special to me.”
“No, some are different special. Like this one. It only takes you through baseball time so no trying to go back to meet Napoleon or Caesar.”
“Or Cleopatra?” I drool. Erik looks confused, “Come on, Wendie Malick proves Egyptian chicks are hot.”
“Yah I’ll give you that.”
“Anyways,” Mr. Ty interrupts, “where do you wanna go?”
“I don’t know.” I look at Erik, “Where do you wanna go?”
“I don’t know. There’s so many good choices.”
“Seriously, I always wanted to see Jimmie Foxx hit.”
“Or Dizzy Dean pitch.”
“Or Willie May’s catch.”
“Don Larsen’s perfect game.”
“Oh my god, how are we going to chose?”
“Listen to you two,” Mr. Ty cuffs our ears. “I haven’t seen such indecision since watching DiMaggio pick out shoes for a date with Marilyn.” We each say ow.
“You still whining about your ears?”
“No,” I explain, “that was harsh, railing on Joe D.”
“Blah.” He waves me off and gets to wing nut whirling. “And I’m not waiting for you two mental midgets to make up your minds. I’m picking destination one, so just sit back and shut up.”
“So where are we going?”
“World Series, 1909. The Flying Dutchman still owes me twenty bucks.”
“Wow,” I calculate, “that’s gotta be like a hundred bucks, modern money.”
“No, it’s like twenty bucks. He borrowed it last week.”
“Holy crap time machines mess with world economics.”
“Shhh, don’t tell anyone.” Mr. Ty winks, “We got everyone convinced that it’s the damn liberal’s fault. Now hold on. The ride gets bumpy from here.”
PHERRRERRRRERRRRR WHIRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL SHAKEKEKE SHAKEEKAKKEEKE PHERRRERRRRERRRRR WHIRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL

“WHOA”
“THIS IS GOING TO BE ONE CRAZY RIDE.”
“WHAT????”
“CRAZY RIDE.”
“YAH, I DIDN’T KNOW HE HAD A LAZY EYE.”

TO BE CONTINUED