Thursday, January 31, 2013

Cup Ball

Sometimes, I think it would be nice to go back to when I was eight years old, when all those boys and I would play cup ball by the baseball diamonds, as I waited for my brother's Little League game to be over.

Do kids play cup ball anymore? I suppose they do, one way or another. But I can't imagine that the cup balls they create could compete with the sturdy, thick cups we used back in the eighties.

That's right! I'm talking about the nineteen hundred and eighties. Wow! No wonder those chaps roared into the twenties, blinded to the darkness from the incandescent bulbs that make daytime in the night streets of Paris and New Orleans, forgetful of Whitman's dark, wrinkled eyes (God bless you, Allen Ginsberg).

Here, in the twenty-first century. Here we are, in the actual future. The future they dreamed about, those who came before us. They who created dictaphones from imprints of typewriter die through indigo-dyed ribbons, as we did with the cup ball.

Here is a description of a cup ball created in the eighth decade of the twentieth century:

1. It was made from a wax-lined paper cup the municipal park's concessions stand had purchased from a local restaurant. They were white, with the Hardee's logo printed in orange on the top.

2. The wax-lining is very important. You can't make a good cup ball out of a solo cup (neither red nor blue). First of all, the cups would just crack when you tried to crush them up, and they are impossible to use to form using the "snowball" method, described below:

3. This is the method used to make a cup ball. I am calling this method the "Snowball Method." Another method is the "Crush-N-Stuff Method." It produces an lighter cup ball with less inertia. It also hurts the palm less when the palm slaps the cup ball.

SNOWBALL METHOD:

1. Crush a cup.
2. Place the crushed cup into an uncrushed cup.
3. Crush the uncrushed cup.
4. Repeat steps 2 and 3 until the crushed cup no longer fits into an uncrushed cup.

4. This is another method used to make a cup ball. I am calling this method the "Crush-N-Stuff Method." Another method is the "Snowball Method," which was previously described. It produces a heavier cup ball with greater inertia. It also hurts the palm more when the palm slaps the cup ball.

CRUSH-N-STUFF METHOD:

1. Crush the top of a cup.
2. Stuff the crushed end of the cup into the top of an uncrushed cup.
3. Crush the uncrushed cup and crushed-top cup together.
4. Stack one or two additional cups on the ends of the semi-crushed cups and crush them together

So the wax, you see, was really important to this process. It made the paper more pliable, shiny, flexible like leather. And when you could crush ten or fifteen cups into one thick, dense missile that would leave welts in the palm of your hand when you slammed a homer over the short fence of the dirt horse track that encircled the ball diamonds where your mother watched your brother play third base, dressed in long green baseball pants with a yellow stripe running down both legs to the yellow stirrups that we wore for no apparent reason. He wore a shirt, too. Never mind that it was the same color green as the pants, not a kelly green, or a hunter green or a turquoise, chartreuse, or jade. Just green! Dark green, perhaps, and emblazoned in thick, yellow screen printer's ink across the nylon chest of the shirt of my brother's Little League uniform was the name of the sponsor of his team: Elks.

My mother sat in the stands, a couple dozen yards away from where we played cup ball, and I am sure she remembers watching me. But I have no memory of seeing her, nor looking for her. All I remember is the feeling of eternity dancing beneath my cleats in the hard clay, in the long, humid afternoons of the midwest in the summer under the watchful eyes of my mother, who brooded over her sons.

3 comments:

  1. I like this. Seems like Vonnegut meets Ginsberg in cadence and spirit. And I hate that it ended on your mother. It felt real, that ending, but I wanted the final focus to be on the eternity in that moment of childhood, less (or not) on the grim reality over which your mother broods. I wanted to forget about her by poems end like you forgot about her in that moment.
    Not saying you should have made a different choice.
    This also reminds me of the opening of a John Irving novel.

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  2. That's some thoughtful feedback for a change. Thanks. I agree with the disappointment you expressed because I felt the same disappointment in the writing of this poem. I also wanted the final moment to focus on the eternal feelings of childhood. That was the whole point. In fact, because I am a father and cannot feel those moments now--but instead watch my children enjoy them, ignorantly--I had to acknowledge that those moments were never really as free as I often tell myself they were. Yes, free to me, but paid for by the adult structures that protected and sustained me in the eternal oblivion of youth. Also, yesterday was my mom's birthday.

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  3. A belated happy birthday to your mom.

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