A Last Adventure

Matt sat in his seat, eyes still wide with amazement as he surveyed his surroundings.

**

A few hours ago, he had been waiting to climb aboard the school bus and head home. Just like he did every school day.

But today had been different. Waiting at the curb, leaned against his car, calm, cool and collected, was his father, John.

And he had a surprise. An adventure.

Matt had peppered his dad with questions. But all he got was a sly smile. Every single time. For every minute of every hour they drove.

Even when they stopped at a diner for a bite to eat.

Over and over, a silent refusal to answer the one question Matt asked over and over again.

Where were they going?

The extended silence had only served to feed Matt’s expectant imagination. Until, when the poor boy could scarcely endure any more mystery, he had received his first clue.

It couldn’t be? Could it?

Like most seven-year-olds, Matt had no sense of direction. But he could read. And the sign hanging overhead had validated his deeply held suspicions.

Shea Stadium.

When Matt had seen the sign, his voice jumped three full octaves. His dad alternated between wincing and grinning until the young boy’s euphoria ebbed, landing at jubilant jibber jabber.

Not only was his dad taking him to watch his favorite team. He was taking him to see the defending World Series champions do battle with the St Louis Cardinals in a crucial September game with serious playoff implications.

From that point on, the young boy’s mind had been a VCR cassette in fast forward. A vague recollection of the walk from the car.  A torn ticket stub in his pocket. An official scorebook sporting a picture of Sid Fernandez sat on his lap, waiting to be marked up by the young scorekeeper.

And the national anthem. His dad always demanded that attention be paid to the national anthem.

**

Back in the moment, as Ron Darling walked out to the mound, Matt focused on the time and the place. He grabbed his little eraser less pencil and prepared to score the game.

But, as Darling warmed up, Matt felt compelled to acknowledge the majesty of the moment. He turned to his dad, who was scouring the right field stands, like he was looking for something.

“Thanks for bringing me, Dad. This is awesome.”

John turned to face his son. His weathered, weary face melted into a genuine smile.

“No place I’d rather be, kiddo.”

**

The top of the first inning proved relatively uneventful. Darling walked Coleman but Ozzie hit into a double play and then Herr flew out to left field.

Though he was anxious to see the Mets come to the plate in the bottom of the inning, Matt took advantage of the lull in the action to engage his dad.

“Why do you keep looking around?” Matt asked with the bluntness of a young child.

John’s head snapped around to face his son. He smiled once again; a little more forced this time.

“What? Um, no reason. Just soaking up the atmosphere.”

“When did you get home?”

“A couple days ago,” John replied as his focus once again shifted to his surroundings.

“How long are you going to be home?”

“Don’t worry about that kiddo. Let’s just watch the game. Look here comes Mookie.”

Matt turned his attention to the field as Mookie Wilson walked to the plate.

**

The Mets’ first at-bat against John Tudor proved quite hectic. Teufel got on with a flare to shallow center. Then Hernandez drove him in with a double into the left field gap. Then Darryl Strawberry, Matt’s favorite player, hit a bomb to right field.

As the Cardinals pitching coach came to check in with Tudor after walking Gary Carter, a vendor walked past Matt and John.

“Dad, can I get a pretzel?” Matt asked.

John, anxious to make this a night to remember for his son, flagged down the vendor.

“Two pretzels, please.”

The vendor handed the pretzels over. Matt took his pretzel from his father.

“Do the thing.”

Matt’s father smiled.

“OK. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Matt replied as father and son bumped pretzels as if they were frosty pints in a pub.

In that moment, Matt could ask for nothing more.

**

The top of the second featured a little drama. The Cardinals got a couple runners on base. Scratched across a run on a run of the mill grounder by Harris that Hernandez scooped up and dealt with himself.

But despite the on-field excitement, John’s focus was elsewhere.

Paying close attention to a pair of security guards in yellow windbreakers.

Matt noticed.

“Everything OK, Dad?”

“Yeah. Hey how about some hot dogs? Wait here. I’ll go grab us some and be right back.”

John sprang from his seat without waiting for acknowledgement and headed for the tunnel.

Matt watched his father fade from view until the crack of the bat refocused his attention on the game.

**

By the time his father returned with hot dogs and sodas, the Mets had scored another run thanks to a homerun by Mookie Wilson. The father and son duo savored their ballpark feast. And the 4-1 lead the Mets now enjoyed.

But, despite the euphoria of the moment, something did not sit right with Matt. He just could not pinpoint the problem.

**

The next few innings flew by in a blur until the top of the sixth inning. Darling attempted to field a bunt by Vince Coleman. He fell awkwardly, appearing to injure himself.

“Dad is he gonna be OK?” Matt asked immediately.

When his father failed to respond, Matt looked over at John, whose attention was focused elsewhere.

“What are you looking at?” Matt asked as he tried to identify what his dad was looking at.

Ten rows in front of them, a large man with a crew cut, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, but very much not looking casual, scanned the stands with piercingly cold blue eyes. After a few moments, the man looked in their direction briefly before continuing down the aisle and heading down the tunnel.

“Who is that?” Matt asked.

His father turned to face him.

“No one.”

Matt seldom doubted his father. But that mean looking man didn’t seem like no one.

**

Darling was able to keep pitching but he wasn’t the same.

Eventually he gave way to the bullpen. Myers pitched the seventh without incident. McDowell pitched a clean eighth. The Mets still clung to their lead but there was palpable anxiety growing.

Ozzie Smith led off the inning with a walk against McDowell.

Several security guards sporting yellow windbreakers stood against the railing , scanning the seats, all on high alert.

Ozzie moved to second on a grounder.

John, visibly agitated by the gathered security guards, scanned in either direction.

The mean looking man with the crew cut emerged from the tunnel once again as Willie McGee singles Ozzie home.

The home crowd gasped in astonishment.

Not that Matt noticed.

The mean looking man made his way to the stairs.

“Dad, what’s going on?” Matt asked anxiously.

John offered no response.

The mean looking man walked up the stairs and across the aisle, pulling up the empty seat next to Matt’s father.

“You know who I am?” the man asked John.

“Yes.”

“Then you know why I’m here.”

Terry Pendleton fouled off the first pitch he saw from Roger McDowell.

“Yes,” John replied.

“You really messed up.”

“She was gonna take my kid…”

“If she wasn’t before, she certainly will now.”

Pendleton turned around the second pitch, launching a home run into the night sky, tying the game at four runs apiece.

John’s entire frame tensed. And despite the activity on the field, Matt could not look away from the drama unfolding in the seats next to him, could not help but try to comprehend.

“Look. I know what you are. And you know what I am. Let’s not make a scene in front of these nice people. Or your son,” the mean looking man said plainly.

John looked at his son. Considered his circumstances. And reluctantly relented.

“I can’t leave him here alone,” John replied with slumped shoulders and a hollow, defeated tone.

The mean looking man seemed to consider this piece of information for a moment.

“Tell you what. The boy’s mother is on her way here. We are gonna sit like friends and watch the game until she gets here.”

**

The Mets had no response in the bottom of the ninth.

But all was not lost.

When the Cardinals came to the plate in the tenth inning, Jesse Orosco, the final pitcher of the previous year’s World Series victory, greeted them.

To start the inning, Tony Pena lined out to start the inning. Matt tried to feel enthusiastic about the game, but his attention remained on his dad and the mean looking man.

Then Vince Coleman got on base.

Three men in windbreakers emerge from the tunnel, followed by Matt’s mother. The mean looking man noticed.

Then Ozzie singled, allowing Coleman to advance to third base.

“OK, John. Time to go,” he said as he stood.

When John did not stand immediately, the mean man grabbed his arm firmly.

“Now.”

John stood slowly, reluctantly, his face twisted in hatred towards the mean looking man, towards himself.

“Dad, what’s happening? Where are you going? Why’s Mom here?” Matt asked desperately.

John turned to his son.

“I just wanted to have one last adventure with you before I go away.”

“Go away? Go where?”

“I love you, son. I always will. Be a good kid for your mom.”

The mean looking man attempted to lead John away. Matt tried to cling onto his father, but his grip failed and his father slipped away.

His mother approached from the opposite side of the aisle, tears in her eyes. Nearby spectators watched the curious scene unfold.

With tears in his eyes, Matt watched his father pass from sight down the tunnel.

He scarcely noticed his mother throw her arms around him, sobbing with relief.

Or Tommy Herr drive in the go ahead run.