In 500... (or less)

Play Brawl!

It was my first game.

"C'mon, Dad!" I hollered, pushing at him as he tried to gulp down his dinner.

"Lemme finish my dinner," he mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

I bolted out of the kitchen and returned promptly with his hat, intent on getting to Forbes Field as quickly as possible.

"Will you cut it out, Jackie?" Dad groaned. "It's a night game, we still got an hour to get there."

I was unfazed. I grab my shoes and my Pirates cap. Nothing, not even the risk of giving my father indigestion, was going to stop me from getting to this game.

"Run along fellas," Mom said with a smile, giving my dad a peck on the cheek. 

Forbes Field was everything I'd always imagined it to be. It smelled like old cigars and peanuts, the smell of old-fashioned baseball.

I took in everything. The sights, the crowd. Mel Ott tossing warm up throws. It was glorious.

Nothing prepared me for the first giant roar of the crowd as Bob Elliot smashed a ball that rolled past the batting cage in center field. The Pirates were up 2-0, and even my dad was smiling.

It didn't last long. Not with Mel Ott batting to lead off the next inning.

"Butcher!" my dad yelled as Ott trotted around the bases after a homerun. "You probably can cut a brisket better than you pitch." For a second, I swear Max Butcher looked directly at my father and shot daggers at him.

Then there was DiMaggio. My dad always joked that the Pirates thought they were trading for Joe and ended up with Vince instead. He bunted for a hit, then promptly got doubled off on a fly ball to center.

"Vince!" Dad yelled as the dejected Pirate trotted back to the dugout, "Joe's at 31 games now, what are you up to? One?" I had forgotten about the hitting streak until then. A few guys next to us chuckled heartily.

During the fourth inning, the players inexplicably ran off the field and into the dugouts.

"What are they doing?" I asked.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the public address announcer said. "The game is being delayed due to the boxing match between Billy Conn and Joe Louis. Remain in your seats and enjoy the broadcast."

"Do they always do this?" I was a little naive, but chalked it up to being at the game in person rather than hearing it on the radio.

"Ha ha, no," my dad laughed. "I guess people want to see how the local boy does against the champ."

"Will it take long?" I whined.

"Hardly," Dad replied. "Billy is good, but he won't last against Louis."

And so we sat. At first I was annoyed. I got excited see Cliff Melton warm up after the sixth round, maybe the game would get going again soon. Then he sat back down. Then Billy started winning. 

"He's got 'em, dad," I said with glee after the 12th round. "Billy's gonna win!"

Alas, my overconfidence, or rather Billy Conn's, did him in the next round.

We stayed at the game to the bitter end. I thought my dad would surely want to go home, but we lingered until it was called in the 12th inning with the score tied at 2 due to the midnight curfew.

"If only they'd called the fight after the 12th," Dad said as we strolled home. "He might have beaten the champ."