Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley door pickup 10am - 7pm 3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611

  • Open Daily: 10am - 10pm
    Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm

    3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
    612-822-4611

Open Daily: 10am - 10pm | Alley-side Pickup: 10am - 7pm
3038 Hennepin Ave Minneapolis, MN
612-822-4611
Sandlot

Sandlot

Larocca, Michael

Paperback

HumorGeneral Fiction

ISBN10: 1475289898
ISBN13: 9781475289893
Publisher: Createspace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: May 5 2012
Pages: 378
Weight: 1.00
Height: 0.94 Width: 6.00 Depth: 9.00
Language: English
I became an orphan on my 48th birthday. That's why I returned to North Carolina after 12 years in China. If I didn't have to help settle Daddy's estate, I might never have returned at all.===========I snapped the ball to myself and dropped back as all hell broke loose.Holy shit.So many bodies coming at me. Big bodies. It seemed like the whole team. I couldn't see shit.I didn't look at them. Just like crossing the street in China. I looked down the field. The pine, the blocking sled, my guys, the other guys. I got a glimpse of Rotten Roscoe and I flung the damn ball for all it was worth.Suddenly I was buried in big stinky foreigners - um, fellow Americans of passion and enthusiasm. First I noticed there was no air in my body, then the dizziness, and then the pain. Then the noise. Then my brain latched onto the fact that I was on the ground. My back hurt like hell. My ribs managed to complain a bit too.The large hairy-faced young man atop me wasn't a teammate.You again, I moaned.He grinned. Welcome home.Ohh, I groaned. I haven't been tackled in...Years? Didja forget we play tackle?Oh God, I think I did. Oh.I'm Tater.Nice to meet you.Then I noticed the happy whooping screaming. That was Rotten Roscoe and Gilroy celebrating a touchdown. Mostly Roscoe.What'd you do? I asked Tater. Send your whole damn team after me?Pretty much. We didn't think you could throw that fast.Rotten Roscoe and Gilroy reached me as I got to my feet, with two defenders following at a walk.I noticed I was the oldest guy out here. And the smallest. Being old felt normal, but being small didn't.I can't play anymore, I warned Rotten Roscoe before he could try some kind of macho chest-bump celebration that would've knocked me on my ass. My hand was on my lower back, old injury, although really the pain was very much in my ass. I hobbled my aching ass off toward Daddy's... toward my barn.Hey, Rotten Roscoe yelled at my ass. We play again next Saturday.

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