Second Chance at Bat

By John A. Hoda

He went from selling insurance to standing on an MLB mound. Can this rookie rockstar handle the heat of unexpected celebrity status?

Thirty-nine-year-old Joe DiNatale's life is slowly falling apart. With his marriage crumbling and his beloved time as a little league coach coming to a close, his luck takes a turn when he wins a trip to play ball with retired Philadelphia Phillies legends. And as he toes the rubber against former pro MVPs, he's stunned to discover he has an unhittable knuckleball.

Thrilled when the old hands recognize his potential, he joyfully jumps at the offer of a special tryout for the national league team's pitching roster. But after he trades in his day job for the high-flying world of a professional athlete, his sudden stardom threatens to wreck any hope he has of repairing his family.

Can Joe keep his head in the game and his heart with those he loves?

Second Chance at Bat is an inspiring sports novel. If you like heartfelt characters, grand stadium backdrops, and one-of-a-kind relationships, then you'll adore John A. Hoda's page-turning journey.

Buy Second Chance at Bat to swing for the fences today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John A. Hoda
• Release date: Jul 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201890551

John A. Hoda

John A. Hoda is an investigator and author. He blogs, YouTubes, and podcasts from his All Things Investigative website. www.johnhoda.com. He is a former police officer and insurance fraud investigator. He is a licensed Private Investigator with expertise in Forensic Genealogy and Investigative Interviewing and is the creator of the DVD: The Ultimate Guide to Taking Statements. He is a Certified  Legal Investigator and Certified Fraud Examiner. He has sat on the board of the National Association of Legal Investigators and the CT Assoc. of Licensed Private Investigators. He has run marathons and bicycled long distance. He played club soccer and semi-professional football. He has written, produced and acted in amateur theatre in New Haven, CT. He is the Author of Phantasy Baseball: It's about a second chance and Mugshots: My favorite Detective Stories

Book preview

PROLOGUE

It was an ugly swing, more an epileptic jerk than one practiced thousands of times.

C’mon, Coach D, that pitch just ain’t right. Tommy Callahan said. It’s downright nasty.

Joe grinned while the catcher trotted to the backstop to retrieve Joe’s no-seam knuckleball. Why do I throw it Thomas?

Tommy knew the answer. I’ve got two strikes on me and I have to protect the plate- gotta choke up and put the ball in play

The ball came back to the mound. The catcher settled in and Joe DiNatale held up his index finger of his left hand, the universal sign for a fastball. Joe’s throw by American Legion standards, wasn’t competition grade, but it went straight and Tommy stroked a clean line drive down the third base line.

There you go, Thomas. Now go out to right and long toss with Billy. Somebody’s gotta pitch a ballgame today.

Joe heard Coach Hunter yell, Kyle, dig the ball out of that corner. Howie Hunter, a big bear of a guy, stood behind a protective mesh screen up the third base line with a fungo bat. With a flick of his wrists, Hunter laced another line drive into the left field corner so that Kyle could learn how to play the caroms. Howie, swung the funny shaped bat with no wasted motion and lifted an array of beat-up hardballs into the hot and humid Berks county late afternoon sky. The outfielders fielded them and fired their throws to the Minster boy who was shagging for Coach Hunter. Joe continued to pitch batting practice, Hold up one finger, fastball, whack. Two fingers with a wrist twist signaled that a curveball was coming, whack. 10 hits a kid, fifteen kids. Joe rarely missed the plate and the kids sprayed hits, except when that knuckleball fluttered in.This was the way the visiting Reading American Legion Post 76 got ready for the business about to start with the Boyertown Bears. Not a lot of chatter, nor fooling around here.

Boys? Kids? Hard to think of them kids anymore, they were young men now. Tommy and Kyle were two teens that Joe and Howie had coached since T-ball.

In the dugout, Joe sat down with Tommy and the catcher Tony Gonsalves.

This is a long ball hitter’s ballpark. 320 down the lines and lots of room in the alleys. Their team is built around power and big innings Joe said. Joe noticed that Tony fiddled with his shin guard straps, just like his Joey had when DiNatale talked pitching strategy.

Thomas, keep every strike down. Make ‘em hit grounders Tommy nodded. Joe continued, If you throw upstairs its only inside or outside when they are behind in the count. Take no one up the ladder over the plate Antonio, mix up the four seamers and two seamers. Don’t be afraid to call for his hook, it looking good today. Real good. The battery-mates smiled at that. Joe wasn’t afraid to boost their confidence today. They needed to do everything right against this perennial Pennsylvania powerhouse. They went over signs one more time, to make sure that everybody was on the same page.

Coach Hunter slapped balls to the infielders. Get two he said and each fielder had to throw to the right base then that player had to touch the bag before firing it on to complete the play. Tony and Tommy moved out to the field to handle bunts and throws to first and third.

Soon, the national anthem played over the loudspeaker and Joe wondered if this would be the last time in uniform for these boys. Would their season end tonight? Would this be Joe’s last game as a coach? His flashbacks were snippets from the time the kids were barely taller than their bats, then to the wild ride in Williamsport and now for the last couple of years. Tonight, if they won, they would advance to the American Legion Regionals. The applause from the large crowd broke Joe’s reverie.

Okay guys Howie didn’t have to look around, he had their attention. We are smart and we are very fast. We are gonna play small ball with them and force them to play our game At home in front of their fans, we want their egos to get in their own way. We want to get into their heads. Watch Joe for all the signs, especially the bunt, hit and run and steal signs. Its gonna be a track meet out there tonight. They won’t know what hit em".

When the game started Joe moved to the third base coaching box. He put on the bunt sign with two strikes to Kyle, the fastest kid and lead off hitter. If he bunted foul, he would be out. It was a risky move.The bunt caught the third basemen napping and Kyle was aboard. He took a small lead. Joe signaled a take sign for strike one to Billy. Kyle got the steal sign while Billy was to fake his bunt. Both surprised the Boyertown infielders again.The catcher was distracted by Billy waving his bat in the strike zone for strike two. He reacted late in throwing to second. Safe. After a couple of waste pitches, Billy then hit a dribbler to the third baseman who had to charge and throw to beat Billy by a half of a step at first. Kyle went to third. Joe and the third basemen had a stare down.

Kyle quietly said to Joe, while the third baseman was standing next to them, All night baby, all night.

With one out , Reading’s all-star center fielder and best hitter, Willie Gaines stepped up to the plate, Joe gave him the swing away sign and he lofted the first pitch fastball deep into center for a Sac Fly. This was small ball at its best. The clean-up hitter struck out,ending the inning and Joe’s squad had a 1-0 lead.

Howie shambled across the diamond down into the dug out past the players bouncing up the steps to the field. Now that’s what I am talking about. He shouted to everybody in earshot.

On offense, Reading bunted, fake bunted, drag bunted, hit and ran, stole bases, ran delay steals and double steals. Willie’s fly out was the farthest ball that Reading managed. Over and over again, the third baseman, pitcher and first basemen had to charge bunts and make off-balance throws to an out of position shortstop or second basemen. Sometimes, the visitors ran themselves out of an inning by getting caught stealing on a swinging strike three.

The strategy was working, however. The pressure on Boyertown forced errors and runners advanced. Kyle scored again on a squeeze play and later Antonio came home on a fielder’s choice. Reading produced those runs without hitting the ball out of the infield.

On defense, The Boyertown Bear’s big boys kept pounding the low pitches into the ground or into the air for towering pop-ups. Joe could see the frustration being taken out on thrown helmets and bats after outs. He heard it in the stands from the shocked and vocal fans. Callahan mixed up his pitches and delivered the ball where Gonsalves set up. He was giving up singles, but no walks. He got out a jam in the sixth where four straight singles and a sacrifice fly ball produced three runs. A tailor-made double play ball to shortstop effectively killed the rally.

Going into the final frame with the game tied three runs apiece, Joe asked Tony, How’s Tommy’s stuff?Tony struggled with his chest protectors in the humidity of this mid-August evening. Joe could see he was struggling with his answer as much was with the gear.

Tony looked at his cleats. He’s got some gas left in the tank-He’s okay. Joe listened, but he knew what he had to do. A tired Tommy on a hot night was not as good as a fresh Billy.

Tommy was on deck that inning and could be pinch hit for. Joe could get Billy warming up for the bottom of the seventh and extra innings if needed. Howie and Joe stood outside the dugout as the Boyertown pitcher tossed his final warm ups.

Joe said He still looks strong. pointing to the Boyertown hurler. But Tommy is done..

Howie replied, I know, if Zeke Minster gets on, who do we send up to pinch hit for Tommy?

Joe took off his cap, rubbed his hand through his black hair and said, There was nobody on the bench with a better batting average or more pop in his bat, but Steve Wheedle had better wheels. Let Tommy hit, if he gets on, we put Speedy Stevie Wheedle in to run for him."

Howie nodded in agreement and made his way over to the first base coaches box.

The top of the seventh started off with promised. Zeke leaned into a curveball that hit him on the butt. He sprinted down to first base showing no ill-effects from getting plunked.

Joe came down the line and used Tommy as a shield from the opposing team’s eyes. Show bunt, then pull back. Choke up and slap the ball hard.

You got it Coach D.

Tommy settled in the box, the umpire pointed to the mound and the pitcher checked on Zeke at first. Tommy showed bunt with his arms and shoulders, but kept his feet set. The corner infielders charged, the catcher came up out of his crouch, the pitcher looked in and made his throw home, elevating a fastball to induce a pop up.

The shortstop hustled to second to get the force play on the lead runner. The second basemen ran to cover the empty bag at first.

For six innings, The Bears were tortured with bunts and fake bunts. They were conditioned by Reading to react exactly this way. The pitcher came off the mound towards home. Tommy brought his bat back halfway and then chopped the rising fast ball inches past the head of the third basemen whose first reaction was to duck. The ball whistled just fair past Joe and rolled to no-man’s land. It was now a race between Zeke, who had been running, the shortstop who was slow to reverse his direction and the lumbering left fielder who had been playing deep in a no-doubles defense. the play developed in front of Zeke, who nudged second base with his right foot and sprinted to third. Tommy did like-wise touching first on his way to second.

The ball nestled in at the farthest point between the fielders on the third base line. The crowd was shrieking for somebody, anybody to get to it. Joe windmilled his right arm for Zeke to go home. It was going to be close. It was the left fielder that bare-handed the hardball and came up throwing home. It was on target but late and Zeke slid under the tag. Tommy danced off of second then retreated. Stunned silence by the home crowd was punctuated by the Reading bench and its two dozen faithful fan’s celebration who had made their way up the highway after work. Reading had the lead again. Joe savored the moment and pointed at Howie across the infield, who was pointing at Joe. This was a special moment between two very different men brought together by the love of a game played by their boys in the summer’s past.

Time out was called and Tommy received a hero’s welcome of high-fives and back-slapping in the dug out as Speedie Wheedle stretched his legs on second. Boyertown’s skipper signaled for a reliever. He had to change the momentum. All during the reliever’s warm-ups, the third basemen stared at the frenzy in the Reading dug out.

Joe was not more than 5 feet from the hot corner and could almost feel the contained rage.

Joe, of course, had the next batter greet the new pitcher’s first offering with a bunt up the third base line, but it was fielded cleanly for out number one at first , Speedy scampered to third. Joe was definitely in this third baseman’s head as the stare downs resumed. Wheedle tried distracting the reliever who was facing him after each set, but to no avail. Joe considered another squeeze but a strike out and a pop up ended those thoughts and the top half of the inning was over.

Joe had learned when the boys were little to address them by their given names to get their attention William keep the ball down, nibble the corners with your fast ball and make ‘em chase your curve ball. Joe never took his eyes off of Billy’s as he addressed him with this formal name. One for a fastball, two for a curve and throw to Antonio’s mitt, Got it? Billy nodded. trotted to the mound to continue his warm ups. Joe had borrowed that trick from Joey’s soccer coach over ten years ago and found that it worked just as well now with teenagers.

The sun hung low in the cloudless sky, it would be dusk soon. No wind to speak of, The air was cooler and getting thicker now. The ball won’t carry as far Joe hoped. Three outs and we have new life. We live to play again.

Joe and Coach Hunter leaned on the railing on the home plate side of the dugout when the bottom half of the inning started. The home field crowd wasn’t going anywhere this week night and they raised the volume level of their urgings. Joe could hear the desperation. The first hitter fouled a few fastballs off before hitting a curve weakly to second for out number one. Billy caught the ball from the first basemen in with a downward snap of his glove hand wrist. The second batter settled in. Tony signaled for a curve. Billy delivered it just outside for ball one. Billy kept the next two fastballs down, but the batter didn’t chase either one. 3-0. The batter then took strike one. Tony called for a curve. Billy nicked the corner, Tony froze his mitt but he didn’t get the call,a gutsy take by the Boyertown player who now became the tying run on first. Howie cleared his throat a few times to let the umpire know what he thought of the pitch. Joe looked at the line-up card to see who was up and that their third baseman was going be on deck.

Shrug it off, William-don’t mean a thang. Joe said trolling out the word loud enough for the umpire to notice.

Let’s get two. Coach Hunter followed.

The third base coach went through his signs. Tony wanted the fastball on the inside of the plate. Joe figured, after the walk, this batter would be taking. He figured wrong. Billy was a little high, but the batter swung at the first pitch and lofted fly ball to Kyle in left. Every Reading player now made the two out sign with their pinkie and index fingers spread wide and high. Joe didn’t have to guess what was being said by the Bear’s long-time coach to the hitter who bounced his batting helmet on the floor of the home team dug out with a loud thwack.

Joe called time and double-timed it to the mound, Tony followed. Billy was ready for them. I can get this guy Coach D.

Joe was calm, This guy wants to hit the cover off the ball. We’ve had him running up and down the third base line all day like a yo-yo Throw him curve balls away- take away his strength Do not get into his wheelhouse Joe alternated between his pitcher and catcher. Are we clear?

Yes sir. said Tony as he slipped on his catcher’s mask. Billy was hiding his expression behind his glove, copying big league pitchers and just nodded.

Joe ran back to Howie’s side. What did you tell ‘em Joe?

I told them to stay away from this guy. He’s scary right now. Let somebody else beat us.

The fans started their exhortations. The Reading fans were calling for a strike out. Billy threw the first curve low and outside for a ball. The clean up hitter was taking. Evidently, his coach could rein him in.

Billy settled in, checked the runner over his shoulder and threw another curve ball in the same spot. The hitter uncoiled and laced a foul ball into the stands behind first.. Billy took the ball, got his sign and threw another curve but this time it didn’t break as much. The ball rocketed off the bat down the right field line with a slice. It landed foul of the 320 foot sign. Two strikes.

Joe stared at Billy and said just loud enough to Howie to hear, Don’t do it. Don’t go after him.

He flashed on Yogi Berra and the saying,’ It’s like deja vu all over again’. Joe and Howie had been here before, maybe the outcome would be different.

The umpire tossed Billy a fresh ball and Tony set up outside. Good boy, Joe thought.

Billy’s pitch crossed up Tony. It was a middle of the plate fastball waist high.

Willie Gaines saw the ball right off the bat. He was deep in centerfield shaded to right center. He followed the towering fly ball to dead center. Joe saw that when Willies cleats tapped on the warning track, Willie reached out instinctively with this bare hand to touch the wall before timing his leap. Willie extended his glove over the fence.

xxxxx

So, What did Billy say to you? Howie pulled long on his first of many Yuenglings that evening, Joe knew. Howie secreted an iced 12 pack in a tarp-covered galvanized tub between the bat and equipment bags in the bed of his pick up.

Joe was plopped next to him with their legs dangling over the tailgate of Coach Hunter’s beat up flat black Ford F-150. Joe looked out at twilight over the now deserted Boyertown Bear’s stadium from the far end of the parking lot

Joe took a deep breath and the words just gushed out, He said that after going outside so much, he could bust the last guy inside with his heater. Then he said he was sorry. I had a hard time accepting that. Maybe I didn’t let him off the hook.

Win or lose, this is how they decompressed after a game. Joe with the leftover sports drink from the team’s cooler and Howie with the local brew. He could remember their coaching friendship growing from that first year together when his Joey and Howie’s last child, Blake began playing ball together. The boys would chase fireflies, while the women would chat about this or that. Howie’s now ex-wife and Linda would finally tell them that they had to go home and the men would hop off the tailgate and go back to their lives.

As the boys got older, Blake the pitcher and Joey his catcher, grew even closer than their fathers. After game activities for them soon meant cars and girls and other stuff.

Willie told me that he thought the ball touched the top of his glove, but maybe he was just wishful thinking. Howie said.

Damn. Joe said and then he added from a place where indelible memories were stored, You know, while that last joker trotted around the bases, he was staring at me and when he rounded third, I heard him say ‘ All night baby, All night’ before he jumped on home plate.

Joe finished with. Tony was almost crying when he told me ‘Coach, it was supposed to be a curveball low and outside, you gotta believe me’. I said, ‘I know Antonio you did right, you called a good game’ Tony didn’t even look at Billy. I don’t think they are going to be talking for awhile.

Howie, reminded Joe, They’ll make up, you know they will. Again, that unspoken reference to the biggest game of their lives.

Both men sat in silence now with the crickets taking over. Both lost in their own thoughts about games past. Stripped of their uniform jerseys and wearing just their training shirts on this still sultry night, they could have been a couple of beer league softball players. An odd couple, Hunter, tall with a beer gut and DiNatale shorter and trim. Just a couple of average Joe’s enjoying a pop or two or three on a quiet summer’s night.

When they lost and it wasn’t often, It was always Joe that was first, Could we have done anything different tonight, Howie?

Howie who had fifteen years on Joe and technically was the head coach would invariably come up with an answer. We were one pitch, one stupid mistake from moving on the Regionals. The kids executed well, didn’t make an error and hustled. You couldn’t ask for more than that.

And that was that.

There was no radio play-by- play tonight to soothe them, The Big League Phillies were traveling home from the West Coast. The Phillies Double A Reading affiliate was playing in Trenton, otherwise they might have imposed upon Tommy Callahan Sr. to comp them into the First Energy stadium as he was the head groundskeeper.

Joe finished his sports drink and scooted off the tail gate. He was stretching when Howie asked, Are you going to the Banquet?

Joe nodded and said, Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I understand that we will be graced by the presence of Blake ‘Hot Shot’ Hunter, our own little leaguer turned Pro

Howie laughed and replied, Hell! If that boy’s head ain’t swelled enough? Then more quietly Is Linda or Joey comin? It was Howie’s way of approaching a sore subject, Joe knew.

Joe just shook his head no and with that said. Well, I guess this is it, partner, it was a swell ride. Did you ever think this is how things would turn out?

Howie threw his dead soldier back in the tub and said I’m glad its over, its been a long ride but I wouldn’t have changed a thing then paused and added Not a thang. He jumped off and slammed the tail gate shut.

If a Boyertown cop had been cruising by at that next moment, he might have looked sideways at two grown men embracing in an dark almost empty parking lot.

xxxxxx

Heroin and booze don’t mix, Joey thought. The retching finally passed and he was able to splash some water on his face from the sink of Hot Shot’s bathroom. How did his knuckles get so banged up, even on his glove hand? He padded out to see Hot Shot working the controllers on the latest Madden game. You look like shit warmed over. Hot Shot said and went back to the game.

Fuck you very much. Joey said to his best friend. How’d we get here?

Hot Shot paused the game and said, What’s the last thing you remember Joey D?

We went to Cassandra’s pool party after the game to celebrate your big news. I just came to while I was prayin’ to the porcelain god

You mean while you were yelling Ralph into the big white phone. Hot Shot didn’t miss a chance for his comeback line.

How’d my hands get so messed up? Joey asked.

You don’t know, do you? asked Hot Shot. He put down the controller.

Nope. I hope it’s not bad. Joey said.

Its worse that bad, you really screwed the pooch, pardner.

I’m not dead or in jail, what could be worse than that?

Then Hot Shot told him.

Since that August night exactly a year ago, Joey had played the story over and over again. He always wanted it to come out differently. He had yet to recall the events of his first of many black outs that summer and fall.

It was Joey’s turn to speak and he passed. He sat there and staring down into black shiny surface of the coffee he was dangling between his legs. He straightened up his posture on the uncomfortable church basement chairs of Saint Helena’s Men’s Group Thursday night meeting in Wyomissing.

xxxxx

Testa Dura Linda concluded. Hard head. That described her husband alright. A stubborn Italian male. She had cried herself to sleep many nights since D kicked Joey out of the house.

D never told her what happened. He went so far as to throw out his shirt and pants, the minute he arrived home that night. All he said was, Tell him he is not welcome in my house anymore There was no changing D’s mind. Joey slinked home the next day while D worked at the agency. Joey didn’t want to talk about it and was clearly distressed while he and Blake loaded up Howie’s pick up truck. Joey was just like his father when he didn’t want to talk. It drove her insane when no answers surfaced from the boys as they hefted out garbage bags of clothes and things of importance to Joey’s life. This is crazy she repeated to herself. She’d be able to fix this mess soon and have her boy back in her house where he belonged.

Her eyes drifted over their only child’s empty bedroom to the baseball trophies, varsity letters and the Fathead posters of his favorite Phillie. Every Little League baseball team picture was framed there on the wall over his desk. Her son had grown from a child into handsome young man. Joe looked the same save for some extra lines around the eyes. The years were not kind to Howie Hunter she confirmed. Heavy drinking and a crappy diet will do that to a man.

Joey’s Williamsport Trophy was tucked into a corner next to his pinewood derby cub scout trophy. She remembered how D and Joey made the little wooden car and how excited they were when they beat all the others that the cub scouts didn’t touch but their dad’s tweaked in Reading’s best machine shops. Her husband was crazy about their son and she knew it was eating him up inside. She pleaded with him. She yelled at him. She threatened to leave him. Joseph DiNatale would not give in. Linda later learned what had happened that night from a woman in her aerobics class. Her daughter witnessed the whole event.

A year later, the estrangement continued. It was taking a toll on the Linda and her husband.

They were only having hallway sex now she told a puzzled girlfriend a few weeks earlier. When we were first married we had sex anytime and anywhere. Then after Joey was born we had to keep it down. We could only make love late at night and in our bed

Linda let the story pause long enough for her friend to ask., What about the hallway?

Linda deadpanned. Now when we pass each other in the hallway, I say ‘Fuck you’ and he says ‘Cazzo!’ in return.

Only it wasn’t funny anymore. She heard the garage door opener. D was coming home from the Boyertown game.

She determined then that when Momma’s not happy, nobody’s happy and she closed the door to Joey’s room.

xxxxx

Downward facing Dog. He’d recognize the Sanskrit name for it, if he heard it. It was Saturday morning and Joe was feeling his hamstrings and calves as he held this pose. Joe practiced yoga every morning to the DVD on the HD Screen in his den. The woman’s soothing voice helped his loosen his tight muscles. The quiet chant with the Indian instruments in the background brought him good karma, he knew.

Joe continued with the flowing vinyasa from warrior two into extended triangle pose for his hip flexors. As a long distance runner, working the hip flexors was important. It also allowed him to pitch batting practice everyday, although he wouldn’t be doing that anymore. He would miss that. The ten poses flowed from one to another until the 20 minute program ended with her telling him, ‘Namaste’. He rolled over and up to a seated position and laced up his Nike’s. Just Do It was their slogan , a good one to live by.

Out the door for a 5 miler; his newest version of the iPhone was set to play 40 minutes of positive music. The tunes had to have a good beat with a positive lyrics. When he heard them elsewhere, he would download them from iTunes into different 40 minute playlists. He made his way down the street. Three doors down, his neighbor’s dog Sparky went ballistic as he ran by. That set off the other dogs on the street and Joe always chuckled to himself that his neighbors could set their watches by Joe’s morning runs. Three to four times a week, he would head out on the road. He learned not to think about his to-do list as he had already written it down the afternoon before.

Joe started jogging shortly after Joey was born, Linda had accused him of running out on them metaphorically. Although for almost twenty years now, she didn’t mind that he had been cheating father time as the running had kept his metabolism revving. She certainly liked the other endurance that he brought home for her. Besides this, he knew it brought him both great energy and peace from the endorphins flooding his system. He had added two sessions a week in the gym on Friday and Sunday of High Intensity Resistance Training. The muscleheads would just gawk when this 5’9" 165 pound thirty-nine year old businessman would rip off a set of 10 leg presses with 20 forty-five pound plates on the machine.

The flat road of his neighborhood, which had once been a Mennonite’s farm near the river, gave way to the hilly roads on the outskirts of Reading. Breathe hard up, pound your knees down. It was relentless. Joe had to be careful for idiots zipping around the dew covered two lane black tops. Just one ear bud in to be safe. He let ideas float in and out. He never dwelled on any one thought during this sacred time. No word mantras for him, this was his form of meditation. Past farmers fields and woods, he kept a steady pace and his feet lightly touched the pavement with only the slightest pronation. This was a typical weekend for him with the exceptions of a meeting at the insurance agency that he owned and later, most likely, his last Little League Banquet.

Back onto his street, The theme song from Rocky supplied him all the energy he needed for his kick. Joe still enjoyed running 10Ks and other charity fun runs and a kick was necessary to catch the rabbits that he had been following for nearly 6.2 miles.

Joe liked reentering his street this way. His neighbor, Harry Millet waved as Joe flew by, legs pumping and arms keeping the rhythm. It wasn’t always like this, he knew. Joe sprawled out on his driveway before the song ended and it signalled that he finished his mileage in under 40 minutes. Sweet! Another sub-eight minute per mile run, not too shabby he said to himself as he began to catch his breath.

Runner’s World would argue the merits of a post run stretch every now and then, but he needed to do it. He started that habit when he coaxed a little more time to meditate before life in the form