PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

This text is currently hidden by a css change. Alow's me to go directly to the category description because it is editable in the front end,

The Acorn Spitter

When I was a lad getting fed a lot of mumbo-jumbo at St. Matthew's Grammar School in East Syracuse, New York in the 1970s, a teacher assigned us a short story to read about a midget, as they were called back then, who was signed by a minor league baseball team because he was an expert bunter. This guy wasn't just able to lay down a bunt; he could place the ball anywhere he wanted (within bunting distance). My memory – which is always 100% accurate – tells me that he was discovered at a circus, where he was bunting balls into various buckets that were placed around his batting cage. He never missed, directing each ball with spin and bounce and speed in such a manner as to expertly deposit them into containers of various sizes. Needless to say, he became very valuable to the baseball team that picked him up.

This makes me want to write a modern-day version of this story in which I (the narrator) am cast as the hero. Except in this case, I don't bunt balls into buckets, but instead spit acorns from under the treads of my bike tires at motorists who irritate me on my morning commute.

The story starts with me on my sleepy bike ride into the office on a crisp fall morning. There is a traffic jam, but I, as a cyclist, am unaffected, able to breeze past all the cars that are belching greenhouse gases into the atmosphere while not making much progress on their commutes. As I ride along on this beautiful fall morning, my front tire runs over an acorn, which squirts out and strikes the side of a shiny, black BMW sedan, making a funny "ping" sound as it does.

The damage is non-existent, but that doesn't stop the douchebag driver of the Beamer, after traffic starts moving again and he catches up to me, to roll down his window and call me an asshole for purposely spitting an acorn at his stupid-ass car that costs like $150 just to change the oil. Of course, I didn't "purposely" shoot the acorn at his car. Who could do something like that? Wait, that bunting midget in the short story I read in fifth or sixth grade could have.

So, I set myself to learning how to shoot acorns from under my bike tires at cars stuck in traffic, particularly at douchebag drivers who leak into my bike lane because they are reading threads on X while driving about how bike lanes are ruining life for drivers. With time and a lot of practice, I become an expert at this obscure "sport," able to use my perfect vision to pick out acorns in the road ahead and determine, instantaneously, where to run over them to propel them at Hummers and Navigators and any car that I don't like or driver who has irked me. Soon, I become famous, alleged on obscure websites that I have caused "thousands of dollars of damage," never mind that you could shoot an acorn out of an air gun at high speed and not even put a scratch in a modern auto paint job.

Police try to set up roadblocks in bikes lanes to nab me, but I am too wily, weaving through traffic, dodging cars trying to "door" me, spitting acorns at cars all the while.

I haven't figured out the denouement yet, but I know that this story will have a moment when it seems like I will be caught, and then a happy ending as I get away Scot free, just like the story of the bunting savant had a happy ending.

[Editors note: I found the story online in a copy of The American Legion Magazine from August, 1949. Titled "Lay it Down Ziggy!", it starts on page 11, but don't let that stop you from perusing through the rest of the magazine. Plenty of fun stuff to see, including on page 2 the "The Bracer Royal Supporter Belt," which appears to be a male girdle.] 

Continue reading
  374 Hits

 

 

Daily Haiku

 

Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  

 

College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.

 

Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not

 

I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car

 

My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means

 

Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes

 

Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees

 

Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning

 

Subscribe To The Blog

Produce This Audio Play!

Ever wanted to produce a radio play?  Think you have the mettle?  Read on!

Tag Cloud

Hand Planes My Parents curling shoes Barber Shops College Higher Education Belgian Ales Weather Liz Phair Dad advice Ukraine Martinis Stairs Elvis Presley Spoon the band Real Estate Existential Crisis NPR COVID-19 Chowder Vaughn Canada Food Sports Texting Accounting Biden Mustard Godfather People I know the sea Bodysurfing afterlife Sugarbush Teeth town square The Old Days Bikes Quebect Advertising coronavirus Bands I've Seen vacation Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde NFL soapbox rantings Eclipse Drumming Emergencies Cars Communication Channels Bands I've seen Reese's Peanut Butter Cups Soccer Pats Bill Monroe The Future winter Vaccines Theater Religion cornhole Audubon Bar Rabbit Hole Putin Work acerbic high school principal Hot Air Balloon Motorists When I die Reveillon Mike Doughty baseball First World Problems Head injuries Wind Short Fiction Stories I should write Snow Guns My Estate COVID Brain Surgery Royal Stuff Scotch and Sirloin Christmas seasons Golf Spice Girls Ice Dancing Marketing Gimmicks Ketchup BB King Me plan mid-winter vacations Skiing Canadiana Rock Bands Bunker Fiction nukes Big Shoes Red Sox Yeast Mom and Dad Climate Change Joan Jett Cornhole star Skating Europe Peacekeeping Good Reads Bands I haven't seen Art TV Hawaii Candy Imaginings Syracuse Email Zoom Roommates I've Had Soup The Past Hache Verde weather My grandparents Music Brewing Coyotes Trump My sisters Halloween Masks Football Bicycles The future Things I've done Politics As Usual Them Kids technology Earth Hurricanes Boston Folk Music Grass Skiing Diseases Beer Soviet Union Smoke Meat punk music Ticketmaster gathering throngs Butterfingers Mass General Hospital Tom Waits Eating and Drinking New England Plastic Allergies tambourrine midwinter vacations Guns and Ammo Radiohead high winds Cats Knots Audio Car Dealerships US Senate Bob Dylan War and Peace 1980s Soul Coughing China the future