The Alleys of Ponyville: Short Stories from the Noireverse

by PonyJosiah13

Baseball

“So you played baseball in college?” Flash asked, studying the yellowed photograph. He almost could not recognize his mentor amidst the cluster of stallions in their white and orange uniforms and caps, each with “Pranceton Chimeras” splashed across their chest; but the earth pony crouching in the front row, third from the right, was definitely him, though his hair had yet to gray and his eyes were bright and happy, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Phillip said, looking over his shoulder. “Hooley dooley, haven’t seen that pic in years.” He looked over at the cardboard box that Flash had pulled the picture from. “Meant to throw that stuff out.”

Flash chuckled, looking back into the box, which was full of old knick-knacks and other junk, illuminated by the bare bulbs on the angled ceiling of the attic of 221 Honeybee Bakery. “Yeah, my mom’s the same way,” he commented, leaning forward to examine the box’s contents more closely, the floorboards creaking beneath his weight. “You should see our attic back home, stuffed with old boxes. She’s got this big crate with dad’s stuff…”

His voice trailed off and his posture slumped, his head lowering. His eyes were pointed at the box, but his gaze was far off, as if staring right through the floorboards. Phillip paused in his search for the spare microscope to study the younger stallion, one hoof partially raising off the ground to reach out to him.

The moment passed quickly and Flash shook himself off. “So were you good?” he asked, picking up a dusty Chimeras cap.

“Like to think I was,” Phillip admitted, returning to his search.

“I liked sports when I was a kid,” Flash continued, trying onto the cap and quickly finding that the dust of years made it too itchy to wear. “Baseball and basketball were my favorites; also liked soccer, street hockey, rugby. I always wanted to try out for a high school team, but I was too busy working and studying.” He sighed as he pulled out a grass and dirt-stained jersey with “Finder” and the number 15 splashed across the back. “I kinda wish I had the time for it.”

“You wanted to support your mom after the accident,” Phillip said. “That was the mature thing to do, the right thing. No one should think less of you for that, least of all yourself.”

“Yeah, I know,” Flash said, pulling out two old and creaking but still functional baseball gloves. “But seeing all this makes me realize I haven’t even touched a ball in ages, and—” He looked into the bottom of the box and gasped. “No. Way.”

“What?” Phillip asked, looking up.

Flash reached into the box and extracted a baseball with a faded but still legible signature in blue ink between the seams. “This is signed by Foal Ruth!” he cried, eyes wide with amazement. “Where did you—?!”

“Oh, that,” Phillip said with a soft smile, taking the ball and examining it. “Forgot all about that. It was from a charity raffle the team put on: donate some money for the team, have a chance to win some prizes. Dad won the ball, but he never cared much for baseball; he just wanted to support me. Gave me the ball after.”

“Your dad sounds like a great guy,” Flash said, his eyes fixated on the autographed baseball.

“Yeah,” Phillip nodded. He tossed the baseball to Flash. “You can have it.”

Flash tried not to squeal in excitement. “Really?” he squeaked, grinning from ear to ear.

“Not doing anypony any good sitting in a box in my attic,” Phillip pointed out, turning and rummaging in the box he’d been searching. “Ah, there you are,” he declared, pulling out an old microscope. He peeked through the lenses. “Bit dusty, but still usable.”

Flash looked out the small round window in the attic. Outside was a perfect early spring day: the sun was shining, there were a few white clouds lazily drifting through the blue sky, and the ground was finally starting to dry after the great melt.

“Hey, you gonna be busy?” he asked, looking down at the baseball gloves.

Twenty minutes later, the two were in the backyard, tossing the autographed ball back and forth to one another. The thumping of the ball against the pleather of the gloves resounded through the crisp air.

“Put more of your shoulder into it,” Phillip instructed Flash as he tossed the ball back to the pegasus. “You’ll get faster, more accurate throws that way.”

His tongue between his teeth, Flash wound up, and swung his hips and shoulders into his throw, sending the ball arcing low into Phillip’s waiting glove. “Like that?”

“Better,” Phillip said, throwing the ball back. “But don’t swing your shoulders so much. You want to aim your whole body at the target, like you’re trying to push your shoulder into my glove. Not that different from throwing a punch.” He crouched down and held his glove in front of his chest. “Try it again.”

Flash paused, focusing on his target, the glove. He cocked one leg, then took a long step forward as he wound up like a spring, then thrust his whole body, hoof, hips, and shoulders forward. The ball streaked through the air and landed in Phillip’s glove with a solid whap, sending his hoof back into his chest.

“Ow, crikey!” Phillip yelped, staggering slightly. He took the glove off and shook his hoof out.

“You okay?” Flash called.

“I’m fine,” Phillip said, recollecting the glove and ball and tossing it back to Flash. “You’ve got the arm of a pitcher, jackaroo.”

“You think I could try out for the PPD team this year?” Flash asked, lazily throwing it back.

“It might help ‘em win against the fire department wankers at next year’s charity game,” Phillip replied with a small smile. “Mother knows they could use the help.”

Flash laughed as he caught the next toss. They continued their practice, chatting idly about things of no consequence, until the sun was dipping towards the western horizon.

Author's Note:

Few things say father and son relationship like some catch in the backyard.

Comments

[The Bricklayer]

Awwwwwwwwww....

Just adorable. Seriously, during this whole exchange, I got the smell of the pitch, and the CLACK! of the baseball bat hitting a home run.