Teaball

My Early Life in Sports

She called it a ball
(my grandmother did)
but it wasn’t a ball
not to my mind
this “ball” was shaped like
a large walnut or a small egg
it wasn’t round
to my mind a ball
is round
except, of course,
the oblong oddly-shaped pigskin
my brother would toss in the yard
and play “flag” with his friends
and tell me I couldn’t play because
I was too little and too young and
“Go away!”

She called it a ball
but it wasn’t a ball
not to my mind
this “ball” was made of
cheap pressed metal covered
with shiny chrome
it wasn’t made of rubber
to my mind a ball
is made of rubber
except, of course,
the billiard balls on the felt covered tables
in the store-front first-floor pool hall
beneath my grandfather’s second-floor
insurance agency
the pool hall I wasn’t supposed to enter
except, of course,
that I did and learned to shoot snooker
at seven years of age —
seven-year-old snooker-shootin’ Kansas Slim —
until someone would say
what’s that kid doing here?
“Get lost!”

She called it a ball
but it wasn’t a ball
not to my mind
this ball was attached to a chain
a chain that ended in a hook
to my mind a ball
is unattached
except, of course,
the red rubber ping-pong-sized ball
attached by its long elastic rubber band
to the wooden paddle my cousin
could hit that thing a thousand times
and never miss and I was lucky
to hit it maybe five times
before it would hit me in the face
and my cousin would laugh and take it back
“Give it!”

She called it a ball
but it wasn’t a ball
not to my mind
this ball was covered with holes
to my mind a ball
has a solid surface no holes
except, of course,
the whiffle ball we would take to the street
and hit with a stick when we couldn’t find the bat
playing what we called baseball
but the adults called stickball
in the middle of Fourth Street
until some driver or the local cop
would tell us no you can’t do that
“Go home!”

She called it a ball
and when I’d come home because
I couldn’t play football or
I couldn’t play snooker or
I couldn’t play paddle ball or
I couldn’t play baseball then
she’d take that ball from it’s nail
above and a little to the side of her stove
and she’d open it up and fill it with tea
and hang it on the side of her tea pot
that chipped china pot with the roses
and fill the pot from her kettle
into a cup she’d put a spoon or two of honey
with a couple crushed leaves of fresh mint
from the patch between the hen house and the fence
and she’d pour the tea
and we’d sit
and I’d forget
about football or snooker or paddle ball or baseball

She called it a ball
but it wasn’t a ball
not to my mind
to my mind a ball
is not magic

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by C. Eric Funston
22 August 2014