Larish Will Go North
Jeff Larish brought his first baseman’s mitt to Lakeland this spring. He might not get to use it often, with Miguel Cabrera ahead of him. He plays third, but Brandon Inge is there. He plays the outfield corners, but Carlos Guillen and Magglio Ordonez are there. He swings from the left side, on a mostly right-handed hitting team, and thus has a good chance to be somewhere.
I hit left-handed, played outfield, and felt a natural at first base, the most expendable position on a sandlot team. Pitcher’s box was always out for first. There remains a place in my baseball heart for players who lost their position but make themselves useful in as many ways as they can.
Maggie thinks Jeff Larish is cute.
Margaret Catherine Yeats O’Neill, that is; the only girl in Mrs. Mieske’s seventh grade homeroom with four names, and the only one who was more interested in baseball cards than boys or hairstyles or Beatles songs. She has been a best friend, road trip companion, and sharer of hot dogs in the Tiger Stadium overhang; life-long Baseball Fan yet the one to point out that eight hours of televised games in one day might be too much. Her blonde hair is now streaked with gray, but her green eyes still sparkle when the national pastime is mentioned. As long as you’re writing about me, she says, you may as well use my real name. Just don’t mention you-know-what that happened in Cleveland, in Jacobs Field, in May 1994.
He’s cute, Maggie says again, as Larish’s image appears on the TV screen, from Lakeland. (This is how women evaluate and rank baseball players.) Can he hit? Do you think he’ll make it?
Jeff Larish homered twice against Washington this spring. He plays four positions, can DH, and hits left handed on a right-handed hitting team. Skipper Jim Leyland has also been impressed with the young Iowan’s baseball instincts. He has a very good chance to go north as winner of the one open position spot on the roster.
Larish digs a throw out of the dirt. Miguel Cabrera is away, playing in the World Baseball Classic.
“Nice scoop,” Maggie says. “You could do that. I watched you play.” Her tone tells me she means it.
Halfway through our forty-third spring training, I have yet to say I love you, Margaret with the four names. I do that now.
