the butterflies of march
"If I chose, I could extend a hand, touch buttons and engulf myself in the balanced clamor of eight loudspeakers, obliterating the moment without restraining the clock or calendar. Beyond my bedroom door a manila folder lurked, pregnant with overdue portrait commissions. Canvas awaits brush. Brush awaits mood. Mood waits.
That cracked it. Does the vodka martini induce disaster? Or does disaster induce the vodka martini? It had been a singular night. She behaved like a woman with a claim, as if we had already explored deep secrets. Her possessive babbly perplexed and irritated me, but she wanted to come home. I tuned her out and brought her along... "
If you guessed that these were some of the opening words to a book "written" by a baseball player, ding ding ding! It's from The Way It Is, Curt Flood's book. A little grandiose for a meathead, n'est ce pas? Sure, you can blame the ghost of Richard Carter, but maybe Curt Flood is one of those chaps that actually talks that way.
Unlikely for a jock, but remember: Curt Flood was exceptional.