Dying to Play Ball

Prompt: Include a wake or funeral in your story where the mourners have conflicting feelings about the deceased.

Dying to Play Ball

Wheels are screeching and there is a slopping sound of a mop on the floor. The smell of disinfectant and alcohol permeate the air.

“So, how are you feeling today’ Mr. Highhope?”

“Still breathing Mr. Clean. Mind if you mop over by the garbage can? My aim ain’t so good these days. Good thing I ain’t the starting pitcher for today’s game.”

“Don’t worry about your mess. I have it all under control. I’ll turn on your TV. It’s almost time for today’s baseball game. It’s game four of the National League Championship. Cubs versus the Mets.”

There is a click then humming and indistinct background chatter.

“Mr. Clean, my friend, it has always been my desire to play for the Cubs. God had other plans, however. He didn’t make me a good athlete let alone a baseball player. Maybe in heaven I can play ball really well…even with the Cubs.”

“But now Mr. Clean, I just don’t have the energy in me to watch them again. They’ve lost three straight games in the series. And worse yet all of them at Wrigley Field.”

“Say it ain’t so, Mr. Highhope. You’ve been a faithful Chicago Cubs fan since you were ten years old. You tell me never to give up hope for them Cubs. This could be the year my friend. Cubs will win it in 2015. Miracles can happen! They can come from behind!”

A sudden gasping and a thick cough preceded words spoken with a raspy voice.

“Got a frog stuck in my throat, Mr. Clean. It ain’t the Cubs I am talking about it. It’s those evil, cheatin’ New York Mets! They got us in ’69 and I haven’t been able to recover from that. I’m now 97 and this ticker of mine can’t take much more shock and awe of losing. It’s beating like a rapid-fire machine gun right now. Ratta tat, Ratta tat. Now the Mets are just one game away from the World Series.”

“Listen, I have some extra time to watch a few innings with you. Get you over the hump if those onery Mets jump out to an early lead. I’ll grab us some snacks too. Then I have to go about my business cleaning a few more rooms here at the rehab center.”

“Thanks, my friend I’d like your company. You have always been so good to me. I consider you a good friend, and I’ve been meaning to ask a favor of you. It’s a big one. I can see that the smile on your face is going to make this an easy request for me. You know, Mr. Clean, I mean George, I am on my way out. Not sure how much longer the ole ticker will last. Since I have no surviving family members I’d like for you to be the heir of my remaining estate. It comes with the responsibility of planning my funeral, however. George, do you think you would be up for the task? By the way, do you really think there is baseball in heaven? If so, I am wondering if God Almighty is a Cub fan or a White Sox fan. Could be a rough eternity if He is a White Sox fan!”

Snickering and irreverent laughter.

“Ha, Ha! I do know for a fact Mr. Highhope, there is always good news in heaven because the Bible says so. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.” (1) There are no losers in heaven whether in baseball or anything else. I wonder though if God would even let the Cubs play in heaven at all given their track record. And yes, I’d be honored to honor you. Did you have anything in particular you would want for me to do?”

“Yes. I look forward to that day Mr. Clean when my Jesus graces me with His presence. Until then, “How frail is humanity! How short is life, how full of trouble!” (2).I had seen the sadness of life on these very streets of Chicago. Oh, I had been so short-sighted in my life to help others. Mr. Clean, maybe you could do something about it after I am gone? Oh, and Mr. Clean, how long have we ‘ve known each other?”

The mopping sounds stopped.

“We’ve been acquaintances goin’ on two years now, Mr. Highhope.”

“Stuck in this room and this bed for that long just waiting to die. It ain’t hospice if I ain’t dying. The doctor’s got it all wrong. Fit as a fiddle.”

More rasping, mucoid coughing ensues.

“I believe that you are a man of decency and integrity, George. I want to open up my funeral to an incredible celebration of what I enjoyed in my life. I’ll leave the details to you. One thing I do specifically want is to be cremated. Unfortunately, I don’t think the owners would allow for my ashes to be scattered on the infield at Wrigley. Field. Maybe you can come up with an idea for the final resting place of my remains? Write this down. It’s the contact information for my lawyer, Sam Prudent. He will give you additional details on my estate. The lawyer will abide by your wishes for my funeral as well as the disposition of my estate.

Again, George, I appreciate you being here and doing this for me. Oh, I feel so tired now. Give me a few minutes to rest my eyes before they sing the anthem.”

“Ok, Mr. Highhope, get a little shuteye now.”

There is loud snoring which is quickly interrupted by the television blaring the following announcement:

“New York Mets have defeated the Chicago Cubs 8 to 3 in game four of the 2015 National League Championship series. Cub fans are exiting Wrigley Field dejectedly hoping maybe next year will be their year. One hundred eight years of utter disappointment.”

“Oh, I must have fallen asleep. I should check on Mr. Highhope. I sure hope he didn’t see this fiasco of a game. Mr. Highhope. Mr. Highhope! I can’t feel a pulse. Nurse! Nurse!”

There are scuffling of feet and a clatter of equipment. The commotion suddenly stops. Only one voice can be heard in the room.

“Oh man. Mr. Highhope! I am going to miss you. I am staying at your side all the way to your final resting place. The undertaker is coming to take you to the funeral home now. As I promised you, I’ll call the lawyer to set up your funeral.”

There is the passing of a sunset and the rising of the sun. A phone rings disturbing the quietness.

“Hello, this is George. Thank you for returning my earlier call, Mr. Prudent. Yes, Mr. Highhope wanted me to set up his funeral plans. He said you would be open to my ideas for his funeral. I can meet with you at your office. It is my day off.”

Sunlight through the high-rise windows amplified the ornate office furniture.

“Hello, Mr. Prudent. I am George Doright. Mr. Highhope affectionately called me Mr. Clean. Anyway, here is my plan for his funeral. He asked for a celebration of his life, but the only true thing I know about him is his love for the Chicago Cubs. He often dreamed about being a Chicago Cub player”

“Mr. Doright, let me interrupt you. Yes, he loved the Chicago Cubs. Something he didn’t tell you was the value of his estate. He amassed a fortune selling hot dogs, and food at ballpark concession stands across the U.S. Many knew him as the King of the Dog. His mantra was “no ketchup, only mustard.” Anyway, his estate is valued at over 250 million dollars. Some rumors linked him to the sinister Al Capone, but I have no evidence that he associated with him in his earlier days. Never once though did he ever bet on the Cubs to win. I suppose if he did, he would not have become a millionaire. Most of the 250 million dolllars is at your disposal aside from my fees and some incidental hospital bills. What is left after the funeral charges I have been directed by Mr. Highhope to give it to you. As far as I have been able to determine he has no living family to make claims on his estate. So, continue with your plan. Be extravagant as you wish”

“Mr. Prudent, I really had no idea! Mr. Highhope seemed to be an easy-going man of simple means. I’ve decided to celebrate his life to highlight his legacy of loving the beloved Chicago Cubs with a massive funeral celebration at Wrigley Field. I am going to rent out Wrigley Field in the next few weeks before the winter hits. The celebratory service will be held on the on the infield. His ashes will be centered on the pitcher’s mound surrounded by some personal pictures of himself. Viewing tables will be set up on the outfield warning track for dignitaries including yourself, the mayor, Joe Madden, Billy Williams and any other interested Cub players. After the ceremony, teams will be picked from crowd on hand to play in a schoolyard game of baseball on the actual field. Lunchboxes will be passed out containing hot dogs with mustard, caramel corn (Cracker Jack) and cookies to highlight his favorite foods. I’ll have ballpark vendors walk amongst the people passing out more dogs, snacks, soda and even beer! I want to open the gates to anyone interested in attending, even the homeless. I even plan to pass out a few tens and twenties just to make people smile. I think Mr. Highhope would be happy about that. So, what do you think Mr. Prudent?”

“Well, George, this is something I personally would not do. Nonetheless, you are the administrator of the estate as of today. It is quite the endeavor. You will need professional assistance with its execution in such a short timeframe. I think I would start with the owners of Wrigley Field which would need to agree with this crazy plan and allow for the Wrigley Field rental. In the meantime, good luck on the other details and I wish you success pulling this off.”

The calendar displays the month of December 2015 on Mr. Doright’s wall. A phone is ringing in the background.

“Hello? Oh, Mr. Prudent I was planning on giving you a call today. Things are going well. All the arrangements have been made with the Wrigley Field owners. The date for the memorial celebration has been set for next Saturday. This week I’ve been passing out tickets for $1.00 and giving freebies to the homeless. Mr. Highhope will not be alone on that day. There could be a few hundred in attendance, but I am prepared for lots, lots more, especially since everything will be free. Every ticket sold will be rebated at the gate and attendees will get even more money."

The day is Saturday. Huge crowds of people are gathering along Clark and Addison streets by Wrigley Field. A social media reporter makes his way through the crowds interviewing various people.

“I am doing a podcast today in early December with a hint of snow in the air outside of Wrigley Field where throngs have gathered to pay respects to an important member of the Chicago Cub nation. This event seems to have popped up mysteriously especially now that the baseball season ended for the Cubs in early November. Rumors say this is to be one gigantic celebration. So many questions that need answers. I can see the dugouts are decked out in red, white and blue bunting. Tables are set up on the warning track in the outfield with all kinds of food on them. Of all things there is a jar or rather an urn on the pitcher’s mound. Food venders by the droves line the aisles as we enter the stadium. Let’s find out what the attendees know.”

One by one the reporter makes his way down the lines of people taking their seats on the infield and in the stands. Prompting them with: “What do you make of all this? What is in the mysterious urn?”

“You, Mr. Reporter, tell me. This is quite the spectacle. Thousands have come out for this, but I am not sure what this is all about.”

“I came for the free hot dogs and snacks. Where is the beer stand?”

“I am a White Sox. I too came for the free food and the free money."

“My daddy says he was a great Cub player a long time ago.”

“Rumor has it that this guy in the urn was in cahoots with the mobster Al Capone.”

“I think he was a former owner with the Wrigley’s. Nobody knew him or liked him.”

“I think he just wanted a big send-off to that Field of Deams in the sky. Some say he never even played baseball.”

“My husband says he was a great benefactor and made his fortune on betting in sports, especially on the Cubs.”

“I hear he was a recluse who invented the aluminum bat. He owned and sold the bat used by Babe Ruth for millions.”

“The urn is empty and no one died. It’s all a ruse to get people’s minds off the pathetic year the Cubs had just finished in 2015."

“I heard this guy invented the Chicago hot dog. No ketchup, only mustard. Made millions in this city from it.”

“We came from the St. Louis Cardinals’ head office because we heard that one of the owners had died. We wanted to gloat and party at the same time.”

“I was a nurse at the hospice center where he suffered for the last two years. I came to pay my respects to a man who loved that great American past time, baseball.”

"What's the catch? Nobody gets nothing without giving up something. This guy was a fraud."

The noise of the gathering crowds stops. The reporter stops his interviewing. About two dozen men dressed in assorted Cub baseball shirts holding bats, gloves and balls gathered on the infield. A man dressed in a tuxedo walks to a nearby microphone. He taps it and the stadium echoes a “thub, thub, thub” noise.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is George Doright. I welcome you today to honor the memory of an enduring Cub’s fan and dear friend who has passed from this life into eternity. He was Mr. Henry Highhope. His parting wish was to commemorate his life and his passion for the Cubs. He believed that one day victory would be eminent for the Cubs. Unfortunately, he did not live to see it. More importantly however, on the day of his remembrance he wanted to instill that hope is eternal. We have purpose in our hope and faith that there is always a tomorrow for us all in this life and beyond the grave. Henry’s soul is experiencing that now eternally in the arms of his Savior Jesus. Henry would always remind me that there will be a day when the Chicago Cubs would play in the World Series and actually win it! In honor of Henry Highhope, the men here on the infield will play a simulated World Series game. Both teams are Cub teams. So, no matter which team wins it will be the Cubs! Eat hearty because the King of the Dogs left us with plenty to eat.”

“Later on his podcast the media reporter said that Mr. Doright walked to the ivy-covered wall in the outfield. He cut a twig of ivy and walked back to the pitcher’s mound where he gathered up the urn. He mixed some infield dirt with Henry’s ashes and planted the ivy twig.

Mr. Doright replanted that twig on November 3, 2016, the day after the Cubs won the World Series from Cleveland in seven games.

-END-

All praise to God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. God is our merciful Father and the source of all comfort. For we live by believing and not by seeing. (3)

NLT=New Living Translation Bible

Revelation 21:4, NLT

Job 14:1. NLT

2 Corinthians 1:3, 5:7, NLT

Author: Pete Gautchier

Acknowledgement: Reedsyprompts.com