Say lefty Don Liddle, shaking off the scandal
of induction, hums the old horsehide
toward the universally held strike
zone of 1954. Baseball, the world
he knows, though given to revolutions,
undergoes less Magnus force than a cross-
seam fastball when hurled “with
the stitches,” which, ipso facto, will
abruptly descend from its noumenal
plane as if rolling off a table,
resulting in a priori routine
grounder (a posteriori inning-ending
double-play can be neither
assumed nor ruled out). However, what if
the batter, a Neoplatonist, i.e., Vic Wertz, who,
waiting on a good one, discerns the lack
of backspin, adjusts his stride & weight
shift early in his swing, its slight
uppercut well-timed & directed to
hit the pitch squarely, sending it
screaming toward an ontological
argument? How far it goes
depends upon such variables as space, time, whether
the ball is smooth, scuffed, or necessarily
exists, all of which Willie Mays, back
turned, glove outstretched, intuits, Q.E.D. Chasing
the drive deep into the epistemological
gap at the Polo
Grounds, he spins & throws
simultaneously without regard
to paradox, the catch, das ding-an-sich,
indicative of positivism, treating
any discourse anent the nature
of reality as academic, ergo unworthy
of the discussion devoted hereinbefore.
of induction, hums the old horsehide
toward the universally held strike
zone of 1954. Baseball, the world
he knows, though given to revolutions,
undergoes less Magnus force than a cross-
seam fastball when hurled “with
the stitches,” which, ipso facto, will
abruptly descend from its noumenal
plane as if rolling off a table,
resulting in a priori routine
grounder (a posteriori inning-ending
double-play can be neither
assumed nor ruled out). However, what if
the batter, a Neoplatonist, i.e., Vic Wertz, who,
waiting on a good one, discerns the lack
of backspin, adjusts his stride & weight
shift early in his swing, its slight
uppercut well-timed & directed to
hit the pitch squarely, sending it
screaming toward an ontological
argument? How far it goes
depends upon such variables as space, time, whether
the ball is smooth, scuffed, or necessarily
exists, all of which Willie Mays, back
turned, glove outstretched, intuits, Q.E.D. Chasing
the drive deep into the epistemological
gap at the Polo
Grounds, he spins & throws
simultaneously without regard
to paradox, the catch, das ding-an-sich,
indicative of positivism, treating
any discourse anent the nature
of reality as academic, ergo unworthy
of the discussion devoted hereinbefore.
From Walking in Chicago with a Suitcase in My Hand (Knut House Press, 2016). First appeared in ABZ Review.
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