Muscotah

“I think I want to go.”

“That stopped being funny five miles ago.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I think I actually want to go.”

We�ve moved The 2018 Hardball Times Annual online to give the entire Internet the chance to read the research and insight The Hardball Times Annual has brought to print for the past 15 years.

Please consider supporting the 2018 Hardball Times Annual by
becoming a FanGraphs member. Your membership will help fund future Hardball Times Annuals, the thousands of articles FanGraphs publishes each year, and our ever growing database of baseball stats.

Support FanGraphs

He turned his head to peer at her. She fixed her eyes on the road.

“What?”

“I think I want to go.”

“Actually? It’s a stupid highway attraction. I thought you were joking.”

“I know, but—”

“And it’s almost six, and dinner is at seven, and my parents live sixty miles away.”

“Yes, I remember, and we’ll still—”

“So we aren’t going out of our way to this random town in search of the largest golf tee in the Midwest.”

A mile later, she corrected him.

“It’s not the largest golf tee in the Midwest. It’s the largest baseball in the world.”

He mumbled his confusion. Another car passed.

“You said it’s the largest golf tee in the Midwest. It’s actually the largest baseball in the world. And I think I want to go.”

She flicked on the headlights, absentminded. He glanced at the sunset, distracted.

“Who cares what it is?”

“Well, I do, for one. As do the presumably lovely townspeople of Muscotah, Kansas.”

“You’re still making jokes.”

“It’s true! They care very much. Why else would they put up signs for the last twenty miles? They’re proud of it.”

“It’s a tourist trap.”

“It’s a tourist invitation! For the weary traveler passing through the prairie, to take a reprieve from the road and revel in the splendor of the world’s largest baseball sculpture.”

“Stop.”

She continued.

“‘Hello, merry wanderer,’ it calls to the intrepid motorists speeding through cornfields and passing by Muscotah, Kansas without a second thought. They hurry to their destinations, but Muscotah awaits like a Siren. It beckons, it attracts: ‘Come hear our song.’”

“Their song?”

“The music of baseball! Vin Scully and the crack of the bat and the roar of the crowd. ‘Take Me Out to the Ballgame.’ Sirens, all of them.”

He sighed.

“It’s certainly better than this country crap you’ve had us listening to.”

“You’re still making jokes.”

“So?”

“So stop.”

“Of course I’m making jokes. It’s a big baseball, for Christ sake. It’s not serious. But it’s a tourist invitation, and I plan to accept.”

He crossed his arms and looked crossly at her.

“The invitation you accepted this evening was for dinner at my parents’.”

“And wouldn’t your parents be excited to learn we saw the world’s largest baseball before dinner?”

“They’ll be less excited when we show up half an hour late.”

She pointed as they sped by a well-timed sign.

“Who said we’re going to be late? Look: It’s only five miles away.”

“My parents live fifty-five miles away.”

“I know. I remember their street. It’ll just take five minutes.”

“No it won’t.”

“Yes. We find it, we get a picture, we leave.”

“It won’t take five minutes.”

“It will.”

He turned to look out the passenger’s-side window. The fields were full of shadows.

“It won’t. I know it won’t. We’ve been dating nine months, and I know you’ll find someone to talk to about the history of baseballs or golf tees or whatever the heck else is there, and I’ll be stuck tapping my watch and we’ll be late.”

“I promise I won’t do that. And there are no golf tees anyway.”

“Baseball. Whatever.”

“I promise. And we won’t even visit the Tinker museum.”

“The what?”

“The Tinker museum. The last sign said Muscotah also has the world’s largest collection of Joe Tinker memorabilia. Some towns get all the luck. Or should I say, all the chance.”

She paused, waiting for a laugh that didn’t come, and continued.

“Did you know he and Evers actually hated each other? Tinker, I mean, not Chance. It’s true. They didn’t talk off the field for years. But they compromised where baseball was concerned.”

He returned his gaze to her. It was full of shadows.

“We’re not going.”

“To the Tinker museum? I know. I said that. It’s okay if we just see the baseball.”

“No, I mean we’re not going to the baseball either.”

“It’ll take five minutes. Then we’ll go to your parents’ and I’ll compliment your dad’s burgers and lose to your mom on purpose in cards. But first let’s get a picture in front of the baseball.”

“I don’t want to get a picture in front of a hundred-foot baseball.”

“Do you really think it’s that tall?”

“I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“I want to know. That’s why I want to see it.”

“Why would anyone care how tall it is?”

“Yes, I know, dear: Size doesn’t matter. Unless you’re the world’s largest baseball sculpture.”

He didn’t respond. She made another joke.

“Hey, that would be a pretty good slogan for the thing.”

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“We’ve been driving for hours and I’m trying to lighten the mood. It’s not serious. It’s a baseball. What are you so worried about?”

“Are you serious?”

“No. Isn’t that the point?”

“You seriously don’t know what I’m worried about?”

“I’m serious that I’m not serious about any of this.”

He took a deep breath. His words emerged in a flood.

“You really think you can just walk into my parents’ house and everything will go great and you’ll say, great grilling, dad, and nice moves, mom? This is only the second holiday we’ve had at their house. Maybe that doesn’t worry you. You’re charming and fun and everyone wants to talk to you, so fine. It’ll be fine. But I am, and you’re not worried about that at all, and you’re the first girl I’ve ever introduced my parents to, and last time I spilled wine on the carpet and my dad insulted my grilling and I almost cried on the way home. I know you remember that. And that doesn’t worry you? And now this time we’re going to be late so I know things will go wrong, but they need to be perfect and they won’t if we go on some wild goose chase for a baseball and stay in freaking Muscotah, Kansas for half an hour looking at a big hunk of leather.”

He returned to the window. The corn was dark. A mile passed.

“I’m sorry.”

He turned back and spun the radio knob until he heard the telltale chatter. The Siren song settled over the center console. She nodded.

Another mile sped by. The radio spouted outs and counts and scores.

Muscotah passed in the rearview mirror.