Nothing to Get Hung About

Noah Davidson swung a baseball bat like a medieval battle axe. The professional scouts were aware of his exceptional talent, especially Mae Mae Gonzales. Mae Mae scouted for the New York Yankees and had a keen eye for discovering athletic talent where few dared look. Her male peers envied her because she was not a man, and because of her gift, but the misogynic behavior and prejudice only encouraged her all the more. She despised chauvinists.

Mae Mae discovered Noah in a run down college in Beeville, a south Texas town. The university, if one could call it that, was called Coastal Bend College. Noah played shortstop for the varsity team Cougars as a sophomore.

After a 9-2 loss to nearby Blinn College, Mae Mae called out to Noah just before he ducked into the confines of the home dugout. "Yo, Noah! Don't be down on yourself - you hit two homers!"

"And we Cougars lost," Noah replied. At 6'4" and 220 pounds, Noah was a modern Adonis in full bloom. Curly blonde locks and pristine aqua eyes revealed a sadness that betrayed his athleticism. His shoulders were broad as the Nile, his muscles rippled like aftershock tidal waves.

As he looked to Mae Mae he squinted into the sun that glistened her dark hair. Mae Mae tossed a folded note to him. Inside the dugout and on his way to his locker, he opened it to find Mae Mae's cell number. And thus began a mutually beneficial relationship.

Mae Mae and Noah met for dinner later that night at an Outback Steak House in Galveston, Texas. At 41, Mae Mae had seen multiple thousands of young men in their prime of life, and had even slept with a handful. It was one of her ways of endearing herself to Yankees management, and certainly in her mind's eye, nothing to get hung about. But now she had found her Romeo to her self-identified Juliet.

The relationship quickly ran into spring training a scant half-year later. Noah had been playing for the Somerset Patriots, a AA team in New Jersey, a close proximity to Manhattan. But the Yankees had called him to tryout for the Big Leagues at George M. Steinbrenner Field in Tampa, Florida. Mae Mae held a lot of sway with Yankee management; her willingness to do practically anything was her veritable ace in the hole.

This was his chance, maybe his only one, and he didn't want to throw his chances away. He couldn't allow alcohol, drugs or the steroids offered to him by teammates and well meaning fans to chip away at his opportunity for stardom.

And he also couldn't allow the fawning cougar M&M to sap his physical and mental strength. Something had to give.

In the fourth inning of a game Noah finally got his chance. He bobbled a sharp grounder to short and then threw it wide of first base for an error. The runner eventually scored.

Down 3-1 in the sixth inning, Noah stepped up to the plate, his wide, sturdy stance blocking out the setting sun. He was a strikeout victim on three pitches from a Venezuelan hurler.

In the ninth, still down 3-1. Noah made up for his go ahead error and drove a rocket over the right field fence with two men on, giving the club a satisfying 4-3 win.

The teenie-boppers threw themselves on him after the game, oohing and ahhing at him as if he were the neo-Babe Ruth. He soaked it up, signed autographs, and flirted, all to M&M's considerable disdain. She would have some of the boys intervene on her behalf later. They owed her.

Noah had looked up into the crowd and saw the scowl on M&M's face and it wasn't sweet as her namesake. He had to tell her it was over. Kaput. Done. Finished, at least for the time being.

Over a bountiful breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, coffee and toast the next morning, Noah sifted through his food like a haystack with his fork.

"What is it, Noah?" Mae Mae inquired.

Noah ignored her question and continued to play with his food.

"I saw you with the teens, you know. You gave your number to two of them. Pre-planned, tear off pieces of paper with your cell number. How cute, how original, how quaint," she continued sarcastically.

"What, I can't have fiends, Mae Mae?"

"It's not that, it's just that you need to concentrate on your game and your career, not young girls," M&M admonished. But it was that; her jealous nature rose up within.

Noah paused, flipped a pancake over, and looked into her eyes. "You're right. It's time we took a break. I'm sorry."

Perplexed, shocked, M&M spoke up. "Oh, you're ditching me now that I've made you? How brave, how cowardly."

Noah arose from the table, threw a $50 on the faded tablecloth and strode from the restaurant. "You didn't make me, Mae Mae. I'll call you after Spring Training." And with that he waved at a taxi outside the premises.

Furious, M&M chased after him. This could not be her final at bat, she would not flyout of his life for any period of time. She opened her clutch purse for her potential go ahead run.

"Noah?" She stood trembling a few meters away from him, fully aware of his speed and dexterity.

Noah spun slowly on his heels. "What is it, Mae Mae? I don't want a beef with you. Maybe another time."

"No, Noah - it's now or never," she remarked rather sternly.

"Cut the drama, M&M, for god's sake." He turned his back to her.

"It's nothing to get hung about," she told herself. There would be others, a calm voice assured her. But Mae Mae refused to listen. She retrieved a small .38 caliber from her purse. "Noah... one more thing..."

As he turned around anew, she fired, a slug lodging in his throwing shoulder. She jerked the trigger anew, the bullet wildly missing its intended mark and striking the bewildered cab driver in the forehead dead.

It's nothing to get hung about, get hung about, hung about.

Sirens wailed from afar as she lurched to the ground beside Noah's bled out body. Nothing to get hung about...yet.