WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING IN GERMANY
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4/5
It’s all changing. I arrived last night after missing my connecting flight in Madrid by seconds. I was running through the airport with my carry ons asking people where the hell J47 was. When I got to the gate, the guy just said; “too late,” and walked away. I took my sweatshirt off and kicked it on the floor.
Chris Haas, our assistant coach picked me up at the airport. I am thirsty and don’t have any water in my little room here and don’t know if it’s okay to drink the tap water. They haven’t paid me any euros yet to go to the store down the street. Ten minutes from the airport, on the autobahn, we got a flat tire – really flat – like shake car for thirty seconds until you slow down enough to pull off the road. Chris said, “Shit”. He speaks good English. He took out a little orange triangular reflective flag that was next to the jack securely screwed in the trunk and propped it up on the road about 100 feet behind the van. I thought this a very good idea and wondered if everything in Germany was so well thought out and couldn’t help but think about hoe good Eichmann was at organizing those trains schedules to as the cars wizzed past rocking our van. It was cold and raining. I had woke up right as we had landed and I looked out the little plane window to my left and saw leafless trees and a brown open field and a grey sky. It scared me. We sat and waited for Michael, our head coach – I think that’s his name – to pick me up – the rest of the team was waiting to meet me at an Italian restaurant near the field. Paulino had arrived from the Dominican earlier that day. I was supposed to have land half and hour after him, but I missed my connecting flight like I said. Michael finally arrived and we talked about German Pro Baseball and drove through the rain. I had no idea where we were or where we were going that’s how it always feels when your driving through rain at night. He has bad breathe but I liked it. Only five or six guys were still at the restaurant by the time I finally arrived. I was wearing my “D” hat for Disciples – The Haar Disciples, Chris had given me at the airport. I ate a plate of Tortellini with Bolognese and drank water with bubbles – “ con gas” I remember people in Argentina call it. The five guys that were there were very nice and I tried also to be very nice though I was honestly tired.
Mo took me and Paulino to our rooms after dinner. Each team in the Bundisliga (top league) in Germany is allowed two foreign players – we are them. I actually know Paulino because we also played in the same league last summer – in Israel. He was with the Giants organization for four years – a good player. I understand why he is here – it’s hard to make money in the Dominican – I’ve played there too – so if he can come here to play and mail home some euros – he’s doin’ good for his family. Why exactly I am here I still have not figured out. I have my life in New York and I am certainly too old for this shit I thought as I walked into my room that looks like a dorm room – colorful striped, scratchy, shets on the little bed. Well, I have to go now, we have our first practice in 45 minutes.
4/5 (after practice)
I struck out in my first at bat on the European continent. Doubled off the left field wall my second. I made two plays at third base. The field is pretty nice. My schedule – so I am told – will be something like this. We play one day week – that’s not a typo or a misread by you – we actually only play one day a week, and as I realize my surroundings, I am trying to think of this less as professional baseball and more as a paid six month writing retreat in Europe. The other six days of the week I can go to the field if I choose to practice or help run practice for one of the younger age groups.
After the game today, me and Paulino went to the supermarket down the street – from what I‘ve gathered, the only place to go in our immediate area. And that brings me to the immediate area. I am being housed, I’ve found out, in the sane building of a mental institution – the building the staff lives in. It is right down the street from the field which is why I imagine they’ve put us up here – I hope its not because they know I’m a lil crazy. I have a single room. It is small. I share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor including Wolfgang who I met earlier. I also share the kitchen with everyone else. The showers are down stairs. I am on the second floor – room 39, and Paulino is down the hall in 44. Me and Paulion spent 110 euros at the grocery – about 200 dollars. The manager at the supermarket helped us find stuff. We are a funny couple, me and Paulino. I only speak English and he doesn’t even speak that – only Spanish – neither of us speak a word of German. I should hate it here. I mean, compared to my life in NY, this is shit. In New York I have an apartment, a job, friends, an agent, a cool cell phone, a web site – here, I have a dorm room, a shitty little cell phone the team issued me – I just paused to think of other things I have here, but I’ coming up blank – that’s it. But, the funny thing is, I like it. Things seem to be unfolding at a more appropriate pace then in the city. In New York, I sit and do any number of things – possibly even nothing – order food, and eat the food all within the hour. Paulino cooked chicken and rice and beans for dinner and between the shopping and the cooking, it took all afternoon. The place is a real shit-hole and I’m fuckin’ exhausted, but I think I like it. . Hozomeen, Hozomeen – it looks like six months of desolation for me like Kerouac on the mountain – at least I’ll get some writing done. We leave tomorrow morning at 530 am for a double header somewhere near the border of France – a four hour ride each direction. I’m going to go masturbate or something.
4/6
I’m exhausted. As planned, we left this morning I in the dark – 5:30 – and drove through Germany four hours to Neunburg, 5 kilometers from the French border. It was raining and snowing the whole time and I was sure the games would be cancelled, but like Coach Mike said, the weather seems to always be good in Neumberg or whatever it’s called and it was a pretty nice day – a little cold. The team is a pretty laid back bunch – pretty much just like all other ball teams I’ve ever been on – stupid and close. For some reason I expected our team to be different because the players are European , but I am seeing that stupidity is not uniquely American – it’s just a common trait of athletes. Gregor, our center fielder, an Austrian national team player, gave me a bat with my our team name, Haar Disciples, engraved into the barrel with my name underneath. It was very nice of him.
I was taken by surprise when we started warming up before the game. I am used to my own routine, and usually in pro ball everyone is sort of doing there own thing before game time, but in an instant this group of friends turned into an army brigade and started doing drills I had never seen before as if they’d been doing them since birth - maybe cause they have. Two players at a time would run to the coach about fifteen feet away, quickly change directions, back peddle back to the starting line, then sprint 90 feet – the distance of the bas. Once the set of two passed coach for the second time the next two started. I tried to keep up but was sufficiently winded as I’ve been here for two days, have barely eaten or slept and am just trying to get my bearings.
I can’t help use the reference “brigade” in this case - the world war two thing is just screaming at me. After the games we “went to the showers” I was just hoping water came out and felt a hint of what my recent relatives must have when undressing and being identified as a jew with a circumcised penis. It was okay – just water – though a little cold. On the way back from the game we drove passed Dauchau – just another town on the road sign. We won the firs game – lost the second. I was roughly 1 for 9 at the plate. Paulino hit a home run. Everyone was really upset about the loss. Coach gently told us it was a “shitty thing to have to ride four and a half hours home with the taste of a loss” in his unforgiving German accent; at least it was English. He looked at me most of the time and it freaked me out a bit. First, I am honestly scared of German accents, something I’m working on, second, it made me wonder what they are expecting from me – I am sure its not a 1 for 9 performance but I really hope ts not a carry the team on your back scenario. Speaking of expectations – I got paid today. Life is good when you are paid to play baseball though I must say – this is it for me – my last season, and if we played any more than one day a week, I simply could not do it. My arm is currently falling off - something I knew when I signed to come play here, but I convinced myself I could push through 28 games over six months and abuse my body one last summer for the chance to live in Europe on someone else’s dime. I haven’t said anything about my arm except in the preliminary e-mails with coach where we negotiated my sweet deal. I am so tired that I currently have no feeling about being here – it feels the same but different – somewhat out of body so far though that is a cliché and might not evoke any image or feeling for you in particular (sorry). I must finish my glass of wine, roll my cigarette, smoke my cigarette, and sleep – it’s become a quick ritual – oh yeah, I can’t forget – masturbate. My first day off is tomorrow so I should have some time to elaborate on this whole insane situation I’ve gotten into that I’m not sure I like or not yet. Until then…
4/7
Just ate dinner with Paulino. It never occurred to me how much time we’d inevitably spend together. And did I mention he speaks virtually no English. On our walk to the supermarket this morning – after our breakfast – we had one of our longest conversations; it went like this.
Paulino: Window
Me: Widow?
Paulino: E Window
Me: What window?
Paulino: E windy
Me: Oh, yes, it’s windy.
The manager of the supermarket now just starts laughing when she sees us walk in. On today’s visit she explained to me most of the meat in Germany is at least mixed with pork and she programmed Paulinos cell phone for him – she is something like our mother for now.
I had an absolute nightmare, meltdown, deal breaker, I’m out of here experience this morning. My computer has been working fine thus far as you know because you’re reading words I typed on it. The computer was the only thing plugged into the outlet next to the tiny desk in my tiny dorm room I will describe better later, and it was somehow handling the 220 volts of electricity European outlets pump out though it is built to take 110 volts – American style (must have something to do with the little box on the power cord). I went to plug in the champ. The champ is a small guitar amplifier I use as a speaker on my travels. The word champ is a combination of chest and amp because as I said it is an amp, and I the past I‘ve worn it around my neck attached to a rope or necklace or whatever though I have not achieved a comfort level here yet that would allow me to do such a thing. So I plugged the champ in, it made a loud pop and began smoking from its back. Toast!!! I immediately unplugged the champ and my computer went black screen. I tried plugging it into other outlets in the room – more accurately, the one other outlet. Nothing, or as the Germans would say, nussing. Thought I was totally fucked. I suspected the champ might not make it through the initial plug in as its power source, a small back box began to hum and vibrate a bit when I first plugged it in. It was pure haste that made me go forward with the attempt, and after it exploded and the computer zapped out, I paced the room mad at myself. I found a half pack of light purple post-its when unpacking and have been keeping notes of things I need to get to make my life here livable. After two minutes of pacing, I took a post it out and wrote “computer” on it. As far as I was concerned if I didn’t have a computer I could not make here six months which raises al kinds of questions about how fucked up it is that I couldn’t live without a computer, but I rationalize the whole thing with the fact that I’m a writer and at least my need of computers is not solely based on porn and I decided I could live with a typewriter if I had to. Mind you, this is all before me and Paulino’s breakfast which I was expected to prepare according to our agreement of alternating cooking the meals, or at least I think that’s the agreement. So I went into the kitchen where he waited and hooked up some eggs and turkey and swiss on whole wheat bread, one of my classics, and tried not to think of the fact that my life was completely fucked.
After breakfast, on the walk back from the grocery, I called mo, the kid who works for the team and takes care of foreign players, among other things, to explain my predicament. He said he was planning on coming over anyways to drop us off some plates and laundry detergent and stuff. Even through this fucked up morning, I felt surprisingly okay and I’m convinced it’s got to be the fact that I’m sober for the first time in five years and my mind and body just take to that better. Mo showed us the laundry room in the basement we hadn’t seen. I stole a little bookshelf for my room and then we went into Munich for the first time. The way the train works out here is you buy a card and voluntarily get it stamped each time you ride for 2 euros - roughly 4 dollars. But Mo said the guys only check stamps every once and a while and he always just rides for free and deals with the fine if he gets caught. Sounded perfect. Munich is awesome – a really cool looking city – though unfortunately, I live in a shit box roughly ten kilometers south of Munich. I might end up renting a place in the city – Fuck It.
I just got a text message. I get weird German text advertisements about once an hour on my phone the little pay as you go phone the team gave me, and even though I have no idea what they say, I still like getting them because I have virtually no human contact right now and it makes me feel normal. This one said; die angegebenen informatioinnen sche nicht aus. Bitte geben sie buchstaben oder 6 ziffern an.
Son in Munich me and Paulino bought adapters for the rooms though I was convinced it was two late and my comp was fucked. I told myself the only way any good could come of this situation is if I learn not to act so hastily anymore. It felt good to be around people, on the train, walking fast through the streets, cutting someone off, looking at women. Did I mention I’m rakishly horny. The guys on the team told me an American girl is coming to play on the softball team, not that I am exclusively looking for American women – it just seems like an easy angle and I’m just hoping she’s fine, or cool, or, don’t want to push it, both. Unlikely. Anyways, we cruised Munich for a few hours. Today is a Monday and Monday is our off day and since this post is already long and I promised in my last post to explain what the fuck I’m doing in Germany I’ll just tell you the converter works and my computer and life are not fucked forever. I almost cried I was so happy. Then me and Paulino cooked pasta and brcooli.
You know what, I’ll explain wha I’m doing here in my next post – I’m tires. Here’s a poem I wrote instead.
This is my life
And I am alone
And it makes me sad
And it makes me glad
I have a pair of Nikes
stuck to my face.
4/8
Okay, here’s the deal. 10 days ago, wow – can’t believe it was only ten days ago my life was so different, I got a phone call from a guy I played with last summer. He said there’s a team in Germany that needs a corner infielder and the pay is good and there’s lots o free time and the fields are nice and it’s a good set up all around. I had no intentions of playing ball this summer or ever again really considering I’m 28, I have tons of shit going on in my life away from baseball, and mostly because when I went to see an orthopedic surgeon in New York he told me I have a tear in my shoulder – my labrum specifically. I told him thanks for calling but I couldn’t do it. I called my dad to see what he thought and he confirmed it was a stupid idea and shouldn’t do it “Just move on with your life,” he said. The next day I was out to brunch in Brooklyn with friends and I casually mentioned the offer – they quickly stopped eating and asked me if I’m crazy and that I should definitely do it. “What else are you gonna do? – stay in NY all summer and do nothing with a bunch of assholes who do coke all night?” We’ll skip my defensive reaction to the implication that I do “nothing” and proceed, proceed to me walking outside the restaurant to call Gregg, the guy who made the initial offer. I asked him or the phone number of the team in Germany and told him I’d possibly changed my mind and I just wanted to talk to them to get some details. I tried calling Germany , but my phone wouldn’t make the call, so I go the e-mail address, sent the team an e-mail and started dong research online about the league there/here. I got an immediate, enthusiastic response from the assistant coach, Chris, saying they definitely wanted me as soon as possible – the season started that weekend and if at all possible, could I fly out later that week. I called my parents again. My mom said if I wanted to do it I should – that it sounded like a cool opportunity to live in Europe for a while and write and since I “wasn’t doing anything in NY anways – why not”. Why does everyone think I do nothing? I sent an e-mail back saying I could leave Thursday – it was Sunday. I called my job – quit – put and add for a six month sublet of my apartment on Craigs List and started making lists of things I had to do before I left. What my friends who recommended I go don’t understand is how unglamorous playing professional baseball overseas is. They think it sounds amazing. Go to Europe – get paid to play – tell the girls I’m a pro athlete – and live the life. What I now already too well is that the conditions would likely suck and no one here would care about baseball. I did it anyways – took a chance. The deal I negotiated with the team via e-mail is this. 700 Euros a month, round trip air fare, a cell phone, and a furnished apartment for the duration of my stay. I told them about my shoulder. They didn’t seem t care and even reassured me it would likely be fine because we only play once a week. They explained we have one game day a week – doubleheaders on Sundays. We are off Mondays, I would be expected to coach a younger Haar Disciples team on Tuesday afternoons. We practice Wednesdays, off Thursday, practice Friday, I still don’t know about Saturdays, and games Sunday. And there is a three week break halfway through the season with n practice and no games. I had already old teams in Los Angeles and Israel “no” to playing this summer, but such a light schedule and pretty good deal sounded cool. My team , as I’ve mentioned, is called the Haar Disciples. We play in the Bundisliga (famous for soccer) which just means “top league” in German. It is the highest level of baseball in Germany and the only level where the players are paid. The Disciples are a baseball/softball club and also have a second level team, two softball teams, and a whole youth program. Two foreign players are allowed on each team and there are all kinds of rules about how any foreign players can be on the field at one time and what positions they can be playing at that time. For example, a foreign player cannot pitch the first game of the double header and there cannot be a foreign short stop and a foreign catcher playing at the same time because those two positions are so important. The second ule mention might just be the saving grace of my summer as Paulino plays short stop , and though they want me to catch, it would mean either moving him to another position, or removing him from the game. Catching is brutal, and though I can do it, I’d always prefer not to.
My flight left Thursday at 9 pm. I pretty much took care of everything I needed to do by Wednesday night and we had a big table for twenty at a cheap Italian place in the East Village the night before I left. I said goodbye to everyone, went for a last shop Thursay afternoon with my sister, and went to the airport Thursday afternoon with her and my folks who drove down to say goodbye and one of my goodest friends. I felt thankful for all the love I have in my life and realized that doing shit like this forces you to take some kind of life inventory where you pack all the things you really need, tell all the people you really love that you really love them, and stash the rest in the closet til you get back. There was a two our delay in New York which is why I missed my connection in Madrid (the Madrid airport is rad and Spain looked nice from the big windows facing the hills). Chris, the coach who I was e-maling with was waiting for me at the airport and I alredy explained our little adventure out n the autobon in an earlier post. It’s been five days here so far, ten days since I got the offer. Last year I had nine months to prepare for leaving to play, this year I had five days. I think I like it here, or at least I keep telling myself I do. Like I said, “the apartment” I was promised is actaully a dorm room on the sprawling campus of and psychiatric institute. I did find a little café on the campus here where families of the crazy people housed here sit and eat and drink beer when they come visit. It is a depressed scene but I was glad to find the place – they serve pretty good coffee – and I plan on being there a while each day. Well, this sure is the simple life. I have one plate, one dish, one fork, cook every meal, and there’s no where to go but in my head or cruise with Paulino. Funny thing is, the week before I got the call from Gregg in California, I was thinking I needed a big change, seclusion, a chance to sober up and finish my book, grow. Now – here I am in Haar, Germany.
4/9
I will begin this entry by stating again that I am tired. Though we only play on Sundays, we practice every day, and practice is long, and since me and Paulino, or at least Paulino, have nothing else to do here besides walk to the field and practice, we go over each day around 4 and work out ti 8. My routine seems to be shaping up like this. I fall asleep around midnight after me and Paulino eat a huge supper in my room as an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm plays on my computer. My sister bought me season five when she found out I was leaving because she is smart and knows there would be nothing here for me to do. I am sure Paulino understands very little of the show, but he usually laughs at vaguely appropriate times and refers to Larry David as “Idio” (translation = idiot). Also, Pauliono refers to the crazy people we can see shuffling around the hospital campus from our room windows as “the people with memory problems,” which is now how I refer to them as well in our conversations. Our diet is limited. Tonight we had spaghetti for the second time in three nights. We usually cook too much and end up eating the leftovers along with whatever we fix for breakfast which brings me to mornings. I set an alarm on my little phone for 9 am. I am supposed to read for one hour, prepare breakfast, take a poo, clean my room, and head down to the café for coffee at twelve – when it opens. But I sleep an extra hour knowing that list of things will not take long. I bring a book and a notepad to the café with me. Today I started Beirut to Jerusalem, the once authoritative and entertaining, now outdated text on the Middle East conflict. After coffee, we either walk to the grocery store for whatever we need and to say hello to our German mom, the manager there. She still laughs hard every time she sees us walk in and usually begins speaking German to one of the cashiers who begins laughing also. I am not sure what they’re talking about but I’m growing suspicious because I put thirty euros on my little phone two days ago – talked on it for maybe a total of half an hour – and the minutes are already used up. I was surprised today when Paulino and I were there buying laundry detergent and they noticed, by name, the Charles Bukowski book of poems I was carrying. And they were surprised I was carrying it, and we stood surprised at one another for a moment – me, manager/mom, cashier, and Paulino who was not surprised by anything. Between going to the store or doing laundry or whatever single task must be accomplished during the day, we have roughly two hours before leaving for practice. In this time I roll a cigarette, smoke half of it and begin writing for my book, or at least I did today and since we’ve only been here six days and am settling in, I imagine I will continue to do so. At 4 we leave for practice – practice till 8, walk home, shower, cook, eat, watch Curb Enthusiasm, clean up, Paulino leaves for his room, I type my blog entry, go to sleep. The absolute saving grace of this experience is having my own room. I have hung many things on the wall already, and betwen the book case I stole the other day, and the grandfather clock I found, my room is shaping up. But the clock ticks back and forth and I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m convinced it was from the noise I’ll give it one more night and if it annoys me again, I’ll smash it into pieces. I already ripped off the gold gizzard thing that swings back and forth. Did I mention my arm hurts – correction, everything hurts. It seems they plan to squeeze out of me their 700 euros worth every month as I am made to throw batting practice and catch bullpens at practice each day. I say nothing, just wince a bit when no one’s looking. One of the perks of playing shit ass pro ball is no trainers. I down Advil and would ice if I had access to some. Sometimes I find my mind drifting into a fantasy where I get officially inured and they send me home. We’ll see, we play two on Sunday, maybe I’ll fracture and eye socket or two or bleed almost to death on the field and be outahere. We shall see. But I can’t lie, after all these fuckin’ years, playing baseball’s still fun, and getting paid to do it is even better.
4/10/08
It’s been a week of solitude and I’m ready for some action. I realize I’m used to an unaverage amount of it in my life and in its absence I find myself dancing in my room wanting my friends to be around. Every night I get dressed – right now I’m wearing jeans, a green collared t-shirt, nice socks, and new shoes – but for no reason, nothing ever happens. If there was anything around, I’d make something happen, but it’s just not an option out here. The guys from the team said they’re going to go out tomorrow night. I shall drink 3,000 beers.
Me and Paulino ate rice, beans, corn, carrots and broccoli for dinner. Maybe I should call this blog, The Germany Diet, and publish it and make some money. Today was more o the same – wake up, read, café, the store (today is was for q-tips and batteries and to minutes on my phone), write, practice at 4, shower, dinner, Curb Your Enthusiam (I don’t even like the show that much), this. We’re already on episode 6 of ten and I don’t know what we’re going to do when we finish disc two. I made my first painting in Germany tonight (see photo) and I’m glad I brought some art supplies along. Not much else to report on so I will discuss a bit about what I’ve fond out about Germany, more accurately, Germans thus far. In the three days I had to prepare before I left, I was able to gather some information about Germany from people in New York who had been here and felt obligated to tell me there thoughts on this place as people often do when you tell them you’re going someplace they’ve been. First, I heard Munich is a nice city. And it is. Too bad I live in Haar. Then I heard Berlin is nicer; I hope I get to find out if that’s true. James, a guy at my job, told me Germans are “scared of confrontation” and are very nice if only from this urge to not offend. I must admit, a large part of me wanting to come here was to see what it’s like fifty years after the war. I asked Mo what religion most people in Germany are. He said, “Da, I do know,” and acted as though he either honestly did not know or had no interest in discussing it. The guys on the team know I’m Jewish, the head coach even called the day before I left to ask if I wanted a kosher meal on the flight. I half think they’re expecting me to break into some world war two fit - I’d just like to have a conversation about what it means to their generation, but it seems like no one wants to talk about it. Another thing I found out before leaving was that because baseball is not a central sport like soccer is in Germany, that it attracts some funny characters – different than our idea in America of the athletic ballplayer. And so far, the guys who hang out at the ballpark are anything but athletic. Nice, yes. Goofy, yes. Athletic, no. Most of the better players from the younger divisions are Japanese. I don’t fully understand what they doing here, but there are a lot of them. I think they’re here for two year visits and it has something to do with the car companies; BMW, Mercedes, Volts Wagen, but I’m not totally sure. So, there are the Japanese players, there are three or four Spanish speaking kids (Paulino was happy to find out) and the rest are German with American parents or some half interesting story about why they play baseball in a country where no one else does. For example, my head coach, Mike, with the bad breathe, played a game they call handball here. It’s not the same handball from New York. This handball involves teams, and goals, and a lot of throwing – something like soccer with your hands, and since its played indoors and only during winter, they had to find another way to practice throwing, so they started a one of the first baseball clubs in Germany. That was thirty years ago. Mike and the rest don’t really look like ballplayers, but all are accepted from the goofiest guy in the dugout to the new Jewish American, no one but no one is made fun of - the new German identity – better late than never, but how this shit happened here so recently I still cannot understand even after comparative religion courses, a class called “evil in the 20th century”, reading Kant, Neitchze, Hanna Arhent, and more, but I am going to find out.
4/12/08
I’m drunk, finally. I just arrived home from the city. I must admit, it is scary as fuck arriving home to a mental institution – walking through alone in the dark half expecting an escaped patient to jump from behind a bush and bite my ankles. Germany, mental hospital – the perfect setting for a horror. Well, I made it into my room, ate some peanut butter with a spoon and now I’m typing. I had a fun day. Manu, one of the guys on the team thankfully called me to invite me and Paulno to a scavenger hunt around Munich one of his friends organizes every year. The guy who organized it is Peter, Peter lives in a store front/loft that is very cool and seems to live a fun life here in Munich. I wanted to ask him if I could move in, but instead just thanked him for the day and wished him a happy birthday. We had bikes. Manu borrowed one of his friend’s for me and we cruised the whole city for like five hours looking for answers to the questions on the paper test Peter had written. It was fun. Almost immediately after we mounted our bikes – just as I was admitting to not being too slick on a bike, I fell after ramming into a high curb and we all had a laugh. Paulino would not come along because yesterday we were caught on the train without tickets as Mo advised. I was keeping a look out, but the checkers came up from behind and asked us for our tickets. I acted as though I had no idea what was going on and was not prepared to give them the forty euros fine they demanded we pay. Paulino quickly counted out forty and handed it over. He is very religious and very scared to “go to jail” as he’s said many times. I’ve concluded both that as a black man he has a well deserved fear of being wrongly imprisoned, and as a religious man, he is quite obedient as religion breads obedience. He said, “Me no go to city anymo,” when I invited him along. The officials only made us pay a total of forty instead of forty each partly because it was obvious we were foreigners and because of my refusal to pay anything. So, a fun day, it felt familiar – people, noise, music, laughter, buzzing conversation, girls. I hung out with Katherine most of the time but was looking at the blonde who was looking at me. I bet we see each other again – me and the blonde that is. I know Katherine will see each other again because she is coming to our game tomorrow. Which brings me to our game tomorrow. We have two of them – a double header, the s-bon series. The s-bon is the name of the train system here and since the other team is also form Munich, a few stops away, its called the s-bon series like when the Mets play the Yankees it’s the Subway Series. Theres even little flyers made up that say” s-bon series” that will be passed out to fans at the game tomorrow. And I must sleep as I cannot go 1 for 9 again like last week. There’s no excuse this time. Must sleep. Must hit home runs. See you tomorrow night.
4/13/08
We split today (won one, lost one) just like last weekend. I was 4 for 8. I felt surprisingly good considering how drunk I was last night. We had to be on the field at 9 am – three hours before game time – to “set up”. I keep finding things out about this German league as they happen – no warning. Setting up consisted of putting up a home run fence in the outfield, building the “burger shack” (concession stand) out of aluminum poles and tarps, wheeling, unfolding, and placing tables for the score keepers, announcer, ticket booth and benches for the fans, and setting up for bating practice - essentially transforming the entire ballpark for opening day in one morning. During warm-ups, after construction was done, my arm hurt so bad I convinced myself “this is it – I’m done – playing one last game and going home.” I felt all emotional because I honestly thought I would ask to leave after the second game and promised myself I wouldn’t say anything about the arm until then – “go out like a warior.” But then I ate 1,000 milligrams of Advil and felt a little better. It was a nice, cool day – a couple hundred people out at the game. I sliced my arm open diving for a ball and it wont stop burning. Overall, a fun day. I got a bike from Mo and not just a bike – a white old school beach cruiser with white wall tires. It’s called “the valor” or at least I says the valor on it. Paulino got a bike too and was very happy about it. He’s been asking the team for a bike ever since we arrived. His bike is much better, but mine is cooler even though the back tire is flat and its hard to peddle. I like it here I thought as I rode the valor home from the field in the dark after having a beer and some pasta at the recently discovered only restaurant in Haar. A lot of times I even laugh out loud at myself – and I’ve figured out why I like it – possibly the key to all happiness – I have absolutely zero responsibility in my life. I don’t have a real job, bills, anything – I have nothing, and that’s perfect. Well, not nothing – we were paid today – 5oo euro – the remainder of our salary for April – so I have money – which might be a factor in the happiness thing though I’d prefer not to think so. Todd paid us – he is the owner of the team. It was the fist time I’d met him. Ad by us I mean me and Paulino. I just learned we are the only players who get paid to play. I broke my Nate Fish, Haar Disciples bat unfortunately on one of my hits. I’ll trade a bat for a hit every time – it only sucks when you break a bat and get out which is usually the case when bats break. We’re off tomorrow. I’m gonna sleep good tonight.
4/14/08
Today was the first day I didn’t go to the field. I took a long bike ride around Haar, found a gas station to fill the tires of the valor up and discovered Haar might actually contain hints of human activity – a pub, a restaurant, a tanning salon even (not that I’ll go – to the tanning salon that is). I’m sore from the games yesterday and am feeling old in the body area. I don’t know how big leaguers do it, but I’ll bet you if it weren’t for the money… they wouldn’t. Not after the age of thirty at most.
Passover is this weekend, and though I’m not religious, I think I’m gonna go to a seder in Munich. It’s just something about being in Germany and going to a seder that seems intriguing. It’s Saturday night. We play a double header Saturday, Seder’s at nine. Not a lot to write about todaysince I’ve hardly left my room. The café downstairs was not serving hot drinks today – no coffee – only beer and soda, so that threw me off a little. I am tearing through the five books I brought; Beirut to Jeusalem, the Bukowski poems, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City (Nick Flynn), though I haven’t started “the ways of religion” for a second time through, and I’m saving “Motherless Broolyn” to read later this summer though I can’t stand the title. I am no longer trying to decide if I like here or not, I simply am here, and as is the case with being anywhere sometimes I like it and sometimes I don’t – a fluctuation that is easier described simply as mood swings rather than connection to a place. Oh, I cleaned my room today. There’s a little lip in the door though I’m convinced was strategically placed there to prevent one from simply sweeping the dirt from the room into the hallway which is honestl what I would have doe, so instead I tossed it out the window. Holler.
4/16/08
I guess I skipped a day though not intentionally.
The café downstairs is becoming increasingly interesting to me and I’m spending at least an hour there every day. I order a large cappuccino for 1.65 euro. I always leave a good tip but the service continues to be brutal. What’s it take to get a little special treatment around here? - I thought as I was leaving just a few minutes ago. From what I can tell, everyone in the café is crazy as hell which in itself makes for an interesting scene, but there are other things I like about it too. There’s a juke box in the corner called Double Thunder that plays mostly wildly depressing songs at random times. I have never seen anyone put quarters in Double Thunder but it kicks on every once and a while anyhow. Yesterday it played When A Man Loves A Woman, while the crazies with their messy hair sipped beer and stared at each other. The servers must think I’m crazy - why wouldn’t they? – my hair’s as messy as anyone in there. Today Thunder played an equally slow tune though I don’t know the name. At the same time I watched two men dig wholes for “direktor parking space” signs in the lot outside. They had a great deal of trouble setting them before filling the wholes back in. I couldn’t help but think the signs were for them and how funny it was to watch them struggle over erecting their own reserved parking space signs.
I’m reading a lot and working on my book again. I figure the only way this time will be worthwhile in the long run is if I write something great while I’m here.
The weather continues to suck – cold and rainy though everyone says it will improve soon. I’ve been here not even two weeks - six months seems a far way off – by then I’ll be like Morgan Freeman in Shawshank Redemption – institutionalized and not wanting to leave. I’ll prop myself up on a chair in the middle of my bare room and scrawl “Nate was here” on the ceiling in sloppy, variously sized letters. Then I’ll go meet Paulino in Mexico where he escaped to after tunneling out of here months earlier to live on our boat.
It’s Passover this weekend and I reserved tickets at a seder in Munich.
4/5
It’s all changing. I arrived last night after missing my connecting flight in Madrid by seconds. I was running through the airport with my carry ons asking people where the hell J47 was. When I got to the gate, the guy just said; “too late,” and walked away. I took my sweatshirt off and kicked it on the floor.
Chris Haas, our assistant coach picked me up at the airport. I am thirsty and don’t have any water in my little room here and don’t know if it’s okay to drink the tap water. They haven’t paid me any euros yet to go to the store down the street. Ten minutes from the airport, on the autobahn, we got a flat tire – really flat – like shake car for thirty seconds until you slow down enough to pull off the road. Chris said, “Shit”. He speaks good English. He took out a little orange triangular reflective flag that was next to the jack securely screwed in the trunk and propped it up on the road about 100 feet behind the van. I thought this a very good idea and wondered if everything in Germany was so well thought out and couldn’t help but think about hoe good Eichmann was at organizing those trains schedules to as the cars wizzed past rocking our van. It was cold and raining. I had woke up right as we had landed and I looked out the little plane window to my left and saw leafless trees and a brown open field and a grey sky. It scared me. We sat and waited for Michael, our head coach – I think that’s his name – to pick me up – the rest of the team was waiting to meet me at an Italian restaurant near the field. Paulino had arrived from the Dominican earlier that day. I was supposed to have land half and hour after him, but I missed my connecting flight like I said. Michael finally arrived and we talked about German Pro Baseball and drove through the rain. I had no idea where we were or where we were going that’s how it always feels when your driving through rain at night. He has bad breathe but I liked it. Only five or six guys were still at the restaurant by the time I finally arrived. I was wearing my “D” hat for Disciples – The Haar Disciples, Chris had given me at the airport. I ate a plate of Tortellini with Bolognese and drank water with bubbles – “ con gas” I remember people in Argentina call it. The five guys that were there were very nice and I tried also to be very nice though I was honestly tired.
Mo took me and Paulino to our rooms after dinner. Each team in the Bundisliga (top league) in Germany is allowed two foreign players – we are them. I actually know Paulino because we also played in the same league last summer – in Israel. He was with the Giants organization for four years – a good player. I understand why he is here – it’s hard to make money in the Dominican – I’ve played there too – so if he can come here to play and mail home some euros – he’s doin’ good for his family. Why exactly I am here I still have not figured out. I have my life in New York and I am certainly too old for this shit I thought as I walked into my room that looks like a dorm room – colorful striped, scratchy, shets on the little bed. Well, I have to go now, we have our first practice in 45 minutes.
4/5 (after practice)
I struck out in my first at bat on the European continent. Doubled off the left field wall my second. I made two plays at third base. The field is pretty nice. My schedule – so I am told – will be something like this. We play one day week – that’s not a typo or a misread by you – we actually only play one day a week, and as I realize my surroundings, I am trying to think of this less as professional baseball and more as a paid six month writing retreat in Europe. The other six days of the week I can go to the field if I choose to practice or help run practice for one of the younger age groups.
After the game today, me and Paulino went to the supermarket down the street – from what I‘ve gathered, the only place to go in our immediate area. And that brings me to the immediate area. I am being housed, I’ve found out, in the sane building of a mental institution – the building the staff lives in. It is right down the street from the field which is why I imagine they’ve put us up here – I hope its not because they know I’m a lil crazy. I have a single room. It is small. I share a bathroom with everyone else on the floor including Wolfgang who I met earlier. I also share the kitchen with everyone else. The showers are down stairs. I am on the second floor – room 39, and Paulino is down the hall in 44. Me and Paulion spent 110 euros at the grocery – about 200 dollars. The manager at the supermarket helped us find stuff. We are a funny couple, me and Paulino. I only speak English and he doesn’t even speak that – only Spanish – neither of us speak a word of German. I should hate it here. I mean, compared to my life in NY, this is shit. In New York I have an apartment, a job, friends, an agent, a cool cell phone, a web site – here, I have a dorm room, a shitty little cell phone the team issued me – I just paused to think of other things I have here, but I’ coming up blank – that’s it. But, the funny thing is, I like it. Things seem to be unfolding at a more appropriate pace then in the city. In New York, I sit and do any number of things – possibly even nothing – order food, and eat the food all within the hour. Paulino cooked chicken and rice and beans for dinner and between the shopping and the cooking, it took all afternoon. The place is a real shit-hole and I’m fuckin’ exhausted, but I think I like it. . Hozomeen, Hozomeen – it looks like six months of desolation for me like Kerouac on the mountain – at least I’ll get some writing done. We leave tomorrow morning at 530 am for a double header somewhere near the border of France – a four hour ride each direction. I’m going to go masturbate or something.
4/6
I’m exhausted. As planned, we left this morning I in the dark – 5:30 – and drove through Germany four hours to Neunburg, 5 kilometers from the French border. It was raining and snowing the whole time and I was sure the games would be cancelled, but like Coach Mike said, the weather seems to always be good in Neumberg or whatever it’s called and it was a pretty nice day – a little cold. The team is a pretty laid back bunch – pretty much just like all other ball teams I’ve ever been on – stupid and close. For some reason I expected our team to be different because the players are European , but I am seeing that stupidity is not uniquely American – it’s just a common trait of athletes. Gregor, our center fielder, an Austrian national team player, gave me a bat with my our team name, Haar Disciples, engraved into the barrel with my name underneath. It was very nice of him.
I was taken by surprise when we started warming up before the game. I am used to my own routine, and usually in pro ball everyone is sort of doing there own thing before game time, but in an instant this group of friends turned into an army brigade and started doing drills I had never seen before as if they’d been doing them since birth - maybe cause they have. Two players at a time would run to the coach about fifteen feet away, quickly change directions, back peddle back to the starting line, then sprint 90 feet – the distance of the bas. Once the set of two passed coach for the second time the next two started. I tried to keep up but was sufficiently winded as I’ve been here for two days, have barely eaten or slept and am just trying to get my bearings.
I can’t help use the reference “brigade” in this case - the world war two thing is just screaming at me. After the games we “went to the showers” I was just hoping water came out and felt a hint of what my recent relatives must have when undressing and being identified as a jew with a circumcised penis. It was okay – just water – though a little cold. On the way back from the game we drove passed Dauchau – just another town on the road sign. We won the firs game – lost the second. I was roughly 1 for 9 at the plate. Paulino hit a home run. Everyone was really upset about the loss. Coach gently told us it was a “shitty thing to have to ride four and a half hours home with the taste of a loss” in his unforgiving German accent; at least it was English. He looked at me most of the time and it freaked me out a bit. First, I am honestly scared of German accents, something I’m working on, second, it made me wonder what they are expecting from me – I am sure its not a 1 for 9 performance but I really hope ts not a carry the team on your back scenario. Speaking of expectations – I got paid today. Life is good when you are paid to play baseball though I must say – this is it for me – my last season, and if we played any more than one day a week, I simply could not do it. My arm is currently falling off - something I knew when I signed to come play here, but I convinced myself I could push through 28 games over six months and abuse my body one last summer for the chance to live in Europe on someone else’s dime. I haven’t said anything about my arm except in the preliminary e-mails with coach where we negotiated my sweet deal. I am so tired that I currently have no feeling about being here – it feels the same but different – somewhat out of body so far though that is a cliché and might not evoke any image or feeling for you in particular (sorry). I must finish my glass of wine, roll my cigarette, smoke my cigarette, and sleep – it’s become a quick ritual – oh yeah, I can’t forget – masturbate. My first day off is tomorrow so I should have some time to elaborate on this whole insane situation I’ve gotten into that I’m not sure I like or not yet. Until then…
4/7
Just ate dinner with Paulino. It never occurred to me how much time we’d inevitably spend together. And did I mention he speaks virtually no English. On our walk to the supermarket this morning – after our breakfast – we had one of our longest conversations; it went like this.
Paulino: Window
Me: Widow?
Paulino: E Window
Me: What window?
Paulino: E windy
Me: Oh, yes, it’s windy.
The manager of the supermarket now just starts laughing when she sees us walk in. On today’s visit she explained to me most of the meat in Germany is at least mixed with pork and she programmed Paulinos cell phone for him – she is something like our mother for now.
I had an absolute nightmare, meltdown, deal breaker, I’m out of here experience this morning. My computer has been working fine thus far as you know because you’re reading words I typed on it. The computer was the only thing plugged into the outlet next to the tiny desk in my tiny dorm room I will describe better later, and it was somehow handling the 220 volts of electricity European outlets pump out though it is built to take 110 volts – American style (must have something to do with the little box on the power cord). I went to plug in the champ. The champ is a small guitar amplifier I use as a speaker on my travels. The word champ is a combination of chest and amp because as I said it is an amp, and I the past I‘ve worn it around my neck attached to a rope or necklace or whatever though I have not achieved a comfort level here yet that would allow me to do such a thing. So I plugged the champ in, it made a loud pop and began smoking from its back. Toast!!! I immediately unplugged the champ and my computer went black screen. I tried plugging it into other outlets in the room – more accurately, the one other outlet. Nothing, or as the Germans would say, nussing. Thought I was totally fucked. I suspected the champ might not make it through the initial plug in as its power source, a small back box began to hum and vibrate a bit when I first plugged it in. It was pure haste that made me go forward with the attempt, and after it exploded and the computer zapped out, I paced the room mad at myself. I found a half pack of light purple post-its when unpacking and have been keeping notes of things I need to get to make my life here livable. After two minutes of pacing, I took a post it out and wrote “computer” on it. As far as I was concerned if I didn’t have a computer I could not make here six months which raises al kinds of questions about how fucked up it is that I couldn’t live without a computer, but I rationalize the whole thing with the fact that I’m a writer and at least my need of computers is not solely based on porn and I decided I could live with a typewriter if I had to. Mind you, this is all before me and Paulino’s breakfast which I was expected to prepare according to our agreement of alternating cooking the meals, or at least I think that’s the agreement. So I went into the kitchen where he waited and hooked up some eggs and turkey and swiss on whole wheat bread, one of my classics, and tried not to think of the fact that my life was completely fucked.
After breakfast, on the walk back from the grocery, I called mo, the kid who works for the team and takes care of foreign players, among other things, to explain my predicament. He said he was planning on coming over anyways to drop us off some plates and laundry detergent and stuff. Even through this fucked up morning, I felt surprisingly okay and I’m convinced it’s got to be the fact that I’m sober for the first time in five years and my mind and body just take to that better. Mo showed us the laundry room in the basement we hadn’t seen. I stole a little bookshelf for my room and then we went into Munich for the first time. The way the train works out here is you buy a card and voluntarily get it stamped each time you ride for 2 euros - roughly 4 dollars. But Mo said the guys only check stamps every once and a while and he always just rides for free and deals with the fine if he gets caught. Sounded perfect. Munich is awesome – a really cool looking city – though unfortunately, I live in a shit box roughly ten kilometers south of Munich. I might end up renting a place in the city – Fuck It.
I just got a text message. I get weird German text advertisements about once an hour on my phone the little pay as you go phone the team gave me, and even though I have no idea what they say, I still like getting them because I have virtually no human contact right now and it makes me feel normal. This one said; die angegebenen informatioinnen sche nicht aus. Bitte geben sie buchstaben oder 6 ziffern an.
Son in Munich me and Paulino bought adapters for the rooms though I was convinced it was two late and my comp was fucked. I told myself the only way any good could come of this situation is if I learn not to act so hastily anymore. It felt good to be around people, on the train, walking fast through the streets, cutting someone off, looking at women. Did I mention I’m rakishly horny. The guys on the team told me an American girl is coming to play on the softball team, not that I am exclusively looking for American women – it just seems like an easy angle and I’m just hoping she’s fine, or cool, or, don’t want to push it, both. Unlikely. Anyways, we cruised Munich for a few hours. Today is a Monday and Monday is our off day and since this post is already long and I promised in my last post to explain what the fuck I’m doing in Germany I’ll just tell you the converter works and my computer and life are not fucked forever. I almost cried I was so happy. Then me and Paulino cooked pasta and brcooli.
You know what, I’ll explain wha I’m doing here in my next post – I’m tires. Here’s a poem I wrote instead.
This is my life
And I am alone
And it makes me sad
And it makes me glad
I have a pair of Nikes
stuck to my face.
4/8
Okay, here’s the deal. 10 days ago, wow – can’t believe it was only ten days ago my life was so different, I got a phone call from a guy I played with last summer. He said there’s a team in Germany that needs a corner infielder and the pay is good and there’s lots o free time and the fields are nice and it’s a good set up all around. I had no intentions of playing ball this summer or ever again really considering I’m 28, I have tons of shit going on in my life away from baseball, and mostly because when I went to see an orthopedic surgeon in New York he told me I have a tear in my shoulder – my labrum specifically. I told him thanks for calling but I couldn’t do it. I called my dad to see what he thought and he confirmed it was a stupid idea and shouldn’t do it “Just move on with your life,” he said. The next day I was out to brunch in Brooklyn with friends and I casually mentioned the offer – they quickly stopped eating and asked me if I’m crazy and that I should definitely do it. “What else are you gonna do? – stay in NY all summer and do nothing with a bunch of assholes who do coke all night?” We’ll skip my defensive reaction to the implication that I do “nothing” and proceed, proceed to me walking outside the restaurant to call Gregg, the guy who made the initial offer. I asked him or the phone number of the team in Germany and told him I’d possibly changed my mind and I just wanted to talk to them to get some details. I tried calling Germany , but my phone wouldn’t make the call, so I go the e-mail address, sent the team an e-mail and started dong research online about the league there/here. I got an immediate, enthusiastic response from the assistant coach, Chris, saying they definitely wanted me as soon as possible – the season started that weekend and if at all possible, could I fly out later that week. I called my parents again. My mom said if I wanted to do it I should – that it sounded like a cool opportunity to live in Europe for a while and write and since I “wasn’t doing anything in NY anways – why not”. Why does everyone think I do nothing? I sent an e-mail back saying I could leave Thursday – it was Sunday. I called my job – quit – put and add for a six month sublet of my apartment on Craigs List and started making lists of things I had to do before I left. What my friends who recommended I go don’t understand is how unglamorous playing professional baseball overseas is. They think it sounds amazing. Go to Europe – get paid to play – tell the girls I’m a pro athlete – and live the life. What I now already too well is that the conditions would likely suck and no one here would care about baseball. I did it anyways – took a chance. The deal I negotiated with the team via e-mail is this. 700 Euros a month, round trip air fare, a cell phone, and a furnished apartment for the duration of my stay. I told them about my shoulder. They didn’t seem t care and even reassured me it would likely be fine because we only play once a week. They explained we have one game day a week – doubleheaders on Sundays. We are off Mondays, I would be expected to coach a younger Haar Disciples team on Tuesday afternoons. We practice Wednesdays, off Thursday, practice Friday, I still don’t know about Saturdays, and games Sunday. And there is a three week break halfway through the season with n practice and no games. I had already old teams in Los Angeles and Israel “no” to playing this summer, but such a light schedule and pretty good deal sounded cool. My team , as I’ve mentioned, is called the Haar Disciples. We play in the Bundisliga (famous for soccer) which just means “top league” in German. It is the highest level of baseball in Germany and the only level where the players are paid. The Disciples are a baseball/softball club and also have a second level team, two softball teams, and a whole youth program. Two foreign players are allowed on each team and there are all kinds of rules about how any foreign players can be on the field at one time and what positions they can be playing at that time. For example, a foreign player cannot pitch the first game of the double header and there cannot be a foreign short stop and a foreign catcher playing at the same time because those two positions are so important. The second ule mention might just be the saving grace of my summer as Paulino plays short stop , and though they want me to catch, it would mean either moving him to another position, or removing him from the game. Catching is brutal, and though I can do it, I’d always prefer not to.
My flight left Thursday at 9 pm. I pretty much took care of everything I needed to do by Wednesday night and we had a big table for twenty at a cheap Italian place in the East Village the night before I left. I said goodbye to everyone, went for a last shop Thursay afternoon with my sister, and went to the airport Thursday afternoon with her and my folks who drove down to say goodbye and one of my goodest friends. I felt thankful for all the love I have in my life and realized that doing shit like this forces you to take some kind of life inventory where you pack all the things you really need, tell all the people you really love that you really love them, and stash the rest in the closet til you get back. There was a two our delay in New York which is why I missed my connection in Madrid (the Madrid airport is rad and Spain looked nice from the big windows facing the hills). Chris, the coach who I was e-maling with was waiting for me at the airport and I alredy explained our little adventure out n the autobon in an earlier post. It’s been five days here so far, ten days since I got the offer. Last year I had nine months to prepare for leaving to play, this year I had five days. I think I like it here, or at least I keep telling myself I do. Like I said, “the apartment” I was promised is actaully a dorm room on the sprawling campus of and psychiatric institute. I did find a little café on the campus here where families of the crazy people housed here sit and eat and drink beer when they come visit. It is a depressed scene but I was glad to find the place – they serve pretty good coffee – and I plan on being there a while each day. Well, this sure is the simple life. I have one plate, one dish, one fork, cook every meal, and there’s no where to go but in my head or cruise with Paulino. Funny thing is, the week before I got the call from Gregg in California, I was thinking I needed a big change, seclusion, a chance to sober up and finish my book, grow. Now – here I am in Haar, Germany.
4/9
I will begin this entry by stating again that I am tired. Though we only play on Sundays, we practice every day, and practice is long, and since me and Paulino, or at least Paulino, have nothing else to do here besides walk to the field and practice, we go over each day around 4 and work out ti 8. My routine seems to be shaping up like this. I fall asleep around midnight after me and Paulino eat a huge supper in my room as an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm plays on my computer. My sister bought me season five when she found out I was leaving because she is smart and knows there would be nothing here for me to do. I am sure Paulino understands very little of the show, but he usually laughs at vaguely appropriate times and refers to Larry David as “Idio” (translation = idiot). Also, Pauliono refers to the crazy people we can see shuffling around the hospital campus from our room windows as “the people with memory problems,” which is now how I refer to them as well in our conversations. Our diet is limited. Tonight we had spaghetti for the second time in three nights. We usually cook too much and end up eating the leftovers along with whatever we fix for breakfast which brings me to mornings. I set an alarm on my little phone for 9 am. I am supposed to read for one hour, prepare breakfast, take a poo, clean my room, and head down to the café for coffee at twelve – when it opens. But I sleep an extra hour knowing that list of things will not take long. I bring a book and a notepad to the café with me. Today I started Beirut to Jerusalem, the once authoritative and entertaining, now outdated text on the Middle East conflict. After coffee, we either walk to the grocery store for whatever we need and to say hello to our German mom, the manager there. She still laughs hard every time she sees us walk in and usually begins speaking German to one of the cashiers who begins laughing also. I am not sure what they’re talking about but I’m growing suspicious because I put thirty euros on my little phone two days ago – talked on it for maybe a total of half an hour – and the minutes are already used up. I was surprised today when Paulino and I were there buying laundry detergent and they noticed, by name, the Charles Bukowski book of poems I was carrying. And they were surprised I was carrying it, and we stood surprised at one another for a moment – me, manager/mom, cashier, and Paulino who was not surprised by anything. Between going to the store or doing laundry or whatever single task must be accomplished during the day, we have roughly two hours before leaving for practice. In this time I roll a cigarette, smoke half of it and begin writing for my book, or at least I did today and since we’ve only been here six days and am settling in, I imagine I will continue to do so. At 4 we leave for practice – practice till 8, walk home, shower, cook, eat, watch Curb Enthusiasm, clean up, Paulino leaves for his room, I type my blog entry, go to sleep. The absolute saving grace of this experience is having my own room. I have hung many things on the wall already, and betwen the book case I stole the other day, and the grandfather clock I found, my room is shaping up. But the clock ticks back and forth and I didn’t sleep well last night and I’m convinced it was from the noise I’ll give it one more night and if it annoys me again, I’ll smash it into pieces. I already ripped off the gold gizzard thing that swings back and forth. Did I mention my arm hurts – correction, everything hurts. It seems they plan to squeeze out of me their 700 euros worth every month as I am made to throw batting practice and catch bullpens at practice each day. I say nothing, just wince a bit when no one’s looking. One of the perks of playing shit ass pro ball is no trainers. I down Advil and would ice if I had access to some. Sometimes I find my mind drifting into a fantasy where I get officially inured and they send me home. We’ll see, we play two on Sunday, maybe I’ll fracture and eye socket or two or bleed almost to death on the field and be outahere. We shall see. But I can’t lie, after all these fuckin’ years, playing baseball’s still fun, and getting paid to do it is even better.
4/10/08
It’s been a week of solitude and I’m ready for some action. I realize I’m used to an unaverage amount of it in my life and in its absence I find myself dancing in my room wanting my friends to be around. Every night I get dressed – right now I’m wearing jeans, a green collared t-shirt, nice socks, and new shoes – but for no reason, nothing ever happens. If there was anything around, I’d make something happen, but it’s just not an option out here. The guys from the team said they’re going to go out tomorrow night. I shall drink 3,000 beers.
Me and Paulino ate rice, beans, corn, carrots and broccoli for dinner. Maybe I should call this blog, The Germany Diet, and publish it and make some money. Today was more o the same – wake up, read, café, the store (today is was for q-tips and batteries and to minutes on my phone), write, practice at 4, shower, dinner, Curb Your Enthusiam (I don’t even like the show that much), this. We’re already on episode 6 of ten and I don’t know what we’re going to do when we finish disc two. I made my first painting in Germany tonight (see photo) and I’m glad I brought some art supplies along. Not much else to report on so I will discuss a bit about what I’ve fond out about Germany, more accurately, Germans thus far. In the three days I had to prepare before I left, I was able to gather some information about Germany from people in New York who had been here and felt obligated to tell me there thoughts on this place as people often do when you tell them you’re going someplace they’ve been. First, I heard Munich is a nice city. And it is. Too bad I live in Haar. Then I heard Berlin is nicer; I hope I get to find out if that’s true. James, a guy at my job, told me Germans are “scared of confrontation” and are very nice if only from this urge to not offend. I must admit, a large part of me wanting to come here was to see what it’s like fifty years after the war. I asked Mo what religion most people in Germany are. He said, “Da, I do know,” and acted as though he either honestly did not know or had no interest in discussing it. The guys on the team know I’m Jewish, the head coach even called the day before I left to ask if I wanted a kosher meal on the flight. I half think they’re expecting me to break into some world war two fit - I’d just like to have a conversation about what it means to their generation, but it seems like no one wants to talk about it. Another thing I found out before leaving was that because baseball is not a central sport like soccer is in Germany, that it attracts some funny characters – different than our idea in America of the athletic ballplayer. And so far, the guys who hang out at the ballpark are anything but athletic. Nice, yes. Goofy, yes. Athletic, no. Most of the better players from the younger divisions are Japanese. I don’t fully understand what they doing here, but there are a lot of them. I think they’re here for two year visits and it has something to do with the car companies; BMW, Mercedes, Volts Wagen, but I’m not totally sure. So, there are the Japanese players, there are three or four Spanish speaking kids (Paulino was happy to find out) and the rest are German with American parents or some half interesting story about why they play baseball in a country where no one else does. For example, my head coach, Mike, with the bad breathe, played a game they call handball here. It’s not the same handball from New York. This handball involves teams, and goals, and a lot of throwing – something like soccer with your hands, and since its played indoors and only during winter, they had to find another way to practice throwing, so they started a one of the first baseball clubs in Germany. That was thirty years ago. Mike and the rest don’t really look like ballplayers, but all are accepted from the goofiest guy in the dugout to the new Jewish American, no one but no one is made fun of - the new German identity – better late than never, but how this shit happened here so recently I still cannot understand even after comparative religion courses, a class called “evil in the 20th century”, reading Kant, Neitchze, Hanna Arhent, and more, but I am going to find out.
4/12/08
I’m drunk, finally. I just arrived home from the city. I must admit, it is scary as fuck arriving home to a mental institution – walking through alone in the dark half expecting an escaped patient to jump from behind a bush and bite my ankles. Germany, mental hospital – the perfect setting for a horror. Well, I made it into my room, ate some peanut butter with a spoon and now I’m typing. I had a fun day. Manu, one of the guys on the team thankfully called me to invite me and Paulno to a scavenger hunt around Munich one of his friends organizes every year. The guy who organized it is Peter, Peter lives in a store front/loft that is very cool and seems to live a fun life here in Munich. I wanted to ask him if I could move in, but instead just thanked him for the day and wished him a happy birthday. We had bikes. Manu borrowed one of his friend’s for me and we cruised the whole city for like five hours looking for answers to the questions on the paper test Peter had written. It was fun. Almost immediately after we mounted our bikes – just as I was admitting to not being too slick on a bike, I fell after ramming into a high curb and we all had a laugh. Paulino would not come along because yesterday we were caught on the train without tickets as Mo advised. I was keeping a look out, but the checkers came up from behind and asked us for our tickets. I acted as though I had no idea what was going on and was not prepared to give them the forty euros fine they demanded we pay. Paulino quickly counted out forty and handed it over. He is very religious and very scared to “go to jail” as he’s said many times. I’ve concluded both that as a black man he has a well deserved fear of being wrongly imprisoned, and as a religious man, he is quite obedient as religion breads obedience. He said, “Me no go to city anymo,” when I invited him along. The officials only made us pay a total of forty instead of forty each partly because it was obvious we were foreigners and because of my refusal to pay anything. So, a fun day, it felt familiar – people, noise, music, laughter, buzzing conversation, girls. I hung out with Katherine most of the time but was looking at the blonde who was looking at me. I bet we see each other again – me and the blonde that is. I know Katherine will see each other again because she is coming to our game tomorrow. Which brings me to our game tomorrow. We have two of them – a double header, the s-bon series. The s-bon is the name of the train system here and since the other team is also form Munich, a few stops away, its called the s-bon series like when the Mets play the Yankees it’s the Subway Series. Theres even little flyers made up that say” s-bon series” that will be passed out to fans at the game tomorrow. And I must sleep as I cannot go 1 for 9 again like last week. There’s no excuse this time. Must sleep. Must hit home runs. See you tomorrow night.
4/13/08
We split today (won one, lost one) just like last weekend. I was 4 for 8. I felt surprisingly good considering how drunk I was last night. We had to be on the field at 9 am – three hours before game time – to “set up”. I keep finding things out about this German league as they happen – no warning. Setting up consisted of putting up a home run fence in the outfield, building the “burger shack” (concession stand) out of aluminum poles and tarps, wheeling, unfolding, and placing tables for the score keepers, announcer, ticket booth and benches for the fans, and setting up for bating practice - essentially transforming the entire ballpark for opening day in one morning. During warm-ups, after construction was done, my arm hurt so bad I convinced myself “this is it – I’m done – playing one last game and going home.” I felt all emotional because I honestly thought I would ask to leave after the second game and promised myself I wouldn’t say anything about the arm until then – “go out like a warior.” But then I ate 1,000 milligrams of Advil and felt a little better. It was a nice, cool day – a couple hundred people out at the game. I sliced my arm open diving for a ball and it wont stop burning. Overall, a fun day. I got a bike from Mo and not just a bike – a white old school beach cruiser with white wall tires. It’s called “the valor” or at least I says the valor on it. Paulino got a bike too and was very happy about it. He’s been asking the team for a bike ever since we arrived. His bike is much better, but mine is cooler even though the back tire is flat and its hard to peddle. I like it here I thought as I rode the valor home from the field in the dark after having a beer and some pasta at the recently discovered only restaurant in Haar. A lot of times I even laugh out loud at myself – and I’ve figured out why I like it – possibly the key to all happiness – I have absolutely zero responsibility in my life. I don’t have a real job, bills, anything – I have nothing, and that’s perfect. Well, not nothing – we were paid today – 5oo euro – the remainder of our salary for April – so I have money – which might be a factor in the happiness thing though I’d prefer not to think so. Todd paid us – he is the owner of the team. It was the fist time I’d met him. Ad by us I mean me and Paulino. I just learned we are the only players who get paid to play. I broke my Nate Fish, Haar Disciples bat unfortunately on one of my hits. I’ll trade a bat for a hit every time – it only sucks when you break a bat and get out which is usually the case when bats break. We’re off tomorrow. I’m gonna sleep good tonight.
4/14/08
Today was the first day I didn’t go to the field. I took a long bike ride around Haar, found a gas station to fill the tires of the valor up and discovered Haar might actually contain hints of human activity – a pub, a restaurant, a tanning salon even (not that I’ll go – to the tanning salon that is). I’m sore from the games yesterday and am feeling old in the body area. I don’t know how big leaguers do it, but I’ll bet you if it weren’t for the money… they wouldn’t. Not after the age of thirty at most.
Passover is this weekend, and though I’m not religious, I think I’m gonna go to a seder in Munich. It’s just something about being in Germany and going to a seder that seems intriguing. It’s Saturday night. We play a double header Saturday, Seder’s at nine. Not a lot to write about todaysince I’ve hardly left my room. The café downstairs was not serving hot drinks today – no coffee – only beer and soda, so that threw me off a little. I am tearing through the five books I brought; Beirut to Jeusalem, the Bukowski poems, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City (Nick Flynn), though I haven’t started “the ways of religion” for a second time through, and I’m saving “Motherless Broolyn” to read later this summer though I can’t stand the title. I am no longer trying to decide if I like here or not, I simply am here, and as is the case with being anywhere sometimes I like it and sometimes I don’t – a fluctuation that is easier described simply as mood swings rather than connection to a place. Oh, I cleaned my room today. There’s a little lip in the door though I’m convinced was strategically placed there to prevent one from simply sweeping the dirt from the room into the hallway which is honestl what I would have doe, so instead I tossed it out the window. Holler.
4/16/08
I guess I skipped a day though not intentionally.
The café downstairs is becoming increasingly interesting to me and I’m spending at least an hour there every day. I order a large cappuccino for 1.65 euro. I always leave a good tip but the service continues to be brutal. What’s it take to get a little special treatment around here? - I thought as I was leaving just a few minutes ago. From what I can tell, everyone in the café is crazy as hell which in itself makes for an interesting scene, but there are other things I like about it too. There’s a juke box in the corner called Double Thunder that plays mostly wildly depressing songs at random times. I have never seen anyone put quarters in Double Thunder but it kicks on every once and a while anyhow. Yesterday it played When A Man Loves A Woman, while the crazies with their messy hair sipped beer and stared at each other. The servers must think I’m crazy - why wouldn’t they? – my hair’s as messy as anyone in there. Today Thunder played an equally slow tune though I don’t know the name. At the same time I watched two men dig wholes for “direktor parking space” signs in the lot outside. They had a great deal of trouble setting them before filling the wholes back in. I couldn’t help but think the signs were for them and how funny it was to watch them struggle over erecting their own reserved parking space signs.
I’m reading a lot and working on my book again. I figure the only way this time will be worthwhile in the long run is if I write something great while I’m here.
The weather continues to suck – cold and rainy though everyone says it will improve soon. I’ve been here not even two weeks - six months seems a far way off – by then I’ll be like Morgan Freeman in Shawshank Redemption – institutionalized and not wanting to leave. I’ll prop myself up on a chair in the middle of my bare room and scrawl “Nate was here” on the ceiling in sloppy, variously sized letters. Then I’ll go meet Paulino in Mexico where he escaped to after tunneling out of here months earlier to live on our boat.
It’s Passover this weekend and I reserved tickets at a seder in Munich.
posted by Dr. Fish | 2:31 PM
2 Comments:
Fish whats up buddy... (this is Raf) I've been scanning through your posts and it brings back memories of playing over there. Can't believe you are playing for the Disciples. I must say my two summers there were some of the best I've had. Munich became one of my favorite cities in the world and I'm sure you will find ways to entertain yourself. I highly recommend spending some time in the English Garden by the river (Hendrick will know the exact spot where I spent my whole second summer), once the weather turns for the better. Let me know how things progress (ucsd45@yahoo.com) and tell all the guys over there I say hi!
Hey Fish,
Great stories man. Fabian here, you know the guy w/the control issues on Netanya. Again sorry bout the fastball to the back.
Hearing bout you and Paulino is funny and reminds me of how much I had to translate for those guys last summer in Israel.
Tell Paulino I said hello. If he doesnt remember my name tell him "Mexico" or "Pinchi Guey" as thats what all the Spanish speakers called me.
I hope all is well for you and Paulino. If you need anything translated let me know. Just email me man. javelin13@gmail.com
-Fabian
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