It was a dream come true, but it became a terrible nightmare. Evocative of an Irish wake, where a soul hums the familiar tune, "Oh Danny boy..." but there are no mourners, not even a corpse or a casket for that matter, just buried dreams. I'm listening to the radio, "Isn't this the land of opportunity or else?" a sportswriter says, and the show host replies: "That father should be hanged up by his toe nails".
Who didn't fall in love with the story of the Rolando Paulino All-Stars! But for days the talk of the town has been the controversy surrounding Bronx Baby Bomber pitching sensation Danny Almonte, the young man who all of a sudden became a household name during the Little League World Series.
He drew the attention of the national news media by pitching the first perfect game in the history of the tournament since 1957, he struck out 16 batters in the process and his fastball was clocked more than 70 miles an hour. Quite an accomplishment, no doubt, but now we find out that the rumors were true. The lanky left-hander is actually 14, not 12, which makes him a ringer. Furthermore, since his arrival from the Dominican Republic, eighteen months ago, he never attended school, not a single day, because according to his father, he was busy "eating and playing".
To make matters worst, Mayor Giuliani presented the "little unit" and his teammates the key to the city, they had a Canyon of Heroes style grand parade down the Grand Concourse, and Borough President Ferrer inducted them to the Bronx Hall of Fame. Talk about mind boggling vulturine political maneuvers.
A sad story indeed, let's sing along.....
Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the leaves are falling
'Tis ye, 'tis ye must go, and I must bide
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Til I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Danny boy, Oh Danny boy, I love you so
And when ye come and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
Ye'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me
And I shall hear, 'though soft ye tread around me
And all my grave shall linger sweeter be
Then ye will bend and tell me that ye love me
And I shall sleep in peace until ye come to me
September 1, 2001
Integrity is not a conditional word. It doesn't blow in the wind or change with the weather. It is your inner image of yourself, and if you look in there and see a man who won't cheat, then you know he never will.
-John D. MacDonald
The Turquoise Lament
