Cinderella goes to the Ballgame

Dave Paisley

Once upon a time, there was a little girl whose dear mother died, and whose father married for his second wife the proudest and unkindest woman that ever was seen. Even prouder and unkinder than Marge Schott! She had two daughters who were like her in every way. The little girl, on the other hand, was all sweetness and goodness, for she took after her mother, who had been the best woman in the world. Not only that, her mother had been a very fine baseball player during the war, and had taught her sweet young daughter all she knew about the glorious game.

No sooner had the sound of the wedding vows faded into the woodwork of the church than the new wife began to show her bad temper. She could not bear the sight of the sweet young girl, as her sweetness and grace made her own daughters appear clumsy and ugly, especially when they played catch in the back yard. She punished the poor young thing by making her scrub the floors and clean the rooms and, worst of all, wash her own daughters filthy baseball uniforms.

At night, the poor girl slept alone on a straw sack in the attic, while her sisters slept in fine rooms on soft beds of the very latest fashion. She would cuddle down in the chimney corner in the ashes and cinders to keep warm. For this reason, they called her ash-girl, but the younger sister, who was kinder than the older, called her Cinderella. As she fell asleep she would dream of catching lazy fly balls in front of the ivy at Wrigley, or turning the pivot on an effortless 4-6-3 double play at Camden Yards.

One day, the Commissioner of Baseball himself decided to start a women's baseball league. After all, if the NBA could start a women's basketball league, why not major league baseball? He decided to start with a grand ballgame, and to invite all the fine young ladies of the land to tryouts. Cinderella's sisters were invited, of course, with their airs and graces and family connections.

The sisters were elated, naturally. They busied themselves choosing what manner of uniforms they should wear, what brand of shoe and what style of cap. This only meant more work for Cinderella, of course, because it was she who had to clean the shoes until they were bright as mirrors, iron the flannel uniforms, and arrange her sisters' hair so that it would fit under their caps. For days, the sisters talked of nothing but the tryouts, and how they were going to dress.

"I think I shall wear my Mets uniform," said the older sister. "The new black one. I think it looks so fetching. Perhaps with a little silver trim on the bill of the cap."

"Sounds a little ostentatious to me, sis. I believe I'll settle for the traditional purple and teal, perhaps with magenta spikes."

"Sounds perfectly awful, dear. Perhaps we should have Cinderella help us choose."

"What a super idea! Oh, Cinderella!" she shouted.

The shrill tones wafted throughout the house, and Cinderella knew better than to ignore them, so she hurried immediately to her sisters' dressing room.

"Cinderella, we need you to help us choose our outfits for the baseball tryouts," they said in unison.

Despite the shabby way she was treated, Cinderella did the two sisters proud, choosing just the right combination of shoes, socks and caps to complement the sisters' uniform choices.

"That's marvelous, Cinderella," the younger sister noted, "but don't you wish you could go to the tryouts too?"

"Of course," replied Cinderella, "but they don't want poor little ash-girls like me at that fancy ballpark."

"How right you are dear, nobody wants to see a sooty little thing like you at such an occasion. How depressing it would be!" The sisters laughed as they left the room, overflowing with their own self-importance.

Finally, the big day arrived, and the sisters primped and preened all morning and all afternoon, causing Cinderella endless grief as she had to help them fix their uniforms and hair several times. But the hour for the tryouts finally arrived, and with much ceremony, the sisters flounced out of the house into their Mustang convertible and off they went to the ballpark.

The house was quiet after they left, except for a quiet sobbing coming from the basement. Cinderella so wanted to go to the tryouts. She knew she could play better than just about anyone. She sat in the corner of her room and cried and cried and cried.

"What's all the fussing and crying about, young lady?"

Cinderella looked up through wet eyes to see an older woman dressed in the uniform of the Rockford Peaches, leaning on a baseball bat. It appeared that her godmother was dressing up in those old uniforms again.

"You want to go to the ballgame, don't you, dear?" said the old lady. "Well, let's not waste any time. Run out to the garden and fetch me a pumpkin."

"What for?" Cinderella asked.

"Never mind," said her godmother, "just get out there and bring one to the back door. You'll find out soon enough. You do want to go to the ballgame, don't you?"

"Oh, yes!" Cinderella exclaimed, and ran out to get a pumpkin.

When she brought it back, huffing and puffing because it was so big, her godmother quickly scooped out the innards, lightly touched it with her bat, and turned it into a beautiful powder blue '57 Thunderbird.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed the young girl.

"Now where are those mousetraps?" muttered the old lady, looking around the kitchen. She found a couple, with a total of six not quite dead mice still in them. A wave of the bat, and there were six handsome young men on motorcycles flanking the car, dressed in mouse-gray uniforms.

"Any rats around, dear?" the old lady asked.

"Just these three over here," Cinderella said, pointing to the rat trap.

"This plump one here will do," the old lady said as she whisked out the chubbiest, and with a wave of her bat, turned him into a jolly, fat, liveried driver with the finest waxed mustache ever seen.

"I think you're all set for transportation, my dear," said the old lady.

"But I can't go to the ballgame in these rags," wailed Cinderella, catching sight of herself in a mirror.

"Hush, girl, we'll have that taken care of in a second." The old lady waved her bat at Cinderella's clothes, and magically, her tawdry, soot-stained rags changed to the glowing white and navy of the Seattle Mariners uniform. The transformation was remarkable. From the navy cap, from which her golden hair just peeked, to the navy knee high socks, she looked every inch a professional ball player. The final touch to her uniform, though, was the glass spikes. They looked like liquid diamond on her feet.

"Oh, these spikes are fabulous," Cinderella exclaimed, as she pirouetted to test them. They were more supple than the finest calf leather.

"They're the latest from Nike," her godmother explained. "Some secret lab in Indonesia discovered this stuff. Not even Ken Griffey Jr. has these yet. But enough time wasting. You have to get to those tryouts." With that, she bustled Cinderella into the back seat of the Thunderbird.

"You must remember, dear, you can not leave a minute after midnight. If you do, all this will change back to its natural state."

Cinderella promised that she would leave the tryouts long before midnight, and off she went, bursting with joy.

The motorcycle escort and the beautiful car drew lots of attention as Cinderella drew up at the ballpark. As she stepped out of the car, the crowd gasped at the sight of the beautiful young woman. When the Commissioner of Baseball heard of the commotion, he rushed down from his luxury box and was immediately smitten.

"What position do you play?" he asked breathlessly.

"I can play anywhere," replied Cinders, "but my best position is shortstop."

"Thank God!" explained the Commissioner. "We've had all kinds of injuries, and we only have a couple of blundering idiots playing short. It's like the Baltimore Orioles out there. Quick, come with me."

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