Ty Cobb's Last At Bat

by Henry Dale Whitman

Late summer, 1928. A ten-year-old boy snuck down closer to the field. The sun glinted off Cobb’s bat like it knew this was history, and even though he was older and slower now, he walked to the plate like he still owned it. The boy’s father called him a legend, but to the boy, Cobb looked more like a ghost—pale, intense, and not quite part of the world anymore. The pitcher threw a slow curve, and Cobb popped out to the shortstop. The boy stared at Cobb as he made his way back to the dugout, and then Cobb met the boy's eyes, and spit in disgust.

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Henry Dale Whitman lives in upstate New York with his dog, Mantle, and still brings his glove to every game.