Rocks in the Shape of Billy Martin

The First Days of Baseball on the Eternal Diamond

As the sun sets behind the Joshua, I realize that that's the best thing about the desert: Just when you think that it explains everything, it turns around and admits that it's clueless. It takes a big piece of geography to do that; I toast the Joshua with my canteen and hit the road.

On my way out of the kingdom of the Joshua tree, I make my customary stop at the rocks in the shape of Billy Martin. I'm a little concerned. Has the latest swarm of earthquakes disturbed them? Apparently not; like Yankee Stadium, they haven't moved. The petrified Billy Martin is still here, gazing across the sands at the dream team, forever signaling a game-winning hit-and-run, and, as always, waiting for a drink.

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