by Eric Lane
FLACK: Latonya?
R2: Chris, how do you feel? Are the majors ready for a player who openly has the ability to throw with both hands?
TINGLEY: In this day and age it would be irrelevant. If the guy is doing his job on the field, you know, I don’t think there would be any problem at all.
BONNER: I agree.
TINGLEY: There’s practical considerations, though.
BONNER: Yeah.
TINGLEY: Like, what hand does he wear his glove on?
BONNER: Sure, yeah.
(Clamor.)
FLACK: Bobby?
R1: Nice game today, Chris.
TINGLEY: Thanks, Bobby.
R1: Your former teammate, Eric Davis / made headlines
TINGLEY: Ah, Eric.
R1: a few seasons ago by saying that he wouldn’t share a glove with an ambidextrous teammate.
TINGLEY: I remember.
R1: He said, I’m paraphrasing here, but he said, “I have no problem with switch-hitters, but I don’t want someone on my team going around throwing with both hands.”
TINGLEY: Right.
R1: “That’s just plain weird,” he said.
TINGLEY: Right.
R1: Do you think his feelings are shared by many big leaguers?
TINGLEY: No.
BONNER: No.
TINGLEY: Nuh-uh, it’s just, ballplayers are never / gonna …
BONNER: We’re not the most open-minded / people on earth …
TINGLEY: Right, but we’re still / fairly …
BONNER: We’re not going to, y’know, walk into an ambidextrous bar and start, like—
TINGLEY:—playing darts.
BONNER: With both hands.
TINGLEY: No.
WAKEFIELD: But on the whole, I think major leaguers are pretty accepting.
TINGLEY: Eric, I love Eric, but he’s sort of from the old school, you know.
BONNER: (Nodding.) Old / school.
WAKEFIELD: Old school.
(Clamor.)
FLACK: Yeah, Alia.
R2: Coach, what kind of player should be that trailblazer? The Jackie Robinson of ambidexterity?
TINGLEY: Good question. / Good question.
BONNER: Good question.
WAKEFIELD: Well—it shouldn’t matter—but it’d be best if he’s a real superstar, like Jackie was.
TINGLEY: That’s why there’s rumors about Chuck, you know. When you’re getting near three hundred wins, that’s a big deal, and if he was ambidextrous, which he’s not, but if he were, he’d be a real ambassador.
BONNER: Sure.
WAKEFIELD: Beyond that, I don’t know. Whoever he is—like Jackie—whoever he is, he shouldn’t be such a, a, in-your-face ambidextrous guy. He should be proud, but he should have that—dignity.
BONNER: It’s best if he’s not flamboyantly ambidextrous.
TINGLEY: Using both hands all the time in public, right.
(Clamor.)
FLACK: Lance?
R1: Fellas, even the most conservative estimates from scientists suggest that two to four percent of Americans are ambidextrous. So it would seem like at least fifteen / to thirty leaguers …
BONNER: That’s high. That’s just math.
WAKEFIELD: Lance, this isn’t the general population, you know? This is baseball. Single-handedness is very important, it’s a really prominent part of the culture of baseball, you know, the locker room and all.
R1: But still, there must be at least one or two / who are in the closet.
BONNER: Sure. / Sure.
TINGLEY: Sure. We’ve played with guys, with guys who, you know, who weren’t out out but who it was a known secret: on the team, you know?
R1: And no one had any—
BONNER: No. No problem.
(Tiny pause.)
R1: Was this on the Dodgers?
BONNER: I’m not, no, I’m not / identi—
R1: Was it—
WAKEFIELD: That’s fruitless, Lance. Next question. That young lady over there has been waving her hands for a while.
FLACK: Yes, Miss …
R2: Lucinda Martin, Both Hands Magazine.
BONNER: Oh, Christ.
R2: Mr. Bonner, do you have a problem with ambidextrous people?
BONNER: No, I do not.
R2: Does this so-called rumor threaten your handhood? Do you see something wrong / with ambidexterity?
BONNER: No.
WAKEFIELD: Can someone—
R2: Do you feel—
FLACK: Miss, please let Mr. Bonner answer your questions.
R2: Sure, fine.
BONNER: I have no problem whatsoever with ambidextrous people. Okay? I, I’m not one, but I, like I said before, I have played with them before, and I have friends, and I’m just saying—it’s not me. I’ll tell Yankees fans right now, the greatest fans in the world, ambidextrous people are people just like you and me.
R2: Mr. Bonner, I’m ambidextrous.
BONNER: That’s great.
R2: Like many ambidextrous people, my favorite baseball player is Chuck Bonner. You actually have quite a fan base among the ambi community. Would you like to speculate on why this is?
BONNER: (Pained.) No, that’s great. I’m always grateful for my fans, no matter who they are or how many of their hands they can use with equal ability.
R2: What would you say if I told you we had pictures—
FLACK: Okay, / that’s enough.
R2: Pictures of you throwing with your left hand in high school?
TINGLEY: Someone shut her the fuck up!
R2: What would you say?
BONNER: I’d say you were a liar. You can do anything with photos these days.
R2: But these pictures—
R1: Shut up! Let the rest of us go!
TINGLEY: Those pictures are bullshit, just for the record.
R2: You can’t lie to yourself forever, Bonner!
FLACK: (Very firm.) That is absolutely enough, Miss Martin. If you cannot speak civilly to these players I will have you removed. Next question, right here in the front.
R1: Chuck, can you prove you’re not ambidextrous?
WAKEFIELD: Oh, for Chrissakes—
R1: Our readers want to know if a major New York figure is hiding a newsworthy fact about himself!
TINGLEY: This is not / newsworthy.
BONNER: Carter, ask anyone who knows me. Ask anyone who—
R1: Can you prove it?
BONNER: Fine. Fuck. Fine.
(BONNER tromps out into the reporter pool.)
Gimme your—gimme your notebook.
TINGLEY: Chuck—
BONNER: Gimme your fucking notebook. And your pen. Here. I’m writing with my left hand. Look at this!
(He holds the notebook up. In extremely childish, sloppy lettering: FUCK YOU.)
Is that proof enough? Is that proof enough? How about this?
(He throws the notebook at REPORTER 2 with his left hand, missing by a mile. His throwing motion is exaggeratedly awkward, almost girlish. He is furious, near tears.)
TINGLEY: Chuck!
BONNER: How about that? Did you get your pictures? Did you get all that? Why does everyone think I’m hiding something, that I’m—why? No, tell me. Why? Do you ask Greg Maddux if he’s ambidextrous? Do you ask Randy Johnson? Well, do you?
TINGLEY: (Softly.) No.
BONNER: No! What if I was an ambidextrous man? What if I was? How would this fucking witch hunt make me feel? What kind of message does that send to the world?
TINGLEY: Chuck, honey …
(TINGLEY takes BONNER’S hand and strokes it. BONNER is crying, TINGLEY gently kisses BONNER’S forehead.)
BONNER: I’m so tired, Chris.
TINGLEY: I know.
BONNER: What if I was? What if I was tired of keeping secrets? (Pause.)
TINGLEY: Then you’d have to stop keeping them.
R1: What are you saying, Chuck?
TINGLEY: (To the reporter.) Shut up.
BONNER
: (Ignoring the reporter.) What if I was tired?
(Pause.)
R2: Chris? Is this something you and your husband have discussed?
(Pause. WAKEFIELD makes a cutoff gesture to the FLACK.)
FLACK: Okay, this press conference is over—
BONNER: No.
TINGLEY: Chuck?
BONNER: No.
(BONNER looks over at WAKEFIELD, who nods solemnly. BONNER faces the crowd.)
I have something I would like to say.
(Blackout.)
END OF PLAY
SANDCHAIR CANTATA
Nicole Quinn
Sandchair Cantata was originally produced as a staged reading by Actors & Writers, Olivebridge, New York, on October 19, 2002. It was directed by Nicole Quinn with the following cast:
WORRIER Sarah Chodoff
PRAGMATIST Sigrid Heath
CHARACTERS
WORRIER
PRAGMATIST
Lights up on: A beach.
Two forty-something women in sand chairs at surf’s edge. They wear bathing suits and baseball caps, each with a book in her lap, watching their respective kids in the water. The conversation ebbs and flows, the rhythm of waves.
WORRIER: (A lament.) I’m old.
PRAGMATIST: We’re well preserved.
WORRIER: Pickled.
PRAGMATIST: Pears.
WORRIER: Pairs?
PRAGMATIST: Luscious fruit.
WORRIER: (Indicates the ocean.) You think they’re okay?
PRAGMATIST: Yep.
WORRIER: Really?
PRAGMATIST: Yep.
WORRIER: Smells like summer.
PRAGMATIST: Seaweed.
WORRIER: Sunscreen, SPF thirty.
PRAGMATIST: (Thrilled.) Vacation.
WORRIER: (Thrill shared.) Vacation.
(They take it in, the beach.)
PRAGMATIST: Good book?
WORRIER: It’s okay. Yours?
PRAGMATIST: Better in bed.
WORRIER: Who?
PRAGMATIST: The book.
WORRIER: Oh.
PRAGMATIST: (Nods her head toward the water.) Or him.
WORRIER: (Wrinkling her nose.) No.
PRAGMATIST: (A minor wound.) Why not?
WORRIER: Boring.
PRAGMATIST: Looks or personality?
WORRIER: Both.
PRAGMATIST: (Reassessing.) Grumpy maybe.
WORRIER: Or mean.
PRAGMATIST: Nice smile.
WORRIER: (Revelation.) Oh, yeah. Laughing eyes.
PRAGMATIST: Great butt!
WORRIER: (Doubtful.) Really?
PRAGMATIST: (Indicating someone else.) No, hers.
WORRIER: Buns of steel.
PRAGMATIST: Youth.
WORRIER: (Devastated.) I’m middle-aged.
PRAGMATIST: Yes we are.
WORRIER: When did it happen?
PRAGMATIST: Every day.
WORRIER: Every day.
(Each retreats, reverie, water as lodestone.)
PRAGMATIST: (Confession.) I hate my book group.
WORRIER: (Surprised relief.) I hate mine too!
PRAGMATIST: The dynamic’s …
WORRIER: … All wrong.
PRAGMATIST: Too social.
WORRIER: Mine too. (A beat.) Do the waves seem rough?
PRAGMATIST: No.
WORRIER: You’re sure?
PRAGMATIST: Yep.
WORRIER: (Whimsical.) Your kids are so happy.
PRAGMATIST: (Pleased.) Yeah.
WORRIER: (Poor me.) Mine are so whiny.
PRAGMATIST: Don’t say yes so much.
WORRIER: (Startled, miracle cure.) Really?
PRAGMATIST: You’re a paper tiger.
WORRIER: (Defensive.) Am not.
PRAGMATIST: Are too.
WORRIER: (Anger rising.) Am no …
PRAGMATIST: (Loud, in her face.) Are too, are too, are too!
(WORRIER backs down, fairly cringing.
A breath.)
See?
(They sit in silence, watching the waves of children.)
WORRIER: (Licking her wounds.) Want a frozen lemonade?
PRAGMATIST: And french fries. (She indicates the kids.) They’ll fly if we buy.
WORRIER: Alone?
PRAGMATIST: It’s not far. We can watch them from here.
WORRIER: I don’t know.
PRAGMATIST: Don’t know what?
WORRIER: If it’s a good idea.
PRAGMATIST: Give them a budget and let them work it out. We get chair service.
WORRIER: But …
PRAGMATIST: Or you could go.
WORRIER: (A large life question.) What am I doing!?
PRAGMATIST: Getting lemonade? French fries?
WORRIER: Children. Raising children, that’s what I’m doing.
PRAGMATIST: My treat.
WORRIER: I’m always the bad guy. “You can’t do this,” “Don’t do that.” I make them go to bed. I take them for shots.
PRAGMATIST: You take them for ice cream.
WORRIER: (Hopeful.) Ice cream.
PRAGMATIST: The great equalizer.
WORRIER: (Squinting out front.) What’s that boy doing?
PRAGMATIST: (Yelled out front.) Hey, you! Orange trunks! Blue Warhead mouth, get off my kid!
WORRIER: Jerk!
PRAGMATIST: He’s a kid.
WORRIER: But he …
PRAGMATIST: He wanted someone to tell him to get off. I did. He did.
WORRIER: (Okay, smarty pants.) Like the one you threatened to bite?
PRAGMATIST: Like that.
WORRIER: Did you ever bite her?
PRAGMATIST: Nope.
WORRIER: (Smug.) Who’s the paper tiger?
PRAGMATIST: I didn’t have to. But I would have.
WORRIER: Sure.
PRAGMATIST: She believed me.
WORRIER: She was three.
PRAGMATIST: They can be very cunning at three.
(The WORRIER glances around, then panics, dancing in all directions from her chair.)
WORRIER: Where are they!!!
PRAGMATIST: (Calm.) Down there. The tide carried them.
WORRIER: (Screeching, hand gestures, basic mania.) Olivia! Over here! Move, back, back! Get your brother! Now!
PRAGMATIST: (Sure she’s come unhinged.) You okay?
WORRIER: (A breath, a confession.) Every day in the papers, there’s another kid taken. And teenagers.
PRAGMATIST: (Sympathetic.) It’s too much.
WORRIER: Is everybody a pervert or a victim?
PRAGMATIST: We just hear about it more. The media.
WORRIER: It’s not right. Not fair. Priests. Teachers. Relatives. Strangers.
PRAGMATIST: We do the best we can.
WORRIER: Living in fear is the best we can do?
PRAGMATIST: This isn’t the projects, or Auschwitz, we’re at the beach. Lighten up.
WORRIER: It could happen here.
PRAGMATIST: Sure it could.
WORRIER: (Self-righteous.) Kids are snatched from their homes.
PRAGMATIST: (Proverbial.) Lives lived in fear …
WORRIER: Oh, please.
PRAGMATIST: … Lives half lived.
WORRIER: (Blurts it out.) I bought a gun.