Beware The Dining Needle

Part 1 — The Stupid Part

The long twilight shadows of late August were cast upon the young ballplayers of West 5th Street in Brooklyn, New York. The season for playing baseball in the street was coming to a close and every swing of the bat had meaning. School, which started in early September, would rob the young teens of both time and light. The ability to crown daily champions and create moments of local heroics faded by the second.

The games during this time of year had intensity and hostility. A clutch hit or game-saving play would mean an entire winter of inescapable, side-stabbing braggadocio. The chance to grind victory into the hearts and souls of friends or acquaintances for months was on the line. There were no tomorrows.

Playing deep center field in the middle of a long and narrow street, Bob was ready. He remained in a tight but springy crouch and pounded his glove at the start of each pitch. Every game at this time of the year could be for the pride of the block and neighborhood. The best team of summer was within one final catch.

“C’mon, baby. Come right to the glove,” he whispered. He was not about to let the honor of repeating as the best team in the neighborhood slip away. He pounded at his glove. “Come to papa.”

As he scanned the street he noticed a winged, summertime foe to his left. It was a long, thick bug with monstrous wings that was appropriately called the “Dining Needle.” He could see the long stinger and hear the vibrating flap of its wings. He tried to ignore it. His head flitted toward the batter. Then to the needle. Then to the batter. The needle stood on a leaf motionless.

His brother, Jim, wound up to pitch when the needle lifted itself off the weed on which it rested and began to fly. The next moment brought the pop of a rubber ball against a wooden bat that resulted in a high, arcing fly ball that headed straight for Bob. An easy out in his sure glove. At that same moment, the needle flew towards him.

Like a half-wit howling at a rising moon, Bob shrieked with a piercing, high-pitched yowl that left all the players confused. He began to run in circles before removing his glove and throwing it at the bug. He missed.

The ball, now on its way down, was surely going to hit the ground and cost his team the game. With the bug in full pursuit, he left his running circle, grabbed his glove, and darted behind a parked car. He heard the thud of the ball hit the ground and bounce far off into the distance. The big redhead that hit the ball rounded the chalk-drawn bases on the street and headed for home plate. West 5th Street had lost. Bob was behind the car, doubled over in hiding from the bug. Big Red and his teammates jumped for joy. They had dethroned the neighborhood champs.

“WHAT THE FFFF — ”, Jim screamed. “Where the heck is he?” He ran out to the outfield to see what happened. He found Bob hiding behind the car with his glove over his head.

“Is it gone? Jimmy, is it gone?”

Jim was confused. It appeared that Bob had almost forgotten that he was in the middle of a game. The chase of the beast was all that was on his mind. This simpleton of a boy screamed his way into the legendary book of stupid and hilarious acts that are seldom forgotten.

Jim looked down at his brother and went to pick him up. “What? Is what gone?”

Bob’s removed the glove from over his head and glanced around. “Did you see that dining needle?”

“A dining needle? We lost the game over a dining needle? What the hell is wrong with you! They are laughing at us!” Jim screamed.

Paul walked over to the two brothers. He was shocked and confused by what just occurred.

“Bob, what the hell happened out there? Did you really run from a dining needle? Is that why we lost? Please tell me you’re not an idiot!”

Bob was confused. He remembered many of his friends fleeing in terror from these flying menaces. The shrieks of fear were long and unforgettable. Paul had once run through a huge pile of dog crap trying to escape one of these winged fiends. He left behind a waft of excrement so foul that for years the boys thought he shit his pants. After running into his house, his mother responded by throwing him back out through the screen door where he rolled onto the concrete.

Did he forget what their painful sting was like?

The strength of the dining needle was legendary. There was the looming story of little Jack-Jack’s three-year-old sister being pulled into the air before being rescued by her father. Bob was determined that would not happen to him.

A few kids from the other team came by and surrounded Bob. One of the arrivals was the pudgy-faced, red hair batter who hit the fly ball. His cheeks burgeoned with at least a thousand sunflower seeds and his mouth sloshed open and shut. Bits of food fell from his lips.

“Dude. How did you miss that ball? I mean. Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you suck but that was right at you? How did you miss it?” he asked.

The other boys moved closer to hear the answer.

“You didn’t see it? It was HUGE!” Bob replied.

“See what?” another boy asked.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see it. It was chasing me around. Didn’t you hear about what they did to Petey-Pete’s brother?”

“You mean Jack-Jack’s sister?” Jim asked.

“Whatever. It lifted her into the air! Like four feet off the ground. I wasn’t going to worry about your stupid ball. It coulda killed me!”

“What do you mean little dude?” said the red-headed spitter.

“C’mon Red. You must have heard the story of Jack-Jack’s sister? You know. The girl that was almost taken away by a family of bugs?”

“Bugs?” Red replied.

He could hardly contain himself. In his fit of laughter, he doubled over and coughed out a wad of half-chewed seeds.

“Bugs. Did you lose the game because of a bug? Jack-Jack doesn’t even have a sister. That was all made up you moron!”

Bob pushed the chubby Red haired kid and before the fight broke out a few of the others stepped in between.

“Ah. It doesn’t matter,” said Red. “We kicked your ass today. Oh wait. Look at that across the street. Is that? Wait! It is! A dining needle!”

The winners walked away laughing.

“A dining needle, Bob? What is that?” Big Red asked before leaving.

Bob’s eyes darted around looking for it. He saw it resting on a yellow weed across the street.

He pointed. “THERE! Take a look at that bush. See that bug? That’s a dining needle! And they have a huge stinger! See!”

Howling with laughter, Big Red spewed a few more seeds from his mouth. “A dining needle? Where the hell did you come up with that? That’s not even a word! That’s a dragonfly!” he said and cackled. “Well, not only do you suck but, you don’t know what you are saying. Besides, dragonflies don’t sting!”

The older boy walked away.

I was really a fountain of endless foolishness that created an entirely new standard for ignorance.