The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [98]
The tarantula was huge. Eight beady eyes with thick brown legs. It’s true: everything is bigger in Texas. It kept coming at me as if it were hungry for me. I grabbed my chair and held it out in front of me like a lion tamer. “Rarrrr! Yawh, Raarrrrrrr! Get out of here!” I made pushing motions with my chair. The beast stopped, its long front legs hanging in the air motionless, as if it were deciding.
I hate spiders. Hate ’em. I don’t think a lot of people can fault me for that as they aren’t the cuddliest creatures in the animal kingdom. I realize this one, as big as it was, was only a fraction of my size, but fear makes you think crazy things. I thought that if it got too close, it could leap on me and bite into my neck or some other exposed fleshy part of my body. Then it would drag me off to its hole and finish me off. When the relief crew came back, they’d wonder where I went.
The tarantula stopped thinking and continued toward me. I shook the chair at it and called it names, but apparently tarantulas don’t speak English and I didn’t know Spanish. I tried kicking dirt at it, but the ground was too soggy. And if I threw the chair and missed, I would be defenseless. I was still in reach of the bullpen’s complimentary seed bucket—another Double-A perk—which contained both packets of seeds and Double Bubble chewing gum. I grabbed the bucket and starting throwing gum at the monster. I only threw the regular flavor at it because the blue raspberry flavor is my favorite.
The beast spread its feet out and stopped as gum landed around it like artillery fire. I stopped. Maybe it was ready for a truce. It was hard to tell what it was thinking or what it was looking at because it could have been looking in any or all directions. It started to retreat! Victory. “That’s right spider! This is my house!” My triumph was short-lived as the spider redirected toward my glove tucked under the bench. “No, get away from that! Bad tarantula!” I resumed firing gum at the beast but only served to speed him on his way.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I dumped the rest of the contents of my ammo bucket onto the murky ground and went after the tarantula. Creeping behind it with my upside-down bucket, I skillfully slipped the plastic container over it for the capture. My glove was safe, but what was I going to do with the tarantula now that I had it contained? Payback.
Dalton was the first of my fellow relievers to return to the pen around the fourth inning. I sat casually with my legs crossed next to an overturned David Sunflower Seeds bucket, which suspiciously made tapping noises from within.
“Hey Dalton, would you be a pal and hand me some gum from the seeds bucket there?”
Dalton stood eyeing the bucket, which moved slightly.
“What the fuck is in there?”
“Why, seeds and gum, of course.”
“No, there’s something in there.”
“Maybe there is, and maybe there isn’t. Why don’t you take a look.”
Dalton tentatively stepped to the bucket, put one hand on the lid, and tipped the edge up to look inside. The arachnid shot out at Dalton, who dropped the bucket and ran to the other side of the pen. I got up and picked up the bucket, and with a scooping motion, I plucked up the tarantula and caged him once more, this time in the pail, not under it. I was mobile, in pursuit of Dalton with a bucket full of tarantula.
Dalton took a begging tone with me. “Come on man! I heard stories about those things jumping on people and biting them.”
“You know I heard those same stories, actually.” I started to close the distance between him and me with the bucket stretched out in front of me like garlic aimed at a vampire.
“Seriously, I’m not a fan of spiders, bud.”
“What’s not to like? You could always bark at it until I left you alone.” I kept coming, Dalton moving toward the pen gate. The game was going on now, and if he left the bullpen, he would be in play. You could hear the spider clacking against the sides of the bucket with its