Only Ernie Banks...

It was his favorite bat.1

A piece of wood signed by The Great Ernie Banks on the day the Cubs retired his number. It was his prized possesion. Sometimes she thought he loved that damn team more than he even loved his own mother, let alone her. 2

He kept it, perfectly clean, on the wall. Placed gently, lovingly almost, on hooks above the TV where he could see it everyday and admire it. She’d even caught him praying to it near the end of a season once, asking it to let the Cubs make the playoffs. He loved that stupid bat.3

He also loved Mary. Mary was stupid, too. But, Mary was also a long legged, chainsmoking seductress who had a passion for home wrecking. And they both loved each other. Or, rather, sleeping together. Every Wednesday afternoon while she was busy pulling double shift at the hospital to pay the bills.4

Except for this Wednesday. This Wednesday, she decided to surprise him. Be home early, she thought, with supper hot and her, ready to wait on him hand and foot. Just like the wife he’d always wanted.5

So, it was quite a shock, to say the least, to walk into their bedroom and find them wrapped around each other. Her confused eyes took in the clothes thrown carelessly on the floor and the shades not even drawn.6

It wasn’t as hard as she thought’d it be. In fact, in only took a minute for her anger to blind her reason. Thirty seconds to walk down the hall and reach up and yank the bat from its altar. Twenty to retrace her steps and a mere ten to implant Ernie’s signiture on both their heads.7

She didn’t even feel bad when the cops asked her why she did it. Nor when her lawyer asked her. Not even when the judge asked her. All she said was, “Only Ernie Banks could play two.”