Week 11 Story, The Sandlot

The Beast of The Sandlot

The Sandlot Gang.

Web Source

It was midsummer 1962 in San Fernando Valley. My family had just moved to this town and I didn't have a single friend. That is until I started playing ball at the sandlot. These guys made my first summer in San Fernando the best summer of my life. I owe that summer to my friend Bennie. If it weren't for Bennie I wouldn't have learned how to play ball and would have never became friends with the guys. We really only met because the guys needed an extra body on the field. Boy was I bad. I couldn't even catch a ball back then. Most of the time any ball that was hit towards me would fly right on past me. I would have to go retrieve it from the back fence. Man did I not like that fence. Every time I had to go back there I would here noises only a beast was capable of creating. I quickly found out I was not the only one scared of this "beast". One day Ham, the catcher of the gang, was up to bat. He channeled his inner Babe Ruth and hit the ball far over that fence. I wanted to impress the guys so I masked all of the fear I had and started to climb the fence to retrieve our only ball. That's when I heard the screaming and shouting. I turned around and saw the whole team sprinting to take me off of the flimsy green fence. I couldn't understand what on earth had gotten into these square heads. After I was carried back to the ground, everybody agreed a campout to explain what was behind that fence was in order.

Later that night (after I finally finished doing the dishes like my mom told me to do) I met the whole gang in the treehouse that sat way back in right field. That night Ham taught me how to make the perfect S'more and Squints, our gutsy right fielder, told me the story of The Beast. Now I can't tell the story as well as Squints did with the shadow of his glasses dramatized by the flashlight he was shinning on his face but the story goes a little something like this.

There once was this old junkyard called Myrtle's Acres. Now Myrtle's had an issue of robbers coming through constantly. To fix this problem old man Myrtle got a dog from the pound. Myrtle kept feeding it and feeding it pounds and pounds of meat and the dog kept eating and eating it. The pound dog kept getting bigger and bigger. Once the dog was big enough old man Myrtle trained him to keep the junkyard safe. The Beast had got such a taste for meat it did its job a little too well. He craved to kill. He must have killed at least one hundred and seventy three men before the cops but an end to it. The police department forced old man Myrtle to lock the beast up where it couldn't get out FOREVA FOREVA FOREVA.

Of course later that summer we all found out it was a big myth but boy did we fear that thing. I hear kids whisper about the ole tale form time to time and can't help but laugh. I never correct the kids though. Figuring out the beast is really just a lovable dog is almost a right of passage here at the sandlot.

Authors Note:

The original story I read was an old fable explaining why the islanders are scared of dogs. This man lived on an island to keep his big dog from eating people. The dog would sneak off from time to time and eat an islander every once in a while. I couldn't help but think about the movie The Sandlot while reading this story. It inspired me to rewatch the movie and write about the beast that the kids battle throughout the movie.

Story Source:
Eskimo Folk-Tales by Knud Rasmussen with illustrations by native Eskimo artists (1921).