Dougie Walsh was feeling pretty good about himself. After his stellar performance on the mound and his incredible, magical retractable wasp stingers, Dougie was going to be talk of the town, baseball wise. With his new speed and control and spin rate – all which were off the charts excellent – Dougie Walsh could propel himself into a big time college offer or maybe even a pro offer.

Dougie sat in his Mom’s kitchen as she prepared dinner for her and Dougie. “Did you see me on the TV? I can’t be beat,” exclaimed an overly cocky Dougie Walsh to his mom, Harriet, who was not impressed by this new bravado. “What did you do, Dougie? Did you cheat somehow and get away with it?” she asked poignantly. Dougie paused before answering, so long that his mother took the pan off the heating element on the stove and spun around to look at her son. “What did you do, I’m not going to ask a third time Douglas Whalen Walsh.” Oh boy, the full name and the middle name, Dougie was in deep you know what and he had no paddle.

“Come here, Mom, I will show you what I did.” Dougie walked over to the island separating himself from his very pissed off Irish mother. “Well the flick am I looking, your bare hands and grubby fingernails?” asked the tough Irish Harriet. Dougie pulled a baseball out of his pocket and placed it on the island. Then, slowly he reached for the ball and showed his mom the tiny stingers protruding from his fingers, gripping the ball like 10,000 suction cups. “Jeez, what the flick are those Dougie?” asked a now stunned Harriet Walsh. “Mom, when I got stung by all those wasps or bees and the Doc fixed me up, somehow a bunch of them stuck inside me. Just in my hands, and it reacts to when I grip a baseball. Strange twist of fate, the wasps stingers stayed in me and made me better. I can throw the ball with such spin that I can’t be touched on the mound.”

Harriet thought about it for a second and then asked Dougie the question of the night. “Yeah but isn’t that cheating somehow? I mean the coaches asked you a direct question and you said you had nothing on your hands. You had nothing on your hands, it was in your hands.” Dougie smirked, “yeah so technically I wasn’t lying Ma.” Harriet grasped her sons hands and then looked straight into Dougie’s young face. “Do you want that on your conscience? That you pulled one over on people and lived to tell the tale? That you became successful because of a slight of hand that you have?” Dougie looked down because he knew his mom was right. “Shit, what do we do, call the Doc, get some medicine? I’ll make it right, I swear.” “No,” interjected Harriet, “I’ll make it right, you stay right here Dougie Walsh.” Harriet left the room and went up to the hallway closet. On the top shelf was a row of college books and one labeled “Spells.” “I’ve been waiting to try this one out for awhile,” laughed Harriet, “got this book for 50 cents at a yard sale last summer over on the island. Now let’s see…”

Harriet and Dougie looked into the book of spells and found one that fit the description of bee sting, bee infection, wasp infection, sort of. “Go out to the deck and go underneath it and get me some wet moss. Bring it to me in the kitchen, I have to make a potion for you to drink.” Dougie grabbed a bowl from the kitchen cabinet and gathered a bunch of moss. Harriet filled a few glasses with lemon juice, honey, sage, and a few cinnamon sticks. Then swirled it around and let it sit. Dougie handed the moss to his mom and she plopped it on a pan with some sea salt and virgin olive oil. After the moss got really crispy and foul spelling, Harriet took it off the stove and ground it down into flakes. “Get me a plastic beaker from over there,” Harriet pointed to the bottom drawer in the island. Dougie found it and Harriet mixed in the mossy flakes to the spell’s concoction, just like the directions said. “Drink this, then pour some on your hands. I’ll get you a pair of socks so you can sleep with the stuff on your hands overnight. We will check on the progress in the morning. Down the hatch.” And with that, Dougie took a big swig of the stinger remedy and then poured the rest over his hands.

The next morning, Dougie rushed out to see his mom making eggs and bacon in the kitchen. He removed the socks and his hands were all sticky. “Go wash them, real good, real strong Dougie.” Dougie agreed and lo and behold, the stingers were falling off like little Tic Tacs into the sink. Dougie washed his hand for a few minutes and then showed his mom. “Cured,” they both said as Dougie grabbed the baseball off the counter and there were no more stingers. “Now for the real test,” said Dougie, “a real honest fastball.” “Go get em, Dougie, I’ll watch from the window.” said a very proud Harriet. Dougie walked out to his backyard, swung his tire hanging from the tree, marched off 60 feet or so, then fired an absolute missile strike right through the tire. No help, no stingers, no way anyone could hit Dougie Walsh’s fastball. Dougie yelled to his mom “What a Relief,” to which his mom yelled back “What a Fastball!”