Intro & Chapter 1: The Fantastic Tale of Finnick Flynn
What happens when a mysterious baseball player comes to town? Something magical.
Hello everyone!
As a paid subscriber you get extra goodies. Here is one. This is a short story that I wrote for my wife as a Christmas present in 2023. I hope you enjoy!
About this book
Although the places are real, sadly, the Georgia Peanut Farmers Baseball League never existed, except in my mind. This book is an homage to baseball, friends and family, all of which you will find throughout the book.
Darien is a small town in Georgia where my mom grew up.
That unusual name, Finnick, comes from my youngest son Walter (named after his grandpa). When he was two years old, he was obsessed with the movie Cars 2, especially with the main character Finn McMissle. He pronounced it Finnick Missile, and the name stuck with me. I also patterned Finnick’s unique speaking style after him. Walter has always had a particular way of phrasing things. As if he were much older. Both of our boys have excellent vocabularies which is something his mother and I are extremely proud of.
Smoodge is the nickname for my oldest son, Henry. You’ll see how that nickname was created later.
But most of all, this is for my wife, who grew up attending Atlanta Braves games with her father and eventually moved to Atlanta where she proudly supports the team she's followed all of her life. I tried to incorporate everything she loves about baseball.
I love you infinity verys.
Robert Garrett
Alpharetta, GA
October 8, 2022
The Georgia Peanut Farmers’ Baseball League 1941 Teams
Darien Deacons
Plains P-Nuts
Americus Harvesters
Sylvester Mules
Cordele Plowmen
Douglas Goobers
Darien Deacons Roster
P Abel “Abe” Abernathy
C Henry “Smoodge” Carson
1B Jasper “Jumper” Bronitt
2B Huddleston “Hud” Dailey
3B Elias “E-Train” Sullivan
SS Scott “Scooter” Brinkman
RF Linus “Lefty” Mullins
CF Melvin “Spider” Rickenbrode
LF Felix “Hawk” Hawkins
Manager Buster Poole
Chapter 1
Present Day
I’m a 92-year-old woman and I love baseball. It’s because of my daddy. Walter Francis Hayes Jr., Mickey to all his friends, was a bear of a man. Standing 6-foot-2 and barrel-chested with blond curly hair, he was bestowed his nickname by his father. When Walter Sr. saw the 11-pound newborn, he exclaimed, “Look at that big Mick!” (Yes, we are proud Irish, and that term is not condoned by today’s standard, but back then that’s just how it was.)
Daddy grew up following Ty Cobb, another Georgia native. The “Georgia Peach” was tenacious and talented. He loved Cobb because of his daddy. Walter Sr actually saw Ty play in a minor league game, and he constantly reminded us of that fact. Grandpa would read of Cobb’s sensational exploits described by the “Dean of sports writing,” Grantland Rice.
He saved all those articles and I read them over and over, black ink staining my fingers. It inspired me to chronicle my love for the game. It started in 1940 when I asked for a notebook for my birthday. I would then receive a composition notebook for any occasion – birthday, Christmas, July 4… Daddy didn’t really need an occasion to dote on his little Irish lass.
I filled those books with my thoughts, dreams, and a LOT of baseball stories. I fancied myself somewhat of a historian and took a journalistic approach. It started with summaries of other articles or recaps of games we heard on the radio. A great deal of them recounted the magnificent career of one Henry Aaron, who would eventually land in Atlanta, where I would have the privilege to see him play.
As great as he was – and he is still the home run king in my opinion - he wasn’t the best player I laid eyes on. Not even close. That distinction goes to one Finnick Flynn. Never heard of him? Not surprised.
Very few people got to witness his greatness. It was nearly magical what he did for our little team in a two-week span and for many years to come. I got to see it firsthand, and I wrote it all down because I wasn’t sure I was believing it. Now, where is that notebook?
Ah, found it.