Searching for Shane

[The story you are about to read is not true, so the names of the people and places have not been changed to protect the innocent].

At the bakery where I used to get bagels in West Philly, there was a lone loaf of bread sitting high up on a shelf in the back corner behind the counter. It was easily overlooked, but I noticed it the first time I went inside. I studied it while waiting in line and concluded that it must be the bakery’s version of taping its first dollar bill next to the cash register. After several more visits, though, I still felt unsure enough to ask about it.

“Is that like the first loaf of bread you ever baked here?”

The guy behind the counter looked at me curiously, then up at the shelf, with abrupt impatience.

“What …? That!?”

“Yeah, that loaf of bread.”

“Nah man, that ain’t just a loaf of bread. That’s Shane Victorino.”

I had no idea what he meant, but before I could think about it, he was dragging a footstool across the floor toward the corner, so he could pluck the thing off the shelf and show it to me.

In fact, it was a real loaf of bread, but it looked dried out and dusty. He carefully wiped off part of it and held it out to me.

“See? Shane Victorino.”

I looked carefully and saw what appeared to be writing, perhaps a crude “V,” but the rest wasn’t very legible. It was a loaf of bread apparently signed by Shane Victorino, a hard-working player who, for many years, patrolled center field for the Phillies. A few seasons back, he had become a local hero when he helped the team win its first World Series in three decades, but by this day, he was long gone from the team.

After all the moments that had led to this one, this reveal left me disappointed, although I tried to hide it.

“Oh. A loaf of bread signed by Shane Victorino. That’s cool.”

The guy flipped the bread around in his hands and forcibly held it out to me again.

“Not just signed by Shane Victorino — it IS Shane Victorino. Look!”

With that additional prompting, I did see it — the uncanny resemblance of the loaf of bread to Shane Victorino, minus his typical goatee. I laughed out loud.

“Oh God — that’s great — really funny.”

I looked at it again, more closely.

“I mean did you guys try to make it like that?”

“Not at all. It just came out that way so we put it up on that shelf.”

“Huh... And that’s his autograph?’

“Yup.”

“How did you get that? Did you take it to a Phillies game or something?”

“What? Hell no! Nobody taking no loaf of bread to no Phillies game for no damn autograph. You tripping?”

“So, how …?”

“He walked in here and signed it.”

“He just happened to walk in one day and didn’t know anything about it?”

“Uh-uh. He knew. He came here looking for it. One of his peeps or something seen it and told him about it.”

“Oh — that makes more sense. And so then you asked him to sign it?”

“Pfffft! Nobody asked him for no damn autograph — I told you.”

“So, how …?”

“I tried to give it to him, yo. Climbed up on the stool, just like I did now, took it down and handed it to him. Told him to take it — it was his — you know, like a gift. But he didn’t want it. He just signed it and handed it back. So it’s signed now.”

I took a last, close-up look at the signature, but really couldn’t make it out.

“Did he think it was funny?”

“I guess. He was all gangster, whipping out his own Sharpie and shit.”

“Huh … well that’s pretty cool.”

“Yeah, you know, no big deal. I’ll tell you what though — Phillies ain’t did much since we put it up and then he went and got himself traded.”

“Well, if you ever wanted to get rid of it, I’d take it — how much would you, you know, sell it for?”

“Nah man, we’d never sell it I don’t think. I mean it’s part of this place — you know, like tradition and all that — right?

I understood so I didn’t press, and he put it back up on the shelf. It would have been a gag purchase for me anyway. What would I do with it? Maybe have one laugh with someone back at my house? Just as well it wasn’t for sale. I bought a lot more bagels than I planned and left the store feeling glad that I finally asked about it.

The next time I returned a few weeks later, I looked up at the shelf and Shane Victorino was gone. I scanned all the walls, counters and shelves but didn’t see it anywhere. I wondered whether my last visit had anything to do with it. A different guy was working behind the counter, but I immediately stepped forward and pointed up to the shelf.

“What happened to Shane Victorino?”

The guy turned to look where I was pointing but didn’t understand me. In just that instant he seemed irritated.

“What? What’s that?”

“The Shane Victorino bread that was up there — it’s gone now.”

“Shane what-a-who?”

“Um, the Phillies guy —Victorino — he used to play for them. Center field.”

“ Never heard of him.”

“You know, the ‘Flyin’ Hawaiian’?”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying to me, man.”

“Huh. So it’s gone?”

“You still talking about that bread?”

“Yeah…”

“That thing’s gone, man. It fell off the shelf the other day and made a big mess. I had to clean that shit up.”

He wasn’t taking follow-up questions, so I just bought way more bagels than I had planned again and left. I resisted the urge to turn and take another look at the empty shelf on my way out and wished now that I had taken a picture of it. As the door closed behind me, I regretted ever bringing it up to begin with, and wondered if I would ever go back to the bakery again.

Postscript: The loaf of bread undoubtedly is in a local landfill somewhere. Meanwhile, Shane Victorino now plays for the Chicago Cubs, where this season he has a good chance of helping the team win its first World Series since 1908.