"is that a pitch-out gets called, but the runner isn't going. So, figuring they're not going to call two pitch-outs in a row, they'll send the runner on the very next pitch."
"But the defense is thinking this way as well," I offered, "so they order another pitch-out."
"But," Nicole added, "the offense might be one step ahead of the defense and not give the runner the green light, and suddenly the batter is ahead in the count two balls and no strikes."
"Then, it gets real complicated," Kern said.
"You guys are making me fucking dizzy," Henry snorted. "Beer man!"
The pitcher finally threw toward the plate, but there was no pitch-out. Apparently, the hit-and-run had been summoned forth, but it proved disastrous as the batter hit a line drive right at the second baseman who threw back to first base to record an out against the runner. After a lengthy explanation, Nicole said this was a double play.
Perhaps, it might be time to reread the works of Miss Austen.
After an uneventful first inning, where more was happening than would appear to the uninitiated, the Muskies drew first blood, scoring on a home run hit high into the darkeningMadison sky.
"Must've hurt his hands," Kern said, pulling his leather closer to his body. He gripped the material of my shirt between his thumb and forefinger. "Aren't you cold?"
Unlike my companions who were well bundled or the other fans who wrapped themselves in blankets as the night's cold settled in, I wore merely a button-down shirt under my leather jacket. It had been warm that afternoon, and I had no need to put on heavier clothing. Now, my attire appeared suspicious.
"I am quite comfortable," I replied. "I am well accustomed to the cold."
The Muskies added another couple of runs, but saw their undaunted opponent match their tally and exceed it as the game reached the halfway point, the milestone marked by a team of fit young men and women who, amidst cheers, sprinted onto the infield and smoothed the earth with thick, weighted canvas sheets which they dragged behind them. Once their task was completed, the groomers turned toward the bleachers and bowed before running off the field.
More ritual: Before resuming play, the voice from above announced it was time for something called "the bat race".
"Check this out," Nicole said laughing.
Two portly men stood near the home team's shelter, each holding a bat upright against the grass. When the signal was given, the men ran in tight, rapid circles around the bats they still held.
"Kern, didn't you do this once?" Nicole asked.
"I got hosed," Kern replied. "I played it smart, going around the bat slow enough not to get too dizzy, and there I was, clear-headed, running for the gold, but they made me go back and run one more circle. I made ten circles, I know I did, but they said it was only nine, the fuckers."
"We'll put it on your fucking headstone," Henry said. "'It was ten circles, not nine. I got hosed.'"
One gentleman completed his ten circles, dropped the bat and was ready to run ahead to the goal to win the contest. He took one step, stumbled and fell to the turf.Carpe diem ! The other man speeded up, dropped the bat and prepared to rush forward as though to grab the Holy Grail. He stumbled, fought hard to steady himself, then wobbled sideways and fell into the shelter. The first man finally rose and trotted gingerly to the finish line to win his prize.
The hundreds of fans laughed loudly.Leon rose and gestured broadly with his arms, beckoning the fans to give this valiant duo a standing ovation. Before the game resumed, the announcer offered a few veiled, but choice words about safety. "Parents, watch your children. Everyone, use the buddy system. And do not go into the parking lot by yourself after the game."
Only a couple of families had brought their offspring, most likely because the children had to get up for school the next day. The youths had been climbing all over the steel bleachers until the announcement. Parents then pulled their children close.
"Christ," Henry said, rising, "I'm hungry."
"Brat run?" Kern asked.
"Yeah, you guys want anything?"
Nicole reached across me to hand Henry a five-dollar note, her breasts gently brushing against my arm. "Can you get me a brat with sauerkraut and mustard?"
"Ditto for me," Kern added, "but make it too. And I want ketchup also."
Henry took the bills and made a sour face. "Ketchup? Ketchup? What kind of maniac puts