Page 12 - Way Out to the Old Ballgame
P. 12

World Series

          “Just  this,”  replied  Bosconi,  impervious  to  the  frightful  display.
        “During the run-down, one of your runner’s heads went outside the
        base path. Your appeal is rejected.”
          “Hork-yark-gruk!”  hooted  Korok,  teeth  waving  gaily  like  league
        pennants in the breeze. “We win!”
          “Not  so  fast,”  cautioned  the  commissioner.  “You  also  filed  an
        appeal. In the ninth inning, your team would have scored two runs
        when the ball disintegrated in the infield. As you correctly surmised,
        the batter may take as many swings as he likes before the ball crosses
        the  plate;  there  is  no  rule  against  that  on  Earth,  since  our  players
        cannot physically spin around fast enough to take another cut. It is
        also the case that a ball damaged by the act of hitting it is still in play,
        regardless of its condition.”
          “So?” The Arthrodont started vibrating his upper and lower teeth
        against each other, very close to Bosconi’s neck. It sounded like an
        immense electric shaver.
          “What the umpires did not consider was that the bat was broken
        on the first swing by the force of the batter’s jaws; when he came
        around  the  second  time,  he  no  longer  held  a  regulation  piece  of
        lumber. He was out before he made contact.” Bosconi beamed at the
        creatures on either side.
          “But—but—” spluttered Lussessi. “Who won the game?”
          “Neither team scored a legal run. Nine innings were played, and
        the umpires called it an official game. There is no provision for an
        eighth game in the World Series.”
          The Arthrodont and Writher managers both broke out in streams
        of  abuse,  insulting  everything  from  Bosconi’s  intelligence  and
        objectivity to the very molecules from which life on Earth had first
        assembled. The commissioner smiled indulgently.
          “I see you have not yet learned the finer points of sportsmanship,”
        he  said.  “I  warned  you  before,  and  now  I  have  no  choice  but  to
        suspend both of you.”
          “Suspended?  For how long?” lisped Lussessi.
          “Well, considering the nature of your offences, and the harm you
        have done to the game in the eyes of children and other concerned
        supporters, I hereby suspend you for 500,000 years. Further attacks
        on this office or its rulings will result in even greater penalties.”
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