Page 6 - Way Out to the Old Ballgame

World Series

lunged at the ball, trying to protect the runner; it wasn’t exactly a
pitch-out, but the Arthrodonts clearly suspected the hit-and-run was
on, and intended to hang the runner, who had taken off with the
pitch, out to dry. Bosconi looked for interference by the batter, but
saw none; then he watched the catcher throw a strike to the
shortstop covering second. As the ball snapped into the Arthrodont’s
tooth-glove, Bosconi noted that none of the Writher runner’s heads
had reached the bag. The umpire, on closer inspection a mechanical
contrivance, hovered over the play like an inquisitive moth.
“Well,” began the commissioner, “he didn’t beat the throw, so I
can’t see why—”
“It’s not over yet,” muttered Korok, rattling a set of incisors like
jackhammer blades. “Keep your eyes on first base!”
Bosconi did so. The Writher’s feet, or whatever basal extremities it
used for locomotion, were about halfway between first and second
base; his heads were all over the place. The one sliding into second
base had a worm’s-eye view of the play and must have known it
would be caught stealing; so it suddenly jerked back on the
integuments of its neck, neatly missing the tag. Another head was
only a yard or two off first when the Arthrodont shortstop’s throw to
the second baseman covering arrived a moment later. Now the
defenders were in a quandary: how to make a rundown play when the
runner can touch either bag at will? Chasing any one head would be
of little use when any of the others could be snaking around the base
path to safety.
“Ah, what a base-stealer,” sighed Lussessi. “Hasn’t been caught in
twenty-seven attempts.”
The Arthrodont infield indeed showed no signs of surprise. The
pitcher lumbered off the mound to help out along the base path, as
did the big first baseman, who gyroscoped around on his pins and
headed on a bee-line for the runner’s dancing midsection. At first it
looked like the Writher had another steal—or at least would be able
to get back to first safely. Once the ball was in the second baseman’s
gloved tooth, he slammed it down at the retreating serpentine
cranium. Too late: Bosconi realized that the Writhers could extend
and retract their heads through the air faster than the Arthrodonts
could ratchet along the ground. The fielders’ only hope was to move
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