Page 9 - Way Out to the Old Ballgame

World Series

eighty-ounce bat cocked high between his teeth. Bosconi saw the
Writher first and third basemen guarding the lines against an extra-
base hit. The batter had to hit it in the gap or else. For an instant all
was still while the pitcher assented to the catcher’s signal; then the
Writher hurler brought the two head-limbs holding the ball down
together to a complete stop at his functionless belt, carefully avoiding
a balk, and delivered the pitch.
Bosconi watched the ball, awestruck: it had movement he’d never
seen before, imparted by high-RPM spin off the pitcher’s whipping
heads. The Arthrodont slugger, a southpaw, had made up his mind to
swing long before the ball had left the mound: do or die. The Writher
battery had anticipated this, and weren’t going to serve one up in his
wheelhouse; instead, they gave him an inside-out change-up curve,
the bottom of which dropped out ten feet in front of the plate. The
slugger wanted a high inside curve he could drive over the right-field
fence, and he was way out in front of it. He was strong and he was
nervous: his gargantuan incisors snapped through the bat as he
swung. The barrel flew in a straight line into the first-base umpire,
who exploded in a shower of sparks and plastic shrapnel. The
commissioner ducked involuntarily.
“No, no, no!” shouted Lussessi. “Keep your eye on the ball! There
wasn’t any play at first.”
Bosconi’s gaze returned to the field, which obligingly had frozen
while his attention was elsewhere. There he saw an amazing thing: the
batter, with the mass and profile of a water buffalo, kept on turning
on his front peg leg after breaking the bat. He pirouetted through a
full turn, off-balance, teeth fully extended, so quickly that the ball had
yet to cross the plate when he came around on it again. This time the
Arthrodont made contact, slashing into the horsehide with the side of
one great spatulate tooth. The batter’s momentum kept him going
toward first, under the high-decibel encouragement of his coaches,
while the defenders scrambled for the ball.
The pitcher had come off the mound on the first-base side, so he
had no chance. The third baseman was still behind the bag, leaving
the shortstop alone to cover the left side of the infield. And the ball
came down in front of him, in several pieces. The core bounced
crazily before settling on the foul line; the cover and a wild mass of
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