Free Sophomore Campaign by Frank; Nappi Page B

and vengeful. He became very vocal about his feelings regarding Lefty before the surly pitcher moved on to the Rangers. And Lefty had heard every word of it.
    The Brewers’ leadoff man stepped into the box to a raucous chorus of “Let’s Go Brew Crew!” Lefty stood still on the mound, his eyes dark and ulcerous, his mind echoing with accusatory voices, gobbling and jabbering in incomprehensible tones. The noise melded together with the shrill wail of police sirens and the cold clicking of handcuffs, until the cacophony rose up and filled the man with rage even he had underestimated.
    This wrath traveled quickly to his left arm. Pee Wee had barely dug in at the plate before Lefty dusted him off with a two-seam fast-ball that whizzed by his head, sending the batter sprawling to the ground in a desperate attempt to dodge the ball of venom. The boo birds were off their roost again, this time showering the field with a deluge of apple cores and soda bottles. Lefty waved his arms to the crowd invitingly, his glove hand motioning for more trash while the other was pressed to his mouth blowing kisses.
    â€œDo you believe this guy?” Danvers complained to Finster. “Incredible.”
    The two of them watched as Lefty continued to taunt the crowd and then Pee Wee, who had just stood up and cleaned himself off. “Hey, asshole,” Danvers screamed from the dugout. “How ‘bout dancing with me next?”
    Some fragment of Lefty’s attention was still lost in the crowd, but he heard the challenge and could not resist. He looked right at Danvers. He inhaled deeply and with nostrils flaring, began walking in his direction, ready to take on the Brewers’ third baseman right there. He had all but reached the first base foul line when McNally’s voice, harsh and savage, arrested his advance. “Rogers, you get your ass back on that mound and pitch goddammit! You don’t get paid to screw around.”
    The grounds crew dispensed with the garbage in a timely fashion and the game resumed. Pee Wee swung and missed at the next pitch and took the next two outside to run the count to 3 and 1. Lefty was throwing hard; it seemed as though all the shenanigans had stoked his fire. Pee Wee knew he was not going to be able to get around on the fastball. He called time. With one foot inside the box and the other just outside the chalk, he held his bat with two hands, exhaled loudly, and brought the barrel gently to rest against his forehead, as if he were transferring his intention to the instrument. Then he glanced furtively down the third base line before climbing back in the box to resume his battle.
    Lefty was still unhinged. His face burned in the hell-colored sunlight. He thought for a minute about throwing at Pee Wee again, just to teach him a lesson about making him wait. But the sound of McNally’s voice, still shrill and admonitory, broke up the feeling into frenetic coils that festooned throughout his body. He sighed with frustration, passed his tongue over the outside of his lips, wound up and fired. It was a perfect delivery; knee-high four seamer that would have painted the black on the inner half of theplate had Pee Wee not run up, slid his hand up the barrel of the bat and dropped a perfect bunt up the third base line. Both Lefty and the third baseman scrambled for the ball, but by the time Lefty’s fingers plucked it from the grass, Pee Wee had already crossed the bag safely.
    â€œWay to go, Pee Wee!” Murph yelled. “Way to get it going.”
    Arky Fries was next. He saw just one pitch, a jam job that resulted in a foul out to the catcher. With the speedy Pee Wee still at first, Woody Danvers strode to the plate.
    He too had a history with Lefty. Hated the guy. Some of it stemmed from the whole Mickey thing, but the truth was they never got along. Two egos that large were bound to bump into each other, and that’s just what had happened, time and again. Now