low and inside

'The outfield, swung around a little to the left, deep in center, infield back, as Wally stands tall on the rubber like a statute and gets the sign at two and two. Breeze from the right as heavy clouds are turning dark. He rocks, kicks and fires. Bunson SWINGS and...oh! goes down in a heap on..what was it, Bill'?
'Appeared to be a splitter, foul-tipped that caromed off Bunson's...um, mid-section, Chuck. Ouch! The slo-mo confirms it. Right in on his..Ow!'
'I don't think I want to watch that too many times there, Bill'.
'No. No, a shame the minors don't have the protection like the big leagues'.
'Oh man, Bill, they just showed it again. No wonder he's down on all fours'.
Dead air as Bill sees a hot chick in the first row wearing a wife-beater, as it reminds him that he needs to to strike his wife the next time the team returns home. It begins to sprinkle. He notices the ball has rolled all the way out past shortstop, no one dare touch it. The manager is looking at the ground, shaking his head, kicking dirt in thought. Men all over the park stop eating their chili dogs, frozen at their lips as they replay the slo-mo white hardball bulls-eye meteor on the big screen in left. Bill imagines beer sales will now skyrocket from the middle of the sixth for a good two innings more. He shudders.
'How do you treat something like that, Chuck'?
'You got me, Bill'.
'I suppose soaking'.
'Soaking, yeah'.
'Yeah. Soaking. Not in the trainer's, most likely back at the Motel Six. But, man, I don't know. I never. Bunson's up now, wobbly. I can see his watery eyes from here, Chuck. Gosh, if he was only a right fielder the Birds could easily replace him....'
'Bill, excuse me, but Bunson just gave the thumbs up! What a kid! Men are eating their dogs again'.

image by Manu Pombrol