| OCR Text |
Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 70 put him out with the flat side of the shovel, banging and banging it off the old car. Inside the house, Barbara, Butch's mother, could be heard singing along with a record: "Pistol Packin' Mama". Finally, I saw Budd swing and plunge the shovel through the back window, where it lodged, regardless of how he tried to yank it around. Then the other man sat on the fender and started laughing, and the last thing I saw before I ducked was Budd and that guy laughing and sitting on the sad old brown car. Fenn had said to me: "what's going on?" "Nothing. More murder. Go back to sleep." 10 Once Dad has gone inside, we wait for the signal, the bathroom light going off, and we start with the real game: Car Baseball. It always starts the same. We're talking, arguing about how many different triple plays are possible, when suddenly Butch is gone, running for the swings. He tags them and races back to his bag, sliding in just before the car, which we hadn't noticed, passes before us on Emery Street. "Man on first." He's got a single on us, and Fenn is up, his hands in the fence, his head swiveling both ways down Emery. I love him for his useless activities. He couldn't see a car if it was falling on him. |
