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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 78 to forty-two runs. I've seen him draw the third out ten times, but never with forty-two runs. There's a chance he may cry. But suddenly he's up, the old Fenn. He says to us: "No outs, no runs." He's starting over. He runs with us, as wired as before, for five more runs, when suddenly that parked car jumps to life. The lights flash and the car springs past us before we can even take a step. Fenn is saved! An out becomes a double for him. He's back in it at forty-seven runs, man on second, and he's talking all the time, tighter and higher than I've ever seen him. "That is total skill," he's laughing. "Take the chance, have the faith." "Yeah, you're a genius at this game," Butch says. "I wonder what makes some guy park with a date for four minutes." He shakes his head. It is clearly later, stranger than we've ever played this game. I've sneaked in three singles when I caught Butch standing, but otherwise it's all neck and neck. He's two runs in the lead: fifty-five to fifty-three. My runners are at second and third. As I stand ready, waiting for cars, I stare across the lot, past the dark hulks of the abandoned cars, hoping to see Mr. Wilkes pull into the yard and end tonight's rampage. We've all made twelve or fifteen runs off his car alone, but it is enough. We want him to go home now. I've run so much I'm |