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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 132 is in control. I can see that Butch is talking to him. Finally, Fenn taps his tennis shoes with the Piston Bat and steps back into the box, snapping into his stance before the Holladay pitcher even has the ball back. The next pitch is thrown by a less confident person than we've seen all day. Fenn's head leans toward it, and he strides, hitching the bat faintly as his swing begins. The bat starts slowly, gracefully, but then I hear the tink! as the piston shoots out, and the rest of the swing is savage. Fenn connects with the ball in front of the plate, and he pulls it right down the line into left field. It's a line shot, and I mean shot, three feet over the third baseman's head. The crowd, which has been sweating murder for two hours, explodes. I've never heard anything like it in Sorenson Park. The ball streams straight as a nail, no rise or fall, as Fenn rounds first, headed for second. It could be a homerun, I think at first, then the ball slams into the wooden fence six inches from the top of the Quail's Market sign. Any other ball in that spot would have been a double, but this hit is so sharp that the baseball rebounds all the way back in and is finally fielded by the shortstop as Fenn pulls up at third, standing! He stands on the base, just like a pro, his hands on his hips, his head cocked up as if he is waiting for something to happen. He's been practicing all summer to stand on third base this way, and the four hundred people in the park, even the |