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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 135 "Nice hit," he says. "It was off the handle. "I know, but it went through the hole: basehit." I sit down, smelling like wool. "Some Fenn," I say. "Some bat," Butch says, clicking the piston a few times. "You see Fenn on third?" "Yeah." "You know what he looked like?" Butch is laughing, leaning back against the printed wall. "He looked like a statute of Zorro. Those goggles. He looked like a goddamned statute of Zorro." The rain has settled in now, drumming the dugout roof, pooling out in a low spot by second. "Well, that's little league," I say. Butch smiles: "This version," he says. "That's this version." |
