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Show Car Baseball Butch and Fenn Stories 38 Fenn is a frenzy of readiness. "On the roof's a triple," I say to Butch. "That puts Howard on third, with Slaughter at the plate." I put Enos Slaughter on my team because his name is etched on my mitt. "Yeah, well, write it in your book. This game is suspended. I can't take another cup for a few days." Fenn is now only standing still, looking up, his arms at his sides. "Is it coming?" He sounds annoyed. "Sometime," Butch says. "Come on, let's hit the pharmacy." As we walk down the alley, we hear Karen call to us in her perfect screech: "Eat shit, you bas-tards!" "Did you teach her that?" Butch says to Fenn. Cup Baseball was born the day Tiny mouthed our final tennis ball into three pieces. Butch hated not to play baseball even for two minutes, and for a while we forced the rest of the game of Strike Out, using the largest fragment of our former ball. But even Butch's inventiveness failed to cope with the floppy piece of light rubber. Finally, he spun and threw it at Karen and ran in the house. A minute later he was back with the first of a series of Tupperware cups he would pilfer from his mother's collection. Cup Baseball was just right for Butch's yard. The cup could be slugged directly and only sail against his house - for a double. On the house: a |