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Show Why We Cry Butch and Fenn Stories 129 Ribbons is required to play everybody, so I guess he's risking Fenn first, or else, he just doesn't know who Fenn is. Anyway I have to smile too. Fenn, in his goggles, waves at me. He looks like a raccoon. Dickey is throwing for us. He's a good pitcher for a kid with one pitch; it's a fast ball, and he keeps it low. He is able to ground three men out in seven pitches. Two of the grounders are hit to me at second, which means the Holladay kids are behind Dickey a little. It'll take a couple innings, at least, for them to get on him. The Holladay pitcher is a skinny kid who throws sidearm. He, too, basically has one pitch, also a fastball, but it leaves his hand low and rises a bit crossing the plate. I love to swing, and he strikes me out on three marginally high pitches. I hear Butch groan with each swish. It was like trying to hit a bird with a tomahawk. Three innings go by just like that, strike outs and grounders, when as the second batter in the third inning, Fenn is the first person in the ball game to reach first base. Butch came around to the end of the dugout and handed me the bat and I handed it to Fenn, but he never had a chance to use it. In fact, when he went up to the plate after swinging three or four jerky, tinking swings in the on-deck circle, he never even swung it. It seemed that they all knew who Fenn was. Butch had yelled, "Come on, Fenn!" and the pitcher had taken |