I was asked to be a surrogate drafter for my friend’s fantasy baseball team. I’ll do that — I’ll take a couple hours and create the team — but I refuse to be there as it grows up, and breaks hearts, and teases, and disappoints.
The pitcher threw, the batter swung clumsily, and the bat flew from the player’s inept hands and soared across the crowded stadium at frightening speed.
The spinning rod flew into the stands and the panicked spectators rushed for safety, except for Jim, who looked up from his new video game three seconds too late to see the flying bat moving towards him and at that moment Jim painfully discovered that the new IPad 2 does not make a good shield against fast-moving projectiles.
The game was an endless variation on a few simple themes. The final out was a routine fly ball–to a Martian disguised as a right fielder.