The bullpen phone rang. “We need a lefty. Elmo, into the game!”
Elmo, absorbed by the Victorian middle-literature he was studying in spare moments for his master’s thesis, dutifully responded. “Anything for the team, coach. Ihope it doesn’t rain!”
There was no chance of that, however. Today would be in the 80s, and Wednesday was the same. Beautiful nights in the 50s. ‘Perfect for studying when this game gets out of extra innings,’ Elmo thought
But for now, Elmo had to focus. He checked to see if his screwball was still on. He wound up –the pitch. Soon he’d be out of this pen. He hoped the crowd would notice more than just the bull.