“Now,” Mr. Mash said, “the idea is to catch the softball because you are the catcher.”
Mystery. Catch?
And what about that funny huge glove I was wearing?
“Now,” Mr. Mash repeated, “catch the ball… it’s gonna come low!”
The boys were having fun. The neighbors, too. I was the hero of the first day of How To Play Softball And Enter The American Dream.
“Catch!!” Mr. Mash bellowed!
In slow mo, I raised the glove and lowered my face behind it.
The softball – hard as a rock – zipped over the glove and hit me between the eyes.
The Great White Hope was down!
“O, my God,” Mrs. Burns screamed, “this boy’s bleedin’ !”
Cold water poured over my face. Helping hands lifted me off the street and set me on my feet.
“God, this softball is dangerous,” Elias murmured.
“He got it wrong, wrong,” Mr. Mash was saying.
Deathly silence ensued as Mrs. Mash left the porch and approached her husband.
“Roy,” she said, fixing him with her trademark spear gaze, “you’re trying to kill these boys…. Sport time is over. Lasagna’s ready.”