The dugout is like a cage to Adam. It itches at him; he feels it closing against his shoulders. He tries to watch the game, but can't keep from twitching any time a grounder goes toward first.
Ozymandias regards him with a pepper eye. "What, you got to pee or something?"
Adam shakes his head. He picks up his big-ass bat and strikes a pensive pose.
Soon it is time to warm up in the on-deck circle. Thick little Beckham dinks a single, and Thunderhammerbat crackles in Adam's hands. RBI HUNGER.
At first pitch from Doctor Fausto, Adam gives a big, deep, nasty whiff. "Like this!" he says to THB.
Fausto's scared. He dicks around the zone for a few. And then he floats a wussy little changeup down the middle. Are you kidding...
GOTTERDAMMERUNG!! Adam puts that ball in the trashcan beyond the right field fence. You want that souvenir you got to go GARBAGE DIGGING.
Handshakes all around in the dugout. Adam sits on the bench and the bleakness of idleness bums him out.
Friday, April 1, 2011
1st Plate Appearance
HPU Mike Winters beckons Adam to the batters box. Reeling, Adam obliges, and faces the mysterious Doctor Fausto.
The thick-elf Beckham has poked himself a double; sage Juan Pierre hovers at third. THE STAGE IS SET.
Adam Dunn squints at the weak Cleveland sun. He is still groggy from his transformation; a strike sneaks past him. So too do three balls, and a second strike. Is Adam asleep out there?
Adam! Awaken ye to baseball!
Too late! He swung at a little stinker outside. Opening K!
The thick-elf Beckham has poked himself a double; sage Juan Pierre hovers at third. THE STAGE IS SET.
Adam Dunn squints at the weak Cleveland sun. He is still groggy from his transformation; a strike sneaks past him. So too do three balls, and a second strike. Is Adam asleep out there?
Adam! Awaken ye to baseball!
Too late! He swung at a little stinker outside. Opening K!
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!
Adam wakes as if from a dream. He is in some strange locker room, lit by strange light, smelling of strange odors. Something scuttles in the corner. Adam grabs Thunderhammerbat to strike it--it is a man. Or, some weasel-like simulacrum of a man. A HOMUNCULUS, it seems. Adam withholds Thunderhammerbat, and watches with wonder as the HOMUNCULUS straps on the catcher's gear.
So, there is baseball in this place?
Adam dutifully dresses in his new uniform, wary for ambush. He follows the men through the clubhouse. Little Zimmy is nowhere to be seen.
Avast! Some man claims Adam's station at first base! Adam will not play defense? What, is he to sit idly between innings, juggling Thunderhammerbat like a toy? Is he to play only half a game of baseball?
Ozymandias crouches in the corner. A towel is draped over his shoulders. He laughs and chews gum at the same time.
What is this wicked, bewildering world?
So, there is baseball in this place?
Adam dutifully dresses in his new uniform, wary for ambush. He follows the men through the clubhouse. Little Zimmy is nowhere to be seen.
Avast! Some man claims Adam's station at first base! Adam will not play defense? What, is he to sit idly between innings, juggling Thunderhammerbat like a toy? Is he to play only half a game of baseball?
Ozymandias crouches in the corner. A towel is draped over his shoulders. He laughs and chews gum at the same time.
What is this wicked, bewildering world?
Thursday, April 22, 2010
66th Plate Appearance
Ubaldo has departed Nationals Park, clutching a bushel of goose eggs to his chest. Franklin Morales shakes off a sense of deja vu as he comes to the field. Staked to a two-run lead, he'll face Adam first.
Adam charges up his left-hand batting glove with a few spits. The second pitch from Morales jams him. A jammed Adam Dunn can still lift the ball to the warning track. But a jam is a jam, and the snap of Carlos Gonzalez's glove confirms that this center-field shot closes the book on another 0-for-4 Dunnstravaganza.
Six miles away, past the nation's capitol, past the national mall, past the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center, Little Zimmy lies in bed in a quiet room in Georgetown University Hospital. He watches Pudge ground out, Justin Maxwell push a pinch-hit single to the outfield, and Ian Desmond strike out to finish the day. He turns off the TV set and rolls over on his side to stare at the wall.
"Why is he so upset?" says one nurse to the other. "Surely he knows his hamstring will have healed by tomorrow."
The other nurse, as buxom as the first, shakes her head. "You'll never understand, will you?"
Adam charges up his left-hand batting glove with a few spits. The second pitch from Morales jams him. A jammed Adam Dunn can still lift the ball to the warning track. But a jam is a jam, and the snap of Carlos Gonzalez's glove confirms that this center-field shot closes the book on another 0-for-4 Dunnstravaganza.
Six miles away, past the nation's capitol, past the national mall, past the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center, Little Zimmy lies in bed in a quiet room in Georgetown University Hospital. He watches Pudge ground out, Justin Maxwell push a pinch-hit single to the outfield, and Ian Desmond strike out to finish the day. He turns off the TV set and rolls over on his side to stare at the wall.
"Why is he so upset?" says one nurse to the other. "Surely he knows his hamstring will have healed by tomorrow."
The other nurse, as buxom as the first, shakes her head. "You'll never understand, will you?"
65th Plate Appearance
Ubaldo's still in charge, and he has deemed that the Nationals will score no runs today. The man is not known for mercy.
His fellow Ionians, sensing the weakness of grief in Washington's hero, employ the shift.
After a stinky sinky breaking ball, Adam fouls off a fast one, high into the air, toward the third base line seats. Plummeting from a great height, the ball strikes a beautiful woman in the shoulder. She cries out in pain.
Once again, sentiment has been banished. Adam, ensconced in his box, takes no notice.
He fouls off two more, and then Ubaldo feeds some cheese to the inside corner. Adam is returned to the mundane world. He backs out of the box and his great heart breaks.
His fellow Ionians, sensing the weakness of grief in Washington's hero, employ the shift.
After a stinky sinky breaking ball, Adam fouls off a fast one, high into the air, toward the third base line seats. Plummeting from a great height, the ball strikes a beautiful woman in the shoulder. She cries out in pain.
Once again, sentiment has been banished. Adam, ensconced in his box, takes no notice.
He fouls off two more, and then Ubaldo feeds some cheese to the inside corner. Adam is returned to the mundane world. He backs out of the box and his great heart breaks.
64th Plate Appearance
Ubaldo and his high socks stand tall on the mound, awaiting Adam's return to the arena.
Adam takes a deep sigh. Sentiment is therewise banished from his rectangular domain. Adam is fully, actively, gum-smackingly in the moment.
Ubaldo's 97-mph pirahnas nibble the inside of the zone, inducing by a thousand bites a 2-2 count. As he sets his feet, Adam swings THB low at the knees. He's ready to cook some fish.
Ubaldo sends a slider down the stream. And yea, though Adam's momentous chop could cleave the waters, it cannot hack this slider.
Adam takes a deep sigh. Sentiment is therewise banished from his rectangular domain. Adam is fully, actively, gum-smackingly in the moment.
Ubaldo's 97-mph pirahnas nibble the inside of the zone, inducing by a thousand bites a 2-2 count. As he sets his feet, Adam swings THB low at the knees. He's ready to cook some fish.
Ubaldo sends a slider down the stream. And yea, though Adam's momentous chop could cleave the waters, it cannot hack this slider.
63rd Plate Appearance
The injury to Little Zimmy hangs heavy over the clubhouse. Manager Jim Riggleman has spent the intervening night crying and tearing at his hair. Adam came to the clubhouse at 6:30 this morning (his usual arrival time) to find Riggleman slumped in the locker-room corner, weakly gnashing his teeth and beating his breast.
Adam has lifted the man to his duty, but still the lineup card Riggleman has handed to HPU Paul Edmonds is a patchy and torn fig leaf for the utter nakedness that Zimmy's absence has caused. Alberto Gonzalez is at third; Ian Desmond is at short; and loyal Cris Cringle, Zimmy's best friend in the middle infield, has been sent away to right field.
Amongst this sorry scene, Adam comes to fight. It is the bottom of the first. On the mound is the freshest initiate to the no-hit-Immortals, Ubaldo Jimenez.
The first speedy stinky goes far outside. Adam read it and forgot about it as soon as it left Ubaldo's hand. That's how sharp his eye is today.
Some breaking balls come Adam's way, and then a pair of heaters--one that even the staid Nationals Park radar gun must admit cracked three digits--batter Thunderhammerbat into splinters.
The pain of this added loss clouds Adam's clear eyes. Another THB is forthcoming, but some things are irreplaceable. Before he can blink away the resurgent memory of Zimmy's stretched hamstring, he sees another heater coming. Sees it imperfectly. The swing, at least, is beautiful.
Adam has lifted the man to his duty, but still the lineup card Riggleman has handed to HPU Paul Edmonds is a patchy and torn fig leaf for the utter nakedness that Zimmy's absence has caused. Alberto Gonzalez is at third; Ian Desmond is at short; and loyal Cris Cringle, Zimmy's best friend in the middle infield, has been sent away to right field.
Amongst this sorry scene, Adam comes to fight. It is the bottom of the first. On the mound is the freshest initiate to the no-hit-Immortals, Ubaldo Jimenez.
The first speedy stinky goes far outside. Adam read it and forgot about it as soon as it left Ubaldo's hand. That's how sharp his eye is today.
Some breaking balls come Adam's way, and then a pair of heaters--one that even the staid Nationals Park radar gun must admit cracked three digits--batter Thunderhammerbat into splinters.
The pain of this added loss clouds Adam's clear eyes. Another THB is forthcoming, but some things are irreplaceable. Before he can blink away the resurgent memory of Zimmy's stretched hamstring, he sees another heater coming. Sees it imperfectly. The swing, at least, is beautiful.
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