\u201cDago,\u201d Bill said, \u201cwhat do\u2019yer think?\u201d His cap was waxed with clay and oil; a season\u2019s worth of fretzing had creased the brim into a steeple. It sat high on his wet head, pointing toward the bridge. A line of trolleys rolled above the ballfield.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think I\u2019ll put it in the creek,\u201d Vic said. \u201cDon\u2019t you worry your pink cheeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
Tenth Street climbed up Fountain Hill toward the mill along the baseline. The bridge made pine tar shadows almost touching third, the space between the arches looked like mitted fingers.<\/p>\n
\u201cEat shit,\u201d the pitcher said. \u201cI think I\u2019ll put it in your mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
Betty sat with June behind the backstop.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen, Bet,\u201d Vic said, \u201cit ain\u2019t polite to stare.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI ain\u2019t staring, neither,\u201d she said, \u201cleast of all at you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou was starin\u2019 when we was at the pool, Bet. Don\u2019t lie around your sister.\u201d June latched knots of grass and clover into chains.<\/p>\n
\u201cMust you be so common? In front of children, really.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t get your socks all dirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSissy don\u2019t lie, neither, Dago,\u201d June said through missing teeth. Their older brother, Apple, got up from the bench.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus,\u201d said the pitcher. \u201cHere come the old gray mare. Sit your ass down, Potter!\u201d<\/p>\n
Apple called Vic over. \u201cQuit yer showing off.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vic looked at the bridge. \u201cApps, we got all day.\u201d Hardtops skimmed above the concrete chutes.<\/p>\n
\u201cDago,\u201d Bill said, \u201cthis Swede\u2019s a cold dead fish.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pitcher licked his fingers. \u201cWe playing ball or what? Quit yer jerking off.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWatch close, Bet-Bet,\u201d Vic said. \u201cStop staring at my ass.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLike fun,\u201d Bet said and stood. \u201cJune, we\u2019re going home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on, Bet. Stop yer foolin\u2019. It\u2019s goin\u2019 in the creek.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vic stepped in the box. The Swede flashed milk-white teeth and bent in wild angles. His front leg pointed to the bridge, his knee came to his nose, Bill thought the pitcher\u2019s arms would reach back down the block.<\/p>\n
\u201cJesus, Gustav,\u201d Vic said. \u201cIf I could stretch like that I\u2019d never leave the house. Assumin\u2019 you can find it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The pitch came high and out. \u201cThat was gratis, Gustav. Come on, don\u2019t fuck this up.\u201d<\/p>\n
The catcher threw back from the squat. \u201cYou like the view there, don\u2019t you? Keep your balls out of my face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on Dago,\u201d Bill said. \u201cPut it in the crick!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t worry your pink cheeks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFocus, Dago,\u201d Apple scolded.<\/p>\n
\u201cFocus, Dago, focus.\u201d Bill\u2019s hat was in his hands.<\/p>\n
Strike one felt high, inside. Gustav showed his teeth.\u00a0Vic stepped out and swung. Gustav touched the rubber.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is all what you call formality,\u201d Vic said. \u201cThe whole thing\u2019s been decided. Hitler and the Duce? They\u2019re joined at the hip.\u201d He looked back at Betty. \u201cAin\u2019t your Pap named Fritz?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVulgar,\u201d she said. \u201cReally.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVictor,\u201d he said, \u201cVictor. Like the Dago king.\u201d<\/p>\n
Strike two was down the middle. \u201cYour Majesty,\u201d the Swede said, \u201chas a funny way of scoring.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLet\u2019s put this thing to bed.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ball two was high and in. \u201cI beg your royal pardon.\u201d<\/p>\n
Vic stepped out to swing. He looked back at Betty through the diamond chain. \u201cI\u2019m signing up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor summer school?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m signing up. The Navy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVictor,\u201d Bet said, \u201creally?\u201d<\/p>\n
He stepped back in the box. Gustav touched the rubber. Victor drove a fastball into Tenth.<\/p>\n
\u201cLoosen up! You\u2019re out in front,\u201d Apple hollered from the bench. \u201cKeep your goddamn pants on!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey won\u2019t take you, Dago,\u201d Bill said. \u201cYou gotta be eighteen.\u201d<\/p>\n
Gustav touched the rubber. \u201cDagos all talk shit.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMangia, Scandie. You can eat it. I said I\u2019m signing up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDago, they won\u2019t take you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t say tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlways talking shit.\u201d Gustav began the stretch. Ball three was at Vic\u2019s chin. \u201cFree dental work,\u201d the Swede said. \u201cFix that fucking jaw. Your mouth goes wop, wop, wop.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up and pitch, big herring. Go fuck a rutabaga.\u201d<\/p>\n
June crowned her older sister with a ring of daisy chains. \u201cJune,\u201d she said, \u201cthat\u2019s lovely. Thank you very much.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cVic is king of Dagos. You can be the queen!\u201d<\/p>\n
Vic watched Gustav\u2019s hands, tracked the ball through his rotation. Glove to groin, head to hip, the kick and angle home. Betty noticed Victor\u2019s stirrups, the dirt on his white socks. Apple pressed in on the chainlink, Bill chewed on his hat.<\/p>\n
On the bridge, the sailcloth tops of Bantam jeeps glanced in and out of view. Streetcars clanged above the infield chatter, and the whistle at the millyard, out of play beyond the creek and foul pole willows, turned over its new shift.<\/p>\n
\u201cGet ready, Dago,\u201d Bet said.<\/p>\n
The runners moved on contact, the stitching spun in long red lines, the yellow hide got hung up in the trees. Betty stood and strained to see the winding come down in the creek.<\/p>\n
\u201cClap for Victor, June,\u201d she said, smoothing out her skirt.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
\u201cDago,” Bill said, what do\u2019yer think?\u201d
\n\u201cI think I\u2019ll put it in the creek,\u201d Vic said. \u201cDon\u2019t you worry your pink cheeks.\u201d
\n\u201cEat shit,\u201d the pitcher said. \u201cI think I\u2019ll put it in your mom.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":182,"featured_media":24570,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3530],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-23623","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-flash-fiction","writer-chris-cocca"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23623","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/182"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=23623"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23623\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":24571,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/23623\/revisions\/24571"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/24570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23623"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=23623"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=23623"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}