Yay! Clowns! Apocolypse! Also, Samurai! And, maybe, boxers!

That's all I got. For I am drunk. Sorry for the annoyance.

Well, the third base coach was tapping and flapping his hands like a madman, and the infield put on the shift. The third baseman stood at second, in case the runner at first tried to steal. The pitcher played with a couple of pickoff throws -- just a spin and toss, so the first baseman better be ready -- and settled in to face the lefty bat at home. The catcher studied the batter's feet, his hands, the angle of his hips, before shooting down a finger, touching his right thigh. He set up outside all elaborate, and then as the pitcher let go he hopped to his right to catch the inside fastball.

The batter had good wrists. He jammed his bat up, caught a piece of it, and sent the ball bounding into right field, just fair. As he dashed toward second, the runner saw a hand held up, Whoa, mouth forming the word, "Foul, foul." The third baseman, toe touching the bag, dropped his hands and looked idle, long enough for the runner to slow up, stumble to a stop. By the time he had figured out the deception, the ball was flying in from right field, and all the infield grinned at him. At first base, the batter fretted, his double stolen from him on a decoy. The first base coach patted him on the butt, consoling.

You can play the game if you're stone deaf. Ask Ryan Ketchner about it sometime. But, enunciate slowly, so he can read your lips.

Nutty, I love that piece the way I love Bull Durham.

For I do not love the baseball, and mention of it turns me into the Farside dog, "blahblahblah blah baseball blah, blah blahblahblah still baseball, blah blah."

But Bull Durham makes beautiful sense despite the baseball, and so does your drabble.

(laughnig my ass off at Nutty's drabble)

Because, unlike Bev, I muchly love the zen of baseball, and this made me happy like a happy thing.

That's hilarious, Nutty. I saw the replays and analysis of that on ESPN the other day, and I swear John Kruk was going to burst a blood vessel in his annoyance with the base runner.

ION, I just found out that finalists for the next contest I entered are in the process of being announced--I judged another category, and the contest coordinator posted early this morning that she was calling the finalists today, and would post to the list once she'd reached them all. She hasn't posted yet, but then again, my phone hasn't rung....

Hold me.

John Kruk was going to burst a blood vessel

I wish he would just go ahead and do that, then, so I don't have to listen to him spout ignorant nonsense (much to the annoyance of Gammo, sitting right across from him). Do you remember what teams they were? Someone in the national league.

And for the record, there was plenty of yelling over the play (also I am totally making up the call and pitch in the above); but the yelling was not a necessary part of the action.

Yeah, I'm not fond of Kruk, either.

I'm not sure, but I thought it was interleague--Cubs v. White Sox.

Hmmm. So.

As noted, I started a new series, the Rock and Roll Mysteries.

I'm keeping the actual first book under wraps, for some deeply personal reasons, but there aint no stinkin' reason not to post the synopsis, and if anyone makes the obvious connections, please to not name any names on the boards? Feedback on synopsis requested: it needs work, I think, since this is the first draft.

ROCK & ROLL NEVER FORGETS: A SYNOPSIS

JP Kinkaid, ageing guitarist for long-lived megastar rock band Blacklight, has got problems.

For one thing, there are the two women he loves: Cilla, the obsessive ambitious wife of thirty years, and Bree, the private, fiercely protective girl he fell in love with when she was barely old enough to be in high school. He's lived with Bree for 25 years, but has never entirely let go of Cilla.

For another, he suffers from multiple sclerosis, a disease which, as he ages, makes it harder and harder to deal with the pressures of a touring band.

JP, just off a European tour and preparing for the upcoming American tour, learns that sleazy tabloid biographer Perry Dillon is planning a detailed history and biography of Blacklight. When he sits down for the initial interview, it's clear from Dillon's questions that he's digging up a secret JP has tried to keep buried for a long time - a secret that could threaten his relationship with Bree.

Blacklight opens the American tour at Madison Square Garden, to high expectations and thunderous applause. But during the show, Perry Dillon is found dead backstage, and one of JP's guitar stands proves to be the murder weapon.

This is the first in the planned Rock and Roll Mysteries series, featuring JP Kinkaid: full of industry chat, backstage awareness and offering a fascinating look behind the scenes of how musicians work, live, and love.

deb, that sounds fantastic. I'm not really into the whole rock scene thing, but that synopsis makes me want to read it.

Sounds intriguing, deb.