Big in Japan, Hated in Venezuela 2
Continued from last week.
The weird thing is, sitting in the dugout, awaiting his turn at the bat, he didn't visualize a thing. He sort of shut down. Doctor Tillman never got this.
"But, then, you sit there, do-ink noth-ink, " there he went again with the German accent... in reality, he thought, it probably sounded more like, "you sit there, doin' nothing, sittin' on your butt like a rock in the ocean, a swirling maelstrom of an ocean of a melting pot of cultures, all of which have come across oceans themselves, bear with me, I know my metaphors have broken down a little, here, but stick with me. This amalgam of cultures that have all come together to tie a bobble head rendition of one of your star players to a supporting post in the dugout, rookies in chicken outfits, risqué chicken outfits, nonetheless, and your first baseman, who keeps farting at you, in full view of the television camera. But you sit there with a stony, somewhat content look on your face, and you don't drift off into any visualizations? At all?"
"Nope, doc," he would say. He would have to note that this time, he did drift off and was replaying conversations in his head. As a padded toy baseball bat clanged off the corner of his left ear and the top of his head he had the odd thought that it might have even been an imaginary conversation he was replaying... or playing for the very first time, he supposed, in his head. Manny leapt on a bat boy and proceeded to bash on his batting helmet with the toy bat, and Bill looked up to see Trot coming into the dugout. "Let's see... Trot's in the five hole today... Manny, cleanup, of course... oh, damn!" And Bill scooted off the bench, down to the end of the dugout, grabbed his batting helmet, and a bat from the cubby, tried to make eye contact with the skipper, failed, and hurried into the on-deck circle, just as 'Tek laced a seeing eye single down the left field line.
Eighteen pitches later, he was standing on first base. Which is where he stayed for the remainder of the inning. He didn't chat much with the first baseman, even though the guys said he was the chatty sort. He nodded a curt "hey" when he got down to the bag, but he never seemed to make much conversation down there. Jonesy gave him a tap on his own shoulder, and a tap at the side of his nose, Jonesy's nose, that is, the base running signals hadn't quite gotten that personal just yet.
Bill wasn't always this way. With the visualizing, and everything. Once upon a time, he was a normal guy, with normal fantasies and day dreams, maybe a little more than the average bear, but well within normal limits.
To be continued...?
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