Robert Coover - The Universal Baseball Association, Inc., J. Henry Waugh, Prop

"You can try." Oh boy. Steal third with two outs. Way to go, Flynn. "If you want to."

"Okay, why not? Try everything." O'Shea made it. Caught Halifax and Ingram napping. He always thought of catchers as slow, but there were exceptions. Maybe O'Shea was one of them. "I still haven't found it."

"There. He made it. He's safe."

"Look at that! Say, I'm beginning to like this game. Who's up?"

"Your third baseman. Galen Musgraves."

"He's just a plain type, hunh? Maybe I oughta pinch-hit somebody. Is that a good idea?"

"Well, pinch hitters have a slight advantage. But it's only the second inning, Lou. And then you only have one other third baseman."

"Oh, that's enough. How about this fella Sycamore Flynn here?"

"That's your manager."

"Can't bat, hunh?"

"No. Anyway he's in his fifties."

"Oh, the poor guy. Well, how about, uh, Kirk Abalon?"

"If you want." When Lou pronounced them, they did sound like comic book names.

"Okay, write him in there." Lou rubbed the dice between both plump palms. "Come on, big Kirk!"

"Abalon's a little man," Henry said.

Lou cast a glance of total wonder Henry's way. "Okay then," he said with a bemused shake of his head, "come on, little Kirk!" He threw the dice. Incredible. Henry sank back into his chair and drank off his own beer. "Hey, how about that, Henry! That PH means pinch hitter, don't it?" Henry nodded. "So it's a single, advance one, if pinch hitter, and otherwise fly out to right field, runners advance one." Lou clapped his hands. "Way to call those plays!" he congratulated himself. "Listen, where is everybody now?"

'Two runs in, two out, man on first, your pitcher at the plate."

"Not too good a batter, hunh?"

"Odds for him are a little less than those of a Regular hitter, but—"

"Okay, that's what I wanted to know. Who can I put in there? How about that Moon fella? He missed out there at the start, so I'll run him in now. Don't want any bad feelings."

'That's okay, Lou, but there are still seven innings to go, and your Ace—"

"I got another one. Is this Archie Moon big or little?"

Six foot two, 168 pounds, thirty years old, seven years in the Association. Dazzling fielder out in center, good throwing arm. Smooth-swinging choke hitter who sprayed to all fields. One big year in LII when he punched out a.281, just missing Star status. Hair sun-bleached blond, skin tanned, cigarette-ad smile. Played pro tennis in the spring. "He's… pretty big."

"Okay, come on, pretty big Archie!" Lou piped cheerfully. He belched and threw. "What's that?"

"Extra base hit."

Lou found it. "You're right. Now what…?'*

"Throw again. Use this chart."

"Boy, this game takes forever." He threw and Moon tripled. "Hey!" Lou exclaimed when he found the place. "By golly, I think I've got this game figured out. What would've happened if I'd left the pitcher in there?"

"Samelhing."

"Oh?" Lou's enthusiasm sagged. He drank beer. "You want to bat for a while?"

Henry smiled. "You still only have two outs. Keep going." He probably ought to pull Halifax, but he didn't have the energy for it.

Lou shrugged, rolled the dice. Scat Batkin went down swinging. At last. "Maybe I should've had that fella try to steal home," Lou said.

"Three to nothing, your favor," said Henry. "Who's pitching and playing third?"

"Well, that other Ace there, Shannon, Uncle Joe Shannon, and then, let's see, this man Holden Chase—"

"He's an outfielder. Koane's your other third baseman."

"Okay," smiled Lou agreeably, settling back, "Koane."

Mickey Halifax bounced one down to Koane, who threw him out. Lou looked it up and Henry explained it. "I think that was a good idea, putting that boy in there," Lou said, a bit drunkenly. He should have stopped to think about Halifax. But then who would he have pitched? Lou went to the refrigerator for more beer. "Do you mind, Henry?"

" No, help yourself."

"Want one?"

"Mmm." Ramsey struck out. Impatiently, he threw again, and Locke fouled out, McCamish coming in from right to haul it in.

"Hey, wait, what's happening?"

"You're up. My lead-off man struck out and the next one fouled out to your right fielder."

"You should've used a pinch hitter, Henry. Works every time. Listen, I wanted to tell you how this movie ended. This woman, see, was really a queen bee, trans — how do you say?"

"Transmuted."

"That's right." He drank beer. "See, these bees knew a lot more than anybody had guessed. They had scientists and all, and they had figured out how to — how did you say…? Well, you know, cross over, sort of. They were just putting this man on with his little experiments, but they were really planning a big take-over. Well, the point is — did I tell you about this guy's wife? No? Well, I gotta back up. See, his wife—"

"Listen, Lou, why don't you roll while you explain it?"

"Just take a minute. His wife didn't like this girl right off. Woman's intuition, you know. The girl, I mean, the one who came to be the secretary, the one who was really the queen bee—"

"It's getting late, Lou, and we won't have time—"

"By golly!" exclaimed Lou, glancing at his watch. "Almost ten already! Can't stay too much longer." He rolled the dice. Weeks singled, but Garrison, Baldwin, and McCamish hit successive groundballs to the infield and were thrown out, leaving Weeks stranded on second. Lou patiently looked up the significance of each throw, getting deeper and deeper the while into the plot of the movie he'd seen. "So this girl — but there was this man who came, the wife had asked him to come because — are you still following?"

"Not very well."

"Let me go back. This guy was keeping bees, trying to talk to them, when one day this girl comes to ask for a job as an assistant, sort of, and he — that reminds me, that woman last night, was it, did everything…?"

"What?"

"You know, I mean, work out okay?" Lou grinned sheepishly, going pink in the cheeks, or maybe it was just the beer. "I mean, is she, did you, do you like her?"

"Well, sure, but she's just a B-girl, Lou, nothing—"

"Yes, well, I only meant, I mean, she seemed. ." He paused, took a drink of beer. "So anyway this girl comes and the wife sees something peculiar about her right off. Sense of smell or something."

"Maybe she got a good look at her in the can," Henry suggested sourly. Hines had grounded out to the first baseman, unassisted.

Lou giggled, belched softly. "That's right, if she was really a bee…" His mind pursued the possibilities. "But, no," he decided in all seriousness, "if she'd crossed over and got human eyes and teeth and so on, well, she'd probably got… everything else."

"Hines is out, Lou. I'm batting now for York."

"How…?"

"Your first baseman, unassisted."

"Good boy," said Lou blowzily. "Of course, maybe not.. "

"Maybe not what?"

"Well, the eyes and teeth and all, that's kind of on the outside, but the, you know, what we were talking about, the other, that's more like on the inside and that would be harder to change over—"

"Oh, hell, Lou!" He rolled. "York singles, line drive into right center!"

Lou frowned skeptically, looked it up. "Single, all right," he agreed. "I don't see the rest."

"York's a left-handed batter and pull hitter," Henry explained.

"Oh," said Lou. He rubbed his cheeks, staring at the chart.

"I'm going to have Wilson try a sacrifice bunt," Henry said.

"Why'd you take that fella with the star out?"

"That's the man who got injured, don't you remember?"

"Mmm. Guess I'd forgot." Lou sighed. "Care for one more?" He got up.

"I've still got some, thanks. But help yourself." Chauncey O'Shea fielded the bunt, cocked bis arm toward second, but York was way ahead of him. He threw to first, barely getting old Wilson. "York is safe on second, Wilson out, catcher to first."