The Rules by wysiwig
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Description
When it came to sports, Billy Thompkins was always last. Last chosen, last up. It wasn't that he didn't try, he just wasn't very good. He had been a small, sickly baby and by the fifth grade had grown into a shy, bookish boy. His mother had explained that it wasn't his fault, he had bad eyes. But the neighbor kids didn't want excuses, they wanted results, and Billy was usually left out.
Things weren't much better during the baseball games his class played each day at the Lone Hill Elementary School. Billy had been waiting for days to get a turn at bat but they never seemed to get to him. This day was different. Everyone had been to the plate that inning and they had finally come down to the last man on the team, Billy Thompkins. A few of his teammates had protested. It was two outs and they were one run behind, couldn't they have a pinch hitter? Mrs. Craig, teacher and umpire, had insisted, no substitutions.
When the captain of the opposing team saw who had stepped up to the plate, he motioned for his outfielders to come in close. Even when Billy got a hit, he seldom hit it out of the infield.
"Easy out! Easy out!"
"This wimp can't hit!"
Billy let the first ball go by.
"Strike one!"
"Hey batta, batta, batta."
"C'mon wimp!"
"Aw, he can't hit."
The pitcher drew back and threw the second pitch.
Billy bent his knees like his father had shown him, took one step towards the ball, and swung.
He was surprised at first by the sting in his hands. Then he realized, he had hit the ball! He ran. As he rounded first base he could see it passing over the head of the surprised right fielder.
"Way da go, Billy!"
"Go, go, go!"
Even Mrs. Craig was shouting although he couldn't understand what she was saying.
He kept on running. He ran for all the times he had struck out. He ran for all the times he had been chosen last. He ran for his one chance to be a hero. As Billy hit second base the right fielder was cocking his arm for the throw to third base.
"Go for third! Go, go!"
"Slide, slide!"
Billy didn't know how to slide, so he kept on running. He reached third base at the same time the ball did, but the third baseman missed the catch.
He rounded third. "Home run! Go for Home!"
"You're out!"
Billy didn't understand.
"What?"
He began to slow down. Mrs. Craig was standing behind the catcher.
"You're out."
Billy stopped between third and home plate. A lump began to form in his stomach.
"Why? I hit the ball."
"You threw the bat," she repeated.
The lump had moved up to his throat.
"But I hit the ball."
Tears began forming in his eyes.
"You threw the bat, Billy. You know the rules. You throw the bat and you're out."
Tears dropped from his cheeks and wet his shirt.
"Aw, Billy, you blew it again."
"Wimp."
"Told'ya, easy out."
Mrs. Craig turned and walked away. Recess was over and it was time to go back to class.
Comments (12)
durleybeachbum
Have you read "A Prayer for Owen Meaney" by John Irving? This instantly reminded me of it. Brilliant .
Cyve
Very great shot/composition my friend !!!
bobrgallegos
Great light and textures in this awesome still life!!! But a sad story!!
Faemike55
What a shame! Great picture and story
MrsRatbag
Subtle beauty and very well captured; and I agree, sad story...
auntietk
What an evocative shot! The light and composition are perfect. I like baseball only slightly less than I enjoy watching paint dry, but wow ... what a photograph! And a well-written story as well. You do the language proud!
bodo_56
What a sad story ... andd what a great image! I love the lighting!
SunriseGirl
Great photo and story. Billy is a winner and now he knows how it feels to hit the ball he will do it again and next time without throwing the bat. At least that is my take on it :).
Jollyself
fantastic prose and what a beautiful image
anahata.c
I said I wanted to comment on this, and now I will. In a comment to me, somewhere (maybe in your gallery), you told me you were billy thompkins. (I hope I'm not doing something wrong saying that here---but I assume no one else will be commenting on this, since it's from July, so hopefully no one will see it.) I loved this story, and I had a feeling it was you. And I relate through and through, and can say it's absolutely true to life. (You said you only got to second, I think, but the story is still true.) You write touchingly, without pulling on our emotions (not easy to do), and you do dialogue crisply and clearly, and you built to the big moment, and you wrote it beautifully. You're a natural writer, Mark, and I'm gonna try to do at least one other piece of writing, tonight, because I've always thought you were really fine at this. I hope some of your fans---some of whom are from Europe---get all the terms; but if they don't, your writing still carries them forward. As for being the player no one wants to play with---esp at bat---I know just what you mean. And getting a hit when everyone thought you wouldn't? Though I wasn't called out for throwing the bat, I was called out for running so slow, and not noticing that the throw to second was way on time; and I was out before I even got there. My teammates nearly killed me. Really well written, and your commenters saw that---even the ones who didn't like baseball.
With others above: A beautiful shot, with shade and nostalgia, the latter probably from the deep shadow and reddish tint, and the highlighting of that beat-up ball in that age-old mitt. You got the spirit of old baseball stuff---probably stuff you had from way back---and I love the shot.
(Oh, and I wanted to say: You mentioned, re my Halloween tale, that you didn't expect it to go the way it did. Neither did I! I had planned a serious, eerie tale about the model for Mona Lisa coming to my door as a ghost, and pondering what it means to have passed on, and only be known from a 'painting'. I imagined an eerie night, with cold mists and reflections on the afterlife. But I couldn't do it---I was way too tired, and had no clue where I was going with it. So, instead (with Halloween hours away), I tried some crazy art-slapstick, which wasn't remotely my intention. I'm amazed anyone even liked it---it was a mess! Thanks again for your comments: In my gallery and elsewhere, you comment as you write in your own gallery, with commitment, humor, insight, affirmation and a real affection for the people you care about. Your comments are a joy, and I appreciate every one of them.)
wysiwig
As always, Thank you for your very generous comments. You mentioned that your Halloween story was a mess. That's why people loved it. I know I did. Life IS a mess, nothing neat and clean about it. Sort of like your story.
DukeNukem2005
This is a very beautiful and very nice!
Myel
Superb! Excellent composition and lighting. It makes me think to a very authentic painting. M.