One evening last week umbrellas bloomed warmly in the dusk, and the crunching sounds of termites and corn-on-the-cob eaters filled the damp air. The voice of a little girl in a big, bright muumuu shot through the infield like a line drive off Winnie Llenas' bat: "C'mon, Islanders, show 'em where it's at!" With the Manoa mist beading his own long but gray sideburns, Tanner looked up into the stands and grinned. "Hey," he said quietly, "this has just gotta be the best show in town." And maybe in baseball.