- TOP PLAYERSOffensePABLO S. TORRE | August 20, 2012
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- Faces in the CrowdJune 11, 2001
"One and two," Mike roared. "Play!"
"JUST SO AS TO MAKE CLEAR ALL THE REST WAS EARNED!"
"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT NOTHIN' FOR NOTHIN' FROM YOUSE! I DON'T NEED IT! I'M GIL GAMESH! I'M AN IMMORTAL, WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!"
Had he ever been more heroic, more gloriously contemptuous of the powers-that-be? Not to those fans of his he hadn't. They loved him even more for that bad pitch, deliberately thrown a fraction of a fraction of an inch too low, than for the 77 dazzling strikes that had preceded it. The wickedly accurate pitching machine wasn't a machine at all—no, he was a human being, made of piss and vinegar, like other human beings. The arm of a god, but the disposition of the Common Man: petty, grudging, vengeful, gloating, selfish, and mean. How could they not adore him?
His next pitch was smacked 365 feet off the wall in left-center field for a double.
Much as he hated to move his rheumatism to and fro like this, the Old Philosopher figured it was in the interest of the United States of America, of which he had been a lifelong citizen, for him to trek out to the mound and offer his condolences to the boy.
"Those things happen, lad; settle down."
"That robber! That thief! That pickpocket!"