True, not a cloud was in the sky, but the temperature was below freezing.
Maybe the weather was why the attendance was so pitiful on Opening Day.
Or maybe fans found other things to do because the Tigers were a bad team and they were playing KC, another bad team.
A basketball player had thrown out the first pitch today.
A basketball player!
Now that the Pistons had won something, they were suddenly the sports ambassadors of town, weighing in on anything and everything. Prior to the game, Management had let some of the Pistons tour the clubhouse and give pep talks, like they knew anything about this game. The right fielder could only shake his head.
“You ever won anything, paps?” A scrawny teammate with skinhead looks tried to be conversational as they suited up. “Say, you got that edge... You been in the game, like, forever. So…” he dropped hid voice, “What’s the deal?
The veteran glared at him, then answered. “Forget the trainers. It’s about the mind. Use its inherent ability to heal yourself.”
He instantly realized that people were going to think he was a Wiccan, for Christ’s sake..
But instead of laughing uproariously and inviting the others to join in, the kid was nodding thoughtfully.
The sharp crack of the bat abruptly brought the fielder out of his musings. He wasn’t going to catch it. He had been leaning toward center. Desperately he made a leap and slipped on a patch of ice near foul territory. He went down hard, but he had fully extended with his glove. The ball unerringly sailed in. He raised his glove and the umpire pumped his fist -- OUT!
God bless Comerica! And the architects who had modeled the park after Yellowstone.
The center fielder trotted over and extended a hand to help him to his feet, “You okay, man? That mind over matter stuff, it looks painful, dog.”
“I’m not a dog, I’m a man,” the right fielder grumbled.
“Naw. You’re a Tiger!” The grinning kid held up his hand and the veteran obliged with a high five. Grudgingly, he smiled back.
One hundred sixty-one more games to go. The veteran pounded a fist into his glove and willed himself to make it through his sixteenth season.
[I went over the word count by a lot. Ooops!]
This week's challenge:
- Maximum length: 250 words.
- The theme is: toil.
- The setting is: Detroit.
- Within the story, you must use this bit of text: its inherent ability.
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