I hold the bat high and let my spazzo energy surge through it. I’m wild and dangerous, brandishing this battle club. I don’t see the ball, I’m too busy to look for it, but somehow I know it’s coming, and I know it’s fast, and without thinking I’m yelling, and I slam with all my strength. Crack! We’ve done it! The bat hits the ground like it’s been shot down, and I thrust my wild dangerous right arm up to the sky and holler as my proxy runner, Sue, flies off.

It’s a great moment, and I want it to last, but moments don’t last, can’t last, beyond a moment. Carole pushes me away from the plate, and the game moves on.

It’s Sara’s turn, and she doesn’t want to play. She says something about “capitalism in microcosm.”

“Please be a sport, Sara?” Carole says. “Please?”

She relents. “What the hell. Denise can proxy for me.”

Denise runs up to confer with Sara. “Do you think he’ll pitch high or low?”

“Softball is one thing I am completely ignorant of, okay? And I intend to remain ignorant. Just go on up. Do whatever you want. You’re playing, not me.”

Denise steps forward and makes a show of limbering up for the swing. From the sidelines, the crowd encourages her. “C’mon, Denise! Go!”

She takes her stance, waggling her hips in sweatpants.

“C’mon, Denise!” Willie yells, “Hit one for the GIMP!”

“Oh, please!” Sara laughs through a groan. He knows exactly how to get to her, how to get past whatever she’s trying to do.

Denise is ready to swing. She gets her hit on the second pitch and easily makes it to second base. She is good enough to play softball for real.

At first I thought everyone would be allowed one home run, but now I see how it works. There are two separate games being played on one field, one for the proxies and one for the Crips. Proxies get no mercy from anyone. But Crips are allowed to move around the field without interference, except from other Crips. Crip fielding is so terrible that a camper on a walker makes it home; Yvonne, with her plastic leg and frazzled form, is one of the more valuable players.

Sue, out at third, made a big show of regret, coming over and saying sorry. But when Denise makes it home, tying up the score for the Greens, people surround Sara with congratulations.

“Wait a minute,” she objects. “I might be wrong, but I don’t believe my big toe was out on that field. Could y’all please congratulate Denise?”