Battle X: Two Great Sluggers

By Damian Hospital

 

            “Master, is there any sport in the multiverse
more enduring than the game of baseball, the game that began on the human
dominated Earths, and stretched across eons and galaxies?” Simple Simon asked.
Simon was a young and inquisitive lad, who was centuries old. Regulus found his
questions entertaining; therefore Simon was allowed to live. He was standing
beside Regulus in a timeline observatory- but not too close to his master.

 

            “No,” Regulus answered bluntly.

 

            “Who was the best player of all time and
space?” Simple Simon asked.

 

            “Before the clones…before the robots…before
the mutants…before the androids…before the hundreds of leagues comprised of life
forms throughout the galaxy…it is said that two humans at the beginning of the
sport were the best,” Regulus lectured.

 

            “How can two players be the best? They played
against each other. Surely it was decided then,” Simon assumed.

 

            “No, they had played in what the earthlings
call a century apart. It is around 100 leshmas in your culture,” his master
said. “To those barbarians, they played several eras apart- where the
conditions were entirely different. The question was never answered: who was
better, Baby Face Bolrecchi or Barry Robertson.”

 

            “Who do you think was better?” the curious
“boy” asked.

 

            “Let’s find out,” Regulus answered, before he
let out a cackling laugh.

 

 

 

 

August 21^st, 2001- Chicago’s 1^st
baseman Barry Robertson was set to break “Babyface” Bolrecchi’s all-time homerun
record tonight. He had hit two last night to tie the record in front of 56,543
fans at AmeriBankCard Stadium. It was constructed three years ago, and had sold
out every game, as the fans clamored to see Barry. It was a retro-stadium- its
architecture based upon the old parks of the past. The entire nation was
watching this Tuesday night game.

            Barry batted fourth in the lineup, and had to
wait until the second inning for his plate appearance. The roar was deafening.
The camera flashes were blinding. The stadium was alive. Everyone knew he would
either be pitched around and walked, or hit a homerun. He had been hot all week,
in the zone.

            “Neon” Leon was on the mound sweating. He knew
he was dead. But he didn’t want to give the 41-year-old Jamaican anything to
hit.

 

First Pitch: It bounced in the dirt, ball one.

Second Pitch: It was far outside the strike zone, ball two.

Third Pitch: Barry took a fast swing and pulled the ball
into the outfield- everyone stood up at once and the flashbulbs turned the
stadium into a glowing white sphere…it had a chance to go, but it was just a
foul ball, so it was two balls and one strike.

Fourth Pitch: “Neon” Leon was soaking wet. He took a deep
breath, wheeled all the way back, and the ball slipped from his hand and headed
straight for Barry’s face. Barry was stunned and had a split second to duck or
die!!!!

 

That was when Regulus plucked
Barry Robertson from his timeline.

 

 

 

September 18^th, 1925- “Baby Face” Bolrecchi was
in the prime of his career. The 29- year-old left-fielder was not only the best
player in the game, but newspapers had declared the charismatic and good-looking
Italian as the best of all time, dating back to the 1800’s. He led Baltimore to
five consecutive championships so far.

            It was a normal sold-out game at Iceman
Grounds, and Baltimore had already clinched the league championship August 25^th.
Baby Face got his usual ovation. No one left his or her seats when he came to
the plate, with his huge bat that he swung like a toothpick.

            “Heinz 57” Harris was on the mound. Even this
crafty left-hander had no chance against Baby Face. He knew it, but went after
him anyway. Harris did not believe in pitching around batters. “People come to
the fields to see some baseball. No one wants to see a walk. My job is to throw
the ball in the strike-zone-and hopefully I can fool the hitter,” he said.

 

First Pitch: Rising fastball and swung on and missed!
Strike one.

Second Pitch: Low fastball and Baby Face just held up his
swing, ball one.

Third Pitch: Curveball just missed the outside
corner of the plate, ball two.

Fourth Pitch: Fastball right down the middle and hit it
deep-in foul territory, strike two,

Fifth Pitch: Curveball that was too far inside, ball three.

Sixth Pitch: Fastball fouled back, still full count- 3
balls 2 strikes.

Seventh Pitch: Huge swing fouled back another fastball.

Eighth Pitch: The ball slips from Harris’ hand and the ball
traveled as fast a comet right at Bolrecchi’s head! He froze.

           

That was when Regulus plucked
“Baby Face” Bolrecchi from his timeline.

 

 

 

 

The two legends stood in front of
home plate in an empty and vast domed stadium. Two retro-robots- one dressed as
an umpire, and the other garbed in catcher’s gear were frozen in their
traditional stances. The catcher was squatting and the ump was bending slightly
with his hand on the catcher’s back. Regulus stood on the pitcher’s mound, and
some sort of life-like android was behind him.

 

            “You are both dead…yet both your legends have
endured millenniums and light-years. Listen to me carefully and please don’t
waste time trying to figure out if this is a dream or hallucination. That would
annoy me, and I would have to vaporize you both. Trust me,” he smiled.

 

            The two greats looked at each other, pinched
themselves, and held their arms stretched in front of them. They looked around
in all directions. Then they both faced Regulus and said, “Okay”.

 

            “I stole both of you from your respective time
periods. Two fatal pitched balls are inches away from your heads. In your
timeline, you both duck at the last nanosecond…and live. Bolrecchi goes on to
win five more championships and sets the all-time homerun record. That record is
broken in 2001 by Barry Robertson,” Regulus said. They looked amazed but kept
quiet.

 

            “I am the master of time and space- the
multiverse. My power is limitless. But I grow bored and need to be entertained.
So here is the game: you will both compete in a homerun derby. The android
behind me will throw fastballs aimed at the robotic catcher’s mitt. The robotic
umpire will be the final arbiter in this contest. Your goal is to hit as many
homeruns as you can using only three outs. In other words, if you don’t hit a
pitch for a homerun, it is an out. You can only fail three times. The fastballs
shall be pitched right down the middle of the plate.

 

Whoever hits the most homeruns
shall be placed back into his timeline and will duck the last nanosecond. He
will not just live his life out as in the previous timeline. The winner shall
have his career extended and never show the normal effects of aging for many
years. For Robertson, you will finally win your first championship, and five
more. For Bolrecchi, it makes your record matchless and never to be broken.”

 

Robertson finally addressed
Regulus. “And what about the loser?”

 

“The loser shall be humiliated by
the victor, and have this derby replayed in the archives of your planet and
outer colonies. But it shall be edited, so that the loser will be shown to swing
and miss on three straight pitches,” he grinned. He felt so powerful saying
that.

 

“And if I was not clear, obviously
the loser shall be inserted back into his timeline and will not duck. He shall
be as dead as his career! Ha, ha ha!” He then disappeared.

 

After a brief pause, Baby Face
looked at Barry.

 

“A colored? They let coloreds
play in the league?” the astonished Bolrecchi asked.

 

“They let fat grease-balls like
you play back then?” Robertson shot back.

 

            Baby Face: “When the hell did Negroes
get to play our game?”

            Barry: “1950. Moses Jackson broke the color
line, and then I obviously go on and break your record. Oh yeah, cracker…us
blackies break all the records! Stolen bases! Runs batted in! Batting
average! You held us back for over 50 years, but when we finally got in, you old
white guys became relics!”

            Baby Face: “They let coloreds play in
the league?”

            Barry: “Are you deaf, fat man?”

            Baby Face: “Only way you could have broken my
record is if you took some drugs, like caffeine, sugar, or cocaine! You’re a
cheater!”

            Barry: “I lift weights everyday, jog 10 miles,
and I take nutritional supplements to prevent injuries. I am a conditioned
athlete. And I play against guys just as big as I am, from all over the world. I
play against supermen, while you played against guys who were 5’5”, 125 pounds!”

            Baby Face: “You know I beat Negro Leaguers in
homerun derbies. I beat “Sorry Sam” Hobbins. I beat “Too Slow” Jones…now I’m
gonna beat you.”

            Barry: “Let’s settle this here and now. Enough
talk…how do we start this thing?”

 

            The android by the pitcher’s mound approached.

 

            “I am Tyler. I will be pitching to Bolrecchi
first,” it said. Then he assumed the pitcher’s stretch position and froze until
Baby Face stood in the batter’s box. Barry moved away and sat in the front of
the dugout.

 

            Bolrecchi was waving the bat back and forth,
ready to kill the ball.

 

            “Play ball!” the robotic umpire shouted
mechanically.

 

            The android Tyler wasted no time. He
instantaneously broke out of his frozen pose and delivered a perfect pitch right
down the middle of the plate. Bolrecchi swung too late. Then he stepped out of
the batter’s box. Barry was laughing in the background.

 

            “This is bullshit! What the f#$% are you
throwing me, you bastard?” Bolrecchi screamed.

 

            “A fastball,” Tyler calmly replied.

 

            “No way! “Water Boy” Walters never threw like
that, and he was the fastest pitcher ever! You’re cheating!” the enraged player
yelled.

 

            “I have been programmed to pitch fastballs
circa 2033. I am throwing at 110 miles per hour, which was considered above
average then,” Tyler answered. Barry stopped laughing.

 

            “A hundred-and-ten miles per hour??? Walters’
best fastball was 89 miles per hour. This is bullshit!” Baby Face boomed.

 

            “Please step into the batter’s box,” the
robotic umpire commanded in a very impersonal way.

 

            “Step into the batter’s box…How about this?”
he said maliciously as he slugged the robot’s head with his bat. His bat
shattered into splinters yet the robot remained unfazed.

 

            “Please step into the batter’s box,” the
robotic umpire repeated in a very impersonal way.

 

            Baby Face was a bit shocked that he didn’t
destroy the robot, and his anger actually subsided as he realized that there is
no way out of this one.

 

            “Well, I just broke my bat over your stupid
noggin. I need another bat, jerk!” he said.

 

            A small mechanical owl flew out of the
clubhouse and dropped a bat in front of Baby Face. Then it flew back in the
dugout and disappeared.

 

            Bolrecchi begrudgingly picked it up and thought
about how he needed to catch up to this 110 mph fastball.

 

            He stepped into the box, dug his cleats into
the dirt and waited for the pitch. Tyler wound up and threw another one right
down the middle and Bolrecchi fouled it off in the batter’s box. That was his
second out. One more and Barry would get his chance.

 

            Bolrecchi was sweating, but he viewed the third
pitch to be the ultimate challenge. His life and his career were both on the
line. His entire legacy rested on the next pitch. If he did not hit a homerun he
would have scored a zero, and all Barry would have to do is hit one. And then
Baby Face would die.

 

            Tyler reared back and let loose the same pitch
right down the middle. And Baby Face delivered and crushed a towering shot over
the centerfield wall for a homerun!

 

            “One,” the robotic umpire said.

 

           
“Two…Three…Four…Five…Six…Seven…Eight…Nine…Ten…” continued as Baby Face kept on
belting them all over the park.

 

            Robertson began to heckle his opponent. “Hey,
fat man! Did you know I made 25 million dollars last year?” he shouted.

 

            “11…12…13…14…15…16…”

 

            Bolrecchi was in the zone and no heckling from
Robertson was going to stop him.

 

            “17…18…19…20…21…22…23…”

 

            Bolrecchi did not tire. Although he had never
seen such a fastball, he was able to get his timing right.

 

            “24…25…26…27…28…29…30…”

 

            Each homerun was monstrous, and there were no
close calls- all of the balls cleared the outfield walls.

 

            “31…32…33…34….”

 

            Bolrecchi fouled off the last pitch and made
his final out. “You’re out,” the umpire said.

 

            “You’re up now, rich man. Don’t strike out now,
you hear?” Baby Face toyed with him. Barry came out and was ready.

 

            But before Baby Face left the batter’s box, he
turned around and charged the mound, knocking down Tyler. He then bloodied his
hands punching the android in the face and head. The robotic catcher ran towards
the mound, lifted Baby Face, and slammed him down. Then he dragged him by the
arm and tossed him down the concrete steps of the dugout. The catcher helped the
android get up and now they were ready for Barry.

 

            Barry shrugged his shoulders. The pitcher fired
a fastball. Barry pulled the first pitch ball down the right field line for a
homerun! Although he had never seen a 110 mph fastball, he prepared himself to
swing a few nanoseconds earlier.

 

            Barry seemed locked in, but he swung and missed
the second pitch. He stepped out of the batter’s box. “Whoa…whoa, whoa. That
last pitch was NOT the same speed as the first one. It was faster. A lot
faster!”

 

            Tyler just stood there. “Play ball!” the umpire
said in his mechanical and monotone voice.

 

            Barry just stood there with his bat down, and
tilted his head toward the umpire. “That pitch was faster! This is crazy!”

 

            Tyler began to wind up so Robertson jumped back
into the batter’s box. He swung and missed. “No! Man, that had to be at least
130! I got set up. This whole thing is a farce. F^&* this $*^&! He threw is bat
on home plate. The umpire said, “Play ball!” But Barry Robertson would not
listen this time. He threw his hands up and walked away. He was livid but could
not direct his anger anywhere. The system was against him. Something had gone
terribly wrong and it might cost him his life.

 

            The next pitch was so fast that Barry literally
couldn’t even see the ball leave Tyler’s artificial hand. It was like the two
machines were playing “shadow ball” like the old Negro Leaguers used to play. It
had to be 140 mph.

 

            “Hey, Barry!” Baby Face Bolrecchi grinned as he
began to stand up. He was still a little shaken after he bruised his fists and
got manhandled by the robotic catcher.

 

            “Barry, my plan worked. I knocked that goddamn
pitcher’s brains around in his head. I messed up his instructions!”

 

            Barry stood there, with his hands on his hips,
shaking his head in disbelief, and looking to the empty seats in the outfield.

 

            The android, umpire, and catcher froze again.

 

            Regulus appeared out of nowhere and stood on
the mound. “The winner is….the greatest homerun hitter of all time- Baby Face
Bolrecchi!!!!”

 

            ‘Nah man, he f&^^ cheated. The %^^& android was
malfunctioning. It was throwing 150 miles per hour!”

 

            Regulus smiled and replied, “The challenge was
to find out who can hit the most homeruns. Your opponent won this contest, and
now you have to go back.”

 

            Baby Face was laughing.

 

 

August 21^st, 2001-

 

Fourth Pitch: “Neon” Leon was soaking wet. He took a deep
breath, wheeled all the way back, and the ball slipped from his hand and headed
straight for Barry’s face. Barry was stunned and had a split second to duck or
die!!!!

            When Barry was sent back to his timeline, the
instant before the ball was going to kill him, he remembered the otherworldly
contest. Baby Face’s laughter was the last thing he heard before the ball
smashed his head.