The runner spiked the second baseman, he did.
The runner slid feet first with his metal cleats aimed at the poor fielder’s heart. And, that old runner had spent the better part of the afternoon sharpening the bottom of his shoes.
In fact, the cleats were so shiny they sparkled, and the fielder went temporarily blind in the sun. He nearly dropped the ball.
He’s a gentleman for controlling his rage; he’s a hero for holding on in all respects.
He’s a real trooper for nuzzling his foot against the base, his shoe forming a T shape with the chalk of the basepath.
The path of the very man bearing down on him!
Can you imagine?
That fielder’s liable to get hurt, but he did it nonetheless.
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