The third base coach draped his hand over the player’s shoulder.
Spring training jerseys don’t come with names so players can be recognized otherwise.
This one tapped third base with his foot, and sauntered toward home.
The centerfielder pushed his glove onto his hand, leather strings falling in a light breeze. He pulled his hat further down on his forehead, and adjusted his sunglasses.
The batter swung, lifting a ball into shallow center field.
The runner hurried back to the third, kicked the base, and sprinted home, dirt flying from his cleats.
The centerfield chased the ball, watching it spin. He reached for it, then grabbed the ball out of his glove and fired it to the catcher.
The infielder did not bother to wave his hands for a cutoff throw.
The catcher straddled the baseline, feet planted in the dirt. He opened his glove.
The runner slid down the path, reaching his hand toward home.
The catcher turned and pressed his glove against the runner’s shoulder blade.
And the inning was over.
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