One man cracked a ball with his bat.
And he stared at the grass stretching from the outfield seats.
Fans in Willie McGee jerseys held the sky for a second or two.
Another man sprinted through the field below.
Somewhere on the warning track he jumped, scaling the fence like he was about to hop into somebody else’s swimming pool.
He balanced his foot against the wall while stretching out his hand, hoping something would reach toward him, too.
But baseballs either fly or fall.
The man grabbed, glove falling off his thumb as his forearm smashed the fence.
The ball skimmed leather and fell into the grassy porch.
And the man toppled back to earth.
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