"Levy-NewHorizons" - читать интересную книгу автора (Levy Robert J)

"Hey, Huge, you ever play this game before?" I asked.

Huge made his hyuuu sound and gyrated his head in a peculiar fashion that I
understood to mean no. I sighed and began explaining.

"Okay, so this stick is the bat. This ball . . . is the ball. You stand here and
you bounce it in front of you. When it comes down you swing at it. If you hit
it, you run to the base. Simple, right? Okay. The fielders are going to be
stationed at intervals all down this street. The Lincoln Continental there, the
gray one, is a single. The Corvette further down's a double. The Green Beetle's
a triple, and that red convertible Plymouth all the way yonder is a home run.
Comprende, amigo?"

I stopped to look at Huge, to see if there was any sign of understanding on his
face, but he just looked preoccupied.

"Look, in a nutshell the farther away you hit the ball, the better. Got it? The
farther away you go, the closer you get to winning the game."

I don't know what it was -- if it was something I said or it had nothing at all
to do with my lecture, if he understood me or sudden intuition just bore in upon
him -- but his face lit up, and he exhaled a particularly loud and resonant
whyuuuuuugh. My team applauded and cheered. Huge looked genuinely pleased with
us and with himself.

Our side took the field first. About fifteen minutes later, after everyone on
Mitch's team had driven in several runs -- aided in their efforts by Huge's
bemused way of watching perfectly catchable balls bounce directly in front of
him -- it was our turn to bat.

Things were going okay for us. We cracked a few hits, had ourselves a couple of
RBIs. Then it was Huge's turn to bat. He'd been watching us, so I figured he'd
have the hang of it. He stood there stating off far down the street, and back at
us. Then he began.

Instead of bouncing the ball, he simply held it up high above his head, somewhat
in front of him. I was about to tell him he was doing it all wrong, but I never
had the chance because he let the ball drop and, before it ever hit the ground,
spun the bat around single-handed, banging a sizzling single tight past the
front fender of the Lincoln. We roared our approval from the curb as he trotted
awkwardly to first base.

Mitch looked in at me from his outfield position -- perplexed, no doubt, by
Huge's one-handed batting technique -- as if to say, What gives? I shook my head
and called out to him: "He's our secret weapon!" I had no idea what I meant by
that beyond being a wiseguy.

Sides changed again, but this time Mitch's squad was out pretty quickly. Huge
learned fast and was snagging some tremendous shots with real panache. My team