Sophomore Campaign by Frank; Nappi Page B

man can’t fight against no army. I know they out there. Can’t see ‘em none. But they there. Heck, I don’t got much, but what I got, I’d like to keep. Don’t need no trouble like what that guy from Kentucky saw. I think I best leave it alone.”
    The preposterousness of the plan suddenly revealed itself to Murph, who sadly, reluctantly, turned away. He lowered his head and kicked at some splintered shards of timber. The sense of energy and opportunity that had possessed him ever since his last conversation with Dennison drained from his face as if someone had just pulled a plug. “Come on, Mick,” he called. “We need to be leaving now.”
    The two of them walked past the gate, with Mickey turning around after every other step to see if Milo was following. Murph’s legs seemed much heavier than before, and grew heavier still each time Mickey asked him why Lester was not coming with them.
    â€œI don’t know, Mick,” he said, his face awash with inarticulate despair. “I told you already, three times, I don’t know.”
    As they approached the road, the seemingly endless consequences of his failure unraveled in front of him, as did the phantom image of Dennison’s smirking face. He knew he needed to get home. He opened the car door for Mickey, but stopped suddenly before getting in himself.
    â€œDo ya really think I’m good enough?” Lester called after him.
    Murph smiled and stuck his right thumb in the air.
    â€œI mean, not that I’m saying yes or nothin’,” Lester continued as he came closer, “but if this has any chance of workin’, I has got to be sure I’m good enough. Damn good.”
    Murph smiled again. From several feet away, he saw that the boy was now completely exposed. There was no hidden meaning or innuendo in what he said. The words themselves were enough to tell the story brewing behind the young man’s eyes.
    â€œWell, what are we waiting for?” he said, holding up a pearly white baseball he pulled from his jacket pocket. “Let’s see for ourselves.”
    Murph fiddled around in the trunk of his car, then walked past the gate again and found a good spot. Then he proceeded to march off sixty feet, six inches. Just the thought of Mickey and Lester being teamed as a battery filled him with an excitement that the actual tossing back and forth raised to some ecstatic triumph. He watched from the side, and could not help but smile yet again with glorious satisfaction and anticipation as Mickey popped Lester’s glove with every delivery while Lester was more than happy to return the favor with each toss back. The rhythmic thumping was music to Murph’s ears.
    â€œYou guys were made for each other,” Murph gushed, his heart now fully dilated. “It’s beautiful. What a tandem!”
    Lester smiled at the possibility of such a thought.
    â€œNow what do ya say you hit a few for me too?” Murph asked. “I think Mickey’s loose.” In a mellow light, with only Mickey, Murph and a bevy of nature’s creatures for an audience, Lester proceeded to light up the morning sky with long, arching blasts that streaked the pale blue ceiling, each climbing higher and higher as if ascending an invisible ladder before landing unceremoniously in the woods some 400 feet beyond the mill.
    â€œThat’s four fastballs and four dingers, Lester,” Murph said from his crouch behind the fledgling slugger. “Of course, Mickey ain’t throwing his hardest, on account he’d probably kill me if he did. But not bad kid. Not bad at all.” The energized manager pounded his glove feverishly.
    â€œOkay, Mick, just a couple more now,” he called out to the mound. “You’re game, Lester, right?”
    â€œFor sure,” he said. “Beats the heck out of cutting and stacking them logs.” With another baseball now safely in his hands, Mickey