The utter pinnacle of Paul Dawkins' lifetime achievement was three September games with the bigs—screw the oh-for-seven batting average and his two fielding errors.
But here was twenty-year-old Randy Byrne, at the threshold of life, batting .362 with seventeen home runs, a slew of RBI's, and a glove that could stop a freight train, being offered the world!
He was unaffected, batting the dead creatures away like flies.
The other suit at the bar had not turned around and the painters and barkeeper were in their own world of batting averages and ERA's.
Claire screamed again, batting at him in desperation to escape.