Gillette Way @42.610520, -71.163810

P&G Field sits in the middle of a rather industrial area, with trains rumbling by every so often, and industrial-type announcements and sirens blaring somewhat regularly. The infield is covered in light growth, but the outfield is neatly mowed, with patches of brown indicating a shortage of recent precipitation.

This is not what makes the field noteworthy; what makes it noteworthy is a fence around the outfield, at a distance of about 280 feet from the plate. It is over this fence that Brian crushed a ball. That it was a girl's ball didn't matter. Nor did it matter that the ball was pitched by Lindsey; what matters is that it was out of the park. Lindsey was pitching only because the heat and sun had reduced the previous pitcher to lurching around after softballs on the ground, as if Frankenstein's monster took to the field. That pitcher was Eagle.

This was not a game, this was batting practice. The game had been called as we were one person short of being able to play.

To borrow from last year, when we borrowed from TS Eliot:

This is the way the season ends
This is the way the season ends
This is the way the season ends
Not with a game but a forfeit.

Signing off for the last time,

El Capitan