The crowd had grown and contained a few older fans who might appreciate what he was going to try to do. Sure, it don't matter, Pops, you ain't gonna hit it anyhow. The machine made noises, stirred its springs and wheels, and then the mechanical arm whipped a ball toward home plate. Roscoe made solid contact and sent the practice ball straight at the man running the machine. The carnie ducked and ran toward the first-base line, leaving the machine on automatic.
Nothing sounds like a wood bat solidly hitting a baseball.
The park came alive with the sharp crack of the first of Roscoe's ten pitches hit cleanly to left-center field. The second and third hits to center and right field gained the younger boys' attention and stirred the memories of the older players in the crowd. Roscoe was oblivious to everything now as he stared down the metal monster on the mound. The carnie, pacing back and forth, looked nervous. Scowling at Roscoe, the carnie scurried to safety in the dugout behind first.