Storm vs. Rogues — Game 3 (Rogues Lead 2-0)

I was all by myself in the outfield, just running along the track from left to right field and back. The fans here were more raucous than before, owing to the fact that we were now in an actual ballpark with a scenic view of downtown Shamar, because the stadium in Mazuri looked better suited for football, higher fan capacity notwithstanding. This fan capacity was collectively chanting something as I ran around the outfield, seeming to get louder and louder as game time approached, that I couldn't make out, not that I cared to. I only thought to leave the outfield when all the other guys, sporting storm cloud jerseys of a smoky white hue this time around, collectively scuttled towards the dugout, signaling the end of practice.

R/R Sonic - RF #15
L/L Verne - CF #8
R/R Knuckles - C #3
L/R Storm - DH #20
L/R Wave - LF #2
L/R Bunnie - SS #9
R/R Marine - 3B #11
R/R Sticks - 2B #6
R/R Tails - 1B #10

I didn't want to sit down.

"Looks like someone wants to play some ball here," the scarlet echidna chortled, sitting contently on the dugout bench.

"I can't slow down," I snapped, practically bouncing in place. "I gotta keep the energy running."

"Whatever. At least you're batting first again." The echidna just shrugged in a bit of a sheepish manner. "No pressure."

The performance of the Mobian World Anthem seemed to drag on an agonizingly long time. I couldn't stop bouncing.

When I took practice swings from the on-deck circle, analyzing this new opposing pitcher, the right-handed Lavender the Rabbit, I noticed he was staring me down forever, even as he delivered his pitches. For every fastball he blew by me, I noticed his stare getting colder and colder.

"No problem," I said more or less to myself.

"Play ball!"

The staredown on his part only intensified as I took to the batter's box.

"Under pressure?" I heard a familiar voice nag. I didn't need to make an effort to pay no mind to him, for the chants that followed me during practice suddenly grew deafening, making it very clear what they were saying.

"You're too slow! You're too slow! You're too slow!"

I simply watched the rabbit's first two pitches, both landing well below the strike zone. On the next two pitches I prepared to swing away, but held back as they both appeared to go well above the zone, but broke back in for two straight strikes. I had to back away to avoid the next pitch. I noticed he was still staring at me as I faced him for a brief moment to describe exactly what I thought of his brushback. Instead, I simply shook my head. Finally, I laid off a pitch that sank just below my knees. Ball four.

I immediately dropped the bat and began to trot down the base line, my gaze fixated on first base. About halfway I looked back towards Lavender, who had just gotten the ball back from the catcher who shall not be named. He seemed to be looking down towards... something. I snickered, and as soon as I stepped on the bag, I broke for second base, stirring up commotion from the middle infielders, yapping at the pitcher in a feeble attempt to get him to throw the ball. I dove head-first into second base anyway, my left hand slapping it hard and clawing onto it for dear life as I slid past the bag.

"Safe!"

The chants that had filled the place just seconds ago were now deathly silent, aside from a few expressions of displeasure here and there. I noticed Zenith on the dugout fence smiling and clapping as I quickly jumped to my feet. I simply pointed in his direction, as if saying, "You like that! You like that!"

As Verne took his turn at the bat, I shuffled a few steps back and forth between second and third, prompting some more dirty looks from the pitcher. I snickered for what seemed like a whole minute before he dealt to Verne, who slapped the ball into right field. I was on the move again. Only when I rounded third did I turn and look for the ball. Seeing that the flame-broiled hedgehog was having trouble fielding the ball, I just ran, as a train on a track sloping downwards. Why downwards? I felt like I was only getting faster and faster the closer I got to home plate. I could hardly stop at all after simply stepping on the plate, so I did a 180 towards the third base dugout, where the rest of the team camped out. They all greeted me with high-fives and nonsensical cheers, even Shadow.

Storm 1, Rogues 0.

Meanwhile, Verne had dug in safely to second as Knuckles stepped up to the plate. The opposing pitcher took no time throwing the ball well inside, causing the echidna to stumble as he backed away to avoid the pitch. Following the questionable display, Knuckles proceeded to whack at the next pitch. The ball flew out to straightaway center field and never looked back. As for Knuckles, he simply watched the ball fly for a few seconds before finally flipping the sticky in no particular direction and trotting around the bases.

Storm 2-Run Home Run: #3 Knuckles the Echidna.

Storm 3, Rogues 0.

In the dugout, the scarlet-furred echidna and the ivory-flavored bat initiated some secret handshake that got some laughs out of me, Tails, and Amy.

R/R Jeff - CF #9
R/R Mina - SS #18
L/L Flame - RF #24
R/R Kyle - C #6
L/R Crush - DH #25
L/R Rocky - 3B #16
L/L Shonen - 1B #77
R/R Tron - LF #51
R/R Clay - 2B #30

Out on the field, it was the same story. It seemed everyone was feeling sharper tonight than before. Verne, Wave and I made several nice catches on the run. The infield was like a brick wall, diving at any ball they saw and stopping it in its tracks. Then there was the elephant in the room, the tall red hedgehog standing atop the mound at the center of the infield. Even though it wasn't his own mound, he controlled the game with every hard-thrown heater, nasty curve, and unpredictable floater he tossed to the echidna crouched behind the plate. The relentless fan chants became softer and softer as I noticed that the opposition was swinging harder and a lot more frequently. I was definitely on their minds.

We weren't even done yet. While the top of the sixth inning started out as quickly as most of the game had gone after our offensive explosion in the first, with both Verne and Knuckles bouncing out for the first two outs, Storm the Albatross stepped in, having only recorded one hit up to this point. Admittedly, he was never a contact hitter like Knuckles. Furthermore, he was evidently getting more frustrated the longer he stayed in the batter's box.

He stood still at first, letting the first pitch from Lavender (yeah, remember him?) drop and bounce four feet in front of the plate. Unfazed, he pretended to swing the bat only halfway in preparation for the next toss of the ball. As he swung with all his might, he let go of the bat immediately following his follow through and started to run, or jog, towards first base. Everyone on the field simply stood where they were, some looking behind them to try to track the ball. They all failed spectacularly.

Storm Solo Home Run: #20 Storm the Albatross.

Storm 4, Rogues 0.

After casually stepping on home plate, he high-fived Wave in the on-deck circle so hard that it almost made her fall over. I couldn't blame him for that stunt, however, for he'd just lifted a giant weight off his shoulders. Everyone in our dugout was quite euphoric for the moment.

Of course, there were still four innings of defense left to be played. During those innings in particular, I made an extra effort to always be on my toes, running as lightly as possible across the lush, green grass that signaled the outfield. The other guys were slapping the ball all over the place, and even if they were already going straight into our fielding gloves, I saw that Zenith wasn't getting any strikeouts. "He must be getting tired," I said to myself.

In the bottom of the ninth, the last chance for the Rogues to get on the scoreboard, Jeff Buck reached base after hitting a sharp grounder up the middle, hopping well above Zenith's outstretched glove and bouncing just out of the reach of Sticks and Bunnie. Mina immediately followed it up with a line drive into left field that was easily fielded by Wave to prevent the speedy buck from swiping third. He would get there anyway as Flame smacked his first pitch just over Marine's head, landing right in front of Wave. She immediately chucked the ball back into the glove of Zenith, who then stared down the buck shuffling his way back to third base. With the bases loaded and nobody out, the crowd grew unbearably loud once again. "You're too slow! You're too slow! You're too slow!"

Before the unnamed opposing catcher could dig into the plate, Knuckles jumped up and shuffled towards the mound to chat with Zenith. Whereas the echidna in bright red stuck his glove over his face in a usual effort to disguise the conversation from the other guys, the hedgehog in dull red had no such obligation because he naturally liked to stay mostly silent. This applied heavily to when he was actually pitching. He didn't need to utter any words to convey what was on his mind. At the same time, there was always a sense of competition in baseball, and as well as he understood that, he never let it get in the way of his performance on the mound, no matter how uncharacteristic it may have been.

As the wolf took his practice swings, the only animal on the field that mattered just stared him down for forever, or so it seemed. He threw the ball as hard as he could, and the wolf hit the ball into foul territory, back into the netting to prevent spectator injury. The crimson pincushion received another ball and with it stared the wolf down again. I began scratching the back of my quills wondering when, or if, this at-bat would ever end. He chucked the ball again at an alarming velocity, and the unnamed batter hit it back into foul territory again, this time over the netting, allowing a spectator to catch it with relative ease. The animal sporting the mauvelously bad hair received yet another ball and again stared down the wolf in the better-groomed golden fur. I started tapping my foot repeatedly, looking up towards nothing in particular. Finally the tall red hedgehog dealt a pitch that the wolf swung right through as the ball broke sharply down and inside, uncharacteristic for a right-handed pitcher versus a batter from the right side. The old fastball-fastball-screwball trick.

With the wolf's silly swing, there was now one out, but instead of throwing it back to Zenith, or since it was a strikeout pitch, to Marine, the echidna simply held the ball a few seconds, eyeing the understandably fast deer at third base menacingly, his way of letting the runner know that he wasn't about to swipe home anytime soon. After he threw the ball back, Crush came to the plate and wasted no time popping the ball straight up near the third base side, allowing Marine to ease into position. The umpire near third base alertly signaled his right index finger over his head, calling the play an infield fly. By rule, Crush was now out, despite the ball still being in the air. Seeing that the speedster was hovering just a few steps ahead of third base, Marine wisely clamped her glove over the ball to force him to retreat to the bag.

The bases were still loaded, however, and the damage was just asking to be done. Rocky walked at a snail's pace into the batter's box and proceeded to point his sticky in my direction.

"Oy," I grumbled.

Rocky watched the first pitch go by, a fastball outside for ball one. Then he laid off a changeup that broke below the zone. After that, he looked at a hard heater right down the middle, making the count two balls to one strike. I began to tap my foot again, this time slowly, at around a tap a minute. I could wait.

Finally I heard a loud crack, and out sailed the ball to deep right field. I found myself backing up at a steady pace as it looked for the stands behind me. Soon I was running over the warning track, the ball still on pace to sail over my head. The spikes on my quills grazing the wall, I leaped as high as I could, stretching the glove on my left hand just as high. As I clamped my glove shut for dear life, the loud thud that pierced the glove pushed me further back, causing me to crash into the wall and stumble onto the outfield grass. No pain, just... numbness.

"HE'S OUT!"

FINAL: Storm 4, Rogues 0.

I was helped to my feet by Verne about ten seconds after I'd made the catch.

"You alright, Sonic?"

I sighed heavily. "Yeah. Thanks, Verne."

He gave me a friendly nudge. "You really played your heart out today, you know that?"

"Yeah..." I chuckled a bit as we ran back to the dugout. "I guess I did."

I was stopped in foul territory for a media interview. Apparently my end-of-game catch made me the "player of the game". I had nothing much to say about that.

Zenith met me at the foot of the dugout. "You gave me a great game tonight," was all he said in his unusually deep, distinctly Mazurite-accented voice.

"That intensive practice session must've paid off." I snickered. "And way to get out of that jam yourself."

The tall red hedgehog nodded lightly. "Can I ask you to do something really weird for me tomorrow?"

I shrugged. "Name it."

"Try to play even better tomorrow than you did tonight."

"Of course!" I beamed. "You've seen me play ball in the past, right? The ballparks couldn't contain me." I started running around him in short bursts. "You see? I'm a speed freak. When I'm at the top of my game, the only thing I can do is improve my game. You want an even better game tomorrow?" I stopped right in front of the unfazed animal wearing a block style 13 on his back. "Then I'm your hedgehog."

Just kidding. I'd like to think I'm not that one-dimensional. What I actually said was, "For you, I'll give it my best shot."

He smiled lightly, slapping his recessive left hand on my shoulders. "Thanks, Sonic."