Dinty hated playing outfield. But Gryff was team captain so he told people where to go. “I’ll tell Gryff where to go,” thought Dinty.
Trouble was he wasn’t very good at many of the other positions, so he guessed this was as good as any position to play from. He’d tried short stop, but Gryff said he didn’t have enough ‘hustle’. “I’ll hustle him,” thought Dinty.
He’d tried pitching. He’d pitched a great game once in grade four, catching a pop fly to win the game. But Gryff said he didn’t put enough ‘mustard’ on the ball. “I’ll put mustard on him,” thought Dinty.
First base? Too scared of the ball. “I’ll scare him,” thought Dinty.
Second base? Couldn’t get over the plate. “I’ll get over the plate him,” thought Dinty.
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Catcher? “I think you’ve got a concussion,” Gryff had said when he’d come to. “I’ll think him,” thought Dinty.
The bat cracked. “Get under it!” he heard Gryff yelling. In slow motion, he saw the ball going up. “Get under it!” Gryff kept yelling. And then, the ball snapped in his glove, and the field erupted in… cheers?
Above the din, Gryff was yelling something. Wolf? “I’ll wolf him,” thought Dinty, who was then attacked by a pack of outfield wolves; the real reason Dinty hated the outfield, but was too needy of Gryff’s approval too say anything.
