You swing your open palm at his cheek, hoping to smack a little sense into him. His calloused hand grabs your wrist mid-smack. Before you can apologize, he is putting on shin guards, a chest protector, and pulling a catcher’s mask over his face. “Look for weapons, anything we can use!” Searching through lockers, you gather a few bats, a couple pairs of cleats, and a less-than-intimidating pair of athletic-tape scissors.
Yount looks like a samurai, ready for battle. “I grabbed some gear for you too. Put it on.” As you struggle with all the equipment, you catch glimpses of him heavily coating pine tar over the barrels of two bats. He ducks into the manager’s office, and throws a chair through the window separating the two rooms. After rolling the bats in the shards of broken glass, he hands you one. He pulls a can of deodorant spray from a nearby locker and says, “I have an idea…”