Sophomore Campaign Read Online Free PDF

punctuating the crisp night air with the inimitable sound of clinking bottles, followed by a chorus of raucous cheers and wild applause. Waves of excitement eddied through the crowd, bathing each spectator in the warm exhilaration of improbable vision. They “ooohed” and “aaahed” riotously as Mickey, in the light of his skillful display, slowly ascended the ladder of commentary to heights of folk hero status. “Unbelievable,” they just kept repeating. “Truly amazing. Who is this kid, anyway?” And then it happened. Out of the bristling throng of flickering eyes came a voice, small but certain. It came quickly, and with excitement and impatience, its owner’s eyes fixed upon the scene in front of him.
    â€œHey, I know him, Daddy,” the little boy declared. “I know him. I do. I do. That’s Mickey. Mickey. You know, the Baby Bazooka, from the Brew Crew!”
    In the dimly lit darkness, the boy’s words filtered through the crowd, gaining momentum with each pair of lips that repeated the startling revelation until all at once the entire group was ensconced in a frenetic buzzing that vibrated underneath the diamond-dotted sky for several minutes before finally erupting into a rowdy incantation.
    â€œMickey! Mickey! Mickey!”
    Murph and Woody, still engaged in their heartfelt exchange,heard the commotion and, together with Molly, ran to the scene with dire concern. By this time, the bodies lined up to see the spectacle had formed an impenetrable wall against which the three were powerless.
    â€œDo something, Arthur,” Molly pleaded. “Do something. I don’t want him there by himself.”
    Murph went one way, Woody the other. Each jockeyed from side to side, trying to negotiate the obstreperous mob. Once or twice Murph thought he had found a fissure in the mass, an entry point through which he could squeeze, only to be thwarted by another also seeking a closer look. Frustrated and out of patience, he tapped on one of the shoulders in front of him.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” he asked impatietly. The man held his hand to his ear and shrugged with noticeable irritation.
    â€œI said, what’s going on?” Murph repeated louder.
    â€œSome kid’s putting on a real show,” the man replied loudly over the deafening mantra. He craned his neck to get a better view. “It’s really something.”
    â€œMickey! Mickey! Mickey!”
    As the rhythmic chanting rose to a crescendo, Mickey’s face assumed an expression of blissful retrospection which would have exploded into a full-scale smile instantly had it not been frozen momentarily by utter amazement. The young star of the fair sparkled with this new sense of energy and activity that had seized his complacent heart, reveling in the landslide of handshakes and affectionate pats on the back spilling from the crowd.
    â€œGood to see you, Mick,” one of the admirers said, gushing with heartfelt affection and enthusiasm. “Can’t wait to see you and the rest of the Brew Crew out there again this spring.” Mickey smiled and exhaled deeply, liberated by a feeling of fulfillment that surprised as much as buoyed him.
    â€œBaseball in the spring,” Mickey said. “Yeah, baseball.”
    Murph arrived at the front of the crowd just in time to witness the exchange. All the life in his body was now in his eyes—two glinting stars that lit up his face, incinerating the melancholy mask he had worn for so many days. Sure, nothing had changed really. Molly had yet to withdraw her definitive proclamation about her son’s immediate future. But the hope that Murph now felt became indissoluble. He knew the look on Mickey’s face. Recognized it right away. It was baseball fever. Once the germ got in your blood, there was no antidote—no way to arrest the rushing tide of electricity spawn by the feel of cowhide and lathed white ash or the smell of grass