Elijah followed his hand, dropped his sunglasses over his eyes to see exactly what Orlando was pointing to. "That's the pitcher's mound." "And he does what?" "Pitches the ball." "Tries to hit them and they block with the bats?" Sean turned in his seat to face his friend. "No, he tries to throw around the bat, so the hitter can't hit it." "So, who does the tackling?" Orlando pointed at one of the infielders, who was warming up playing toss with the left fielder. "That guy?" Sean shook his head, readjusted his baseball hat. "That's the first baseman. He doesn't tackle." Dom leaned forward, smirking at Orlando, munching on the big bag of peanuts in his lap. "It's not bloody American football, y'stupid cunt. Don't you watch movies?" Orlando glared at Dom. "Of course I watch movies, you wank. Just not ones about baseball." He sat back, squinting again. Billy silently handed over a spare baseball hat, and Orlando took it with a grateful smile. "So, let me see if I've got this then, yeah?" he continued, tugging the hat snugly on his head. "Bloke over here throws the ball hoping this bloke won't hit it, and if he does, he's hoping the blokes behind him will stop the ball." Elijah nodded. "Yeah, pretty much." "So, where's the violent part?" Billy asked, stealing Dom's peanuts while propping pale shorts-clad legs on the seat in front of him. God knew he needed the sun. Elijah glanced at the man next to him. "What are you talking about? There's no violence in baseball." "That's insane," Orlando stated, throwing his arm out to the field, where the pitcher was getting ready to throw the first pitch of the game. "You've got blokes with bats and blokes throwing hard objects at each other at high velocity and nobody's trying to kill anybody?" "No." Orlando flopped back in his seat, crossing his arms. His lips curled up in something remarkably resembling a pout. "Why are we watching this game again?" "Because it's an intelligent game." Sean said, then muttered, "Unlike some people I know." Orlando grinned, tugged Sean's baseball cap down over his eyes. "I heard that, cheeky. And you're having me on. There's no such thing as an intelligent American pastime. You lot invented wrestling." "Christ, Billy, shut your girlfriend up before I kill him!" Dom exclaimed. Sean shuddered. "Not in front of me, please." Billy spared a quick grin at Sean before twisting around to look at Dom. "You off your kettle, Dommie? I don't want to get killed by a...what do you call them, Elijah?" "A redneck?" Elijah supplied. Billy nodded, the movement emphatic. "Yeah, that's it. A red neck." "Bleeding coward," Dom said. He turned his face up to the sun, let it beat down on his face. "No wonder the Brits subjugated you for so long," he continued, not turning. Sean rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Christ, not that again." Billy ignored him, bumped his shoulder into Dom. "Sod off, you twat." Orlando leaned over Elijah, shook Dom's arm and smiled "Lay off, Sblom or I'll announce it on the PA how you really got that nickname." Dom answering smile was particularly saccharine. "How twee that you stick up for him." "Is anybody even watching the game?" Elijah wondered aloud. Orlando pointed to the field. "I would, but nothing interesting's happening." Sean's look spoke volumes about Orlando's obvious blindness. "You're kidding, right? Brown just struck two guys out. Guy's got a wicked curve." Billy leaned forward, peering at the field like he'd missed something. "I thought you said this game wasn't violent." Dom also leaned forward, puzzled. "I don't remember seeing anybody getting knocked out." "That's 'cause no one was," Elijah sighed. "Astin was talking about the pitching striking the hitters out." Orlando scratched at his forehead. "Alright, one more time for the Brits. Striking people out doesn't mean beating them bloody?" Dom reached in his bag of peanuts and threw a few at Orlando. "Jesus, Orlando, don't you pay attention to anything?" Orlando threw the peanuts back, over-shooting a bit and hitting the people next to Dom. "Sorry," he called, smiling brilliantly at the dirty glances thrown his way. "Look, Dom-i-nic," he drew out Dom's name until it was almost seven syllables, "I was bloody paying attention. But it's hot and I'm thirsty, and this stadium doesn't serve a decent pint, and I'm trying to figure out why we're here if nobody's trying to kill anybody, alright?" Elijah leaned forward until his head was touching his knees. "We're here because we thought it would be an amusing way to spend the afternoon," he mumbled to his legs. "And I'm vastly amused, thank you," Billy replied, taking his baseball cap off and wiping the sweat from his forehead. His grin was wide and infectious. "I haven't been this amused in weeks." "You prats are giving me a headache," Dom stated. He started munching on his peanuts again, popping them in his mouth in small handfuls. Astin resolved to firmly ignore them and watch the game. He should have known better. "He's cute, who's he?" Orlando asked, nudging Sean in the ribs, pointing to the batter. "He's not cute, Orlando, he's Brian Jordan. Amazing outfielder. Wicked bat. A fucking menace from the right." "You realize you're not speaking English, right?" Sean gestured out to the field. "I am trying to watch the game here...Oh My God!!!" He and Elijah jumped up, screaming, as Brian's bat connected on a slider and sent it sailing. Dom and Billy and Orlando jumped up as well, not sure why they were yelling, but doing it anyway. The ball sailed over the outfield wall, and the crowd went nuts as Jordan rounded the bases. Sean hugged Orlando, and continued to cheer. Orlando looked at Billy while bouncing in Sean's embrace. His hat to fell backward into the seats. "Guess something good happened then?" Billy shrugged. "Gives us an excuse to hug in public." He pulled Orlando to him, managed to cop a quick feel with the brief embrace and winked when he pulled back. "You are so paying for that later," Orlando promised, settling his hat back on his head. "I look forward to it," Billy winked and rubbed his hands together. "Now, who are we cheering for again?" "The Dodgers, you cunt!" Elijah yelled over the still roaring crowd. Billy and Orlando shrugged again, started yelling and clapping their hands. "Go Dodgers!" Billy yelled. "Yeah beat the piss out of 'em...whoever they are!!" Orlando threw out. Astin just shook his head, settling back in his seat. "They would be the Padres." The others also sat as Beltre came up to bat and the crowd settled a bit. "Names are awfully stupid, Astin," Dom remarked. "If this is America's pastime, why've you got team names in Spanish?" Elijah laughed. "You have never been to San Diego, my friend." "Could we please try watching the game?" Sean looked down the row to his friends. "Please?" "Sure thing," Dom replied, raising his eyebrows. Billy took the obvious hint. "As soon as you tell us who's trying to kill whom again." Sean groaned. It was going to be a long afternoon. Onto Whoop! There It Is
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