Henry Gant, Man About Town. This episode: Twenty-four hour short story writing contest. Team Nine From Outerspace.

Coach looked up at the clouds gathering above the baseball field.

"Men . . . Team Nine from outer space is going to arrive soon. I don't have to tell you how important this game is to . . ." he paused to ensure that his next words were correct, "the survival of our Solar System."

"Only last year the . . . " he paused again, "beings of Team Nine were probably carrying guns, ray things, whatever it is that they use as weapons, and you young men would more than likely be sitting in a ditch with rifles ready for a fight." He went on, "But, not today . . . today we are ready for Baseball!"

Coach stood tall like General George S. Patton as portrayed by actor George C. Scott. I could see that this was Coach's finest hour.
Continuing he said, "Our leaders, the Pentagon, Joint Chiefs of Staff, the President of these United States, understand the danger of opposing an unknown force." Coach looked up at the darkening clouds and grimaced.

"It was determined that with the alien's advanced technology, the achievement of galactic flight, and the ability to decode our languages and communicate by what we humans consider conventional means; that we - the human race - are in danger of extinction."

"Today we have the chance to prove to this outer space species that we mean them no harm. We can coexist in peace and harmony." Coach swelled with pride as he said, "After much diplomacy and consideration, it was decided that we would meet peacefully on a field of play . . . and have a friendly game of baseball."

"Coach?" I asked, raising my hand, "How do they know how to play baseball?"

Coach, stopped pacing and spit. "I imagine they watched the World Series, Einstein." He gave me a squinty one-eyed look, "They might even have Googled it . . . for all I know, they probed Abner Doubleday."
Coach looked the entire team over. "Look, guys, I'm just a baseball coach, what we are being asked to do is way above our pay-grade. But this is more important than the USA beating anybody at hockey."

"We have to show them that we can and will win!"
"We never give up."
"We will find a way!"

"This is a simple game of Baseball and the entire world will be watching."

"Play fair . . . play like the gentlemen that you are, show these Aliens we can compete and live in peace."
"Team human!" he shouted.

During the speech, Team Nine had taken their place in their dugout.
We ran out on the field. I took my position as the pitcher.

"It" came into the batter's box. Dressed in New York Yankee pinstripes.
"It" was half the size of a human.
Eddie Gaedel . . . I was pitching against an entire team of Eddie Gaedel - The 3'7 . . . 65lb pinch hitter for the 1951 St. Louis Browns.
I froze

Coach ambled out to the pitcher's mound and took his place alongside me.
He said, "Look, I didn't tell you guys everything. Those dried out lizard looking things just want to play a game of baseball, Win or lose" he looked at the lizard's strike zone, "I'm guessing they win on walks . . . then, they will leave our galaxy. No harm, no foul."
Coach looked at me directly, "Just pitch . . . play the game, and the human race can go on. No harm to them . . . no harm to us."
He placed a fresh ball in my hand.

The umpire yelled . . . "Play ball!"

As I wound up, the first drop of rain hit my forearm. I smiled as a lightning bolt cracked as I released my ball.

Wow! That bolt was close and loud!

I knew my fastball was a strike as soon as it left my fingers.
I couldn't wait to see the expression on the lizard's face as my eyes focused after that flash.

My ears were ringing as the rain began to increase.

I looked at home-plate . . . and there, lying on it's back, was a lizard dressed in a New York Yankee's uniform . . . it's burned forehead letting lose a whiff of smoke.

There was another rumble of thunder in the distance . . . and then silence.

As Team Nine From Outer Space ran on to the field they were clicking and squeaking excitedly. They picked up their fallen teammate and ran for their spaceship.

Coach was walking out to the pitcher's mound.
The Umpire walked out to the pitcher mound.

All three of us stood there and watched as Team Nine blasted off heading toward the fleeing armada.
The Umpire looked up at the leaving spaceships . . . and then at the thunderous clouds.
He said to Coach, "You need to call the President . . . tell him the game was called on account of rain."

While still looking toward the sky, Coach put his hand on my shoulder and said, "That'll teach them . . . Baseball is our game!"

This Photograph was taken at the Roswell UFO Museum and enhanced by Henry Gant.
https://steemit.com/travel/@henry-gant/henry-gant-man-about-town-this-episode-roswell-ufo-museum

This is for the Twentyfourhourshortstory writing contest. You can find it here:
https://steemit.com/twentyfourhourshortstory/@mctiller/writers-win-5-steem-24-hour-short-story-contest-march-21-topic-9-a-baseaball-teams-plays-a-team-from-outer-space

H. G.