The old aphorism about the more you grip onto something, the more it slips way from you, proved to be true out in that field.

When I grasped the branch brought over by Trevor, I coated my hand in spruce gum.

No, that isn’t the grip I’m talking about above, but I mention it as a point of interest because when I got that gunk all over my hands it made sense to me in the moment why everyone I’d encountered in this medieval place appeared constantly filthy.

I wiped my sticky palms on my trousers, but to no avail.

“Your own version of pine tar,” Proctor said.

His reference was lost on me, at first.

“In baseball, players would use a sticky substance to improve their grip on the bat,” Proctor explained. “It’s called pine tar, I believe.”

Anyway, that wasn’t the grip slipping away from me thing I was talking about. More that I was growing frustrated at my inability to properly translate baseball to all of these people. The more into the weeds I’d get explaining things, the more weeds I’d expose. It was like baseball was this never ending Russian nesting doll, and try as I might I couldn’t reach the final one.

Of course, as soon as Proctor referred to the spruce branch I was holding as a ‘bat’, it became a point of focus, and here we were with yet another Russian doll.

“The bat?” Gak the barbarian said, lowering his brow at the foreign word.

“Ah, right,” I said. I held the tree branch aloft. “This is a bat.”

“Nah, ‘tis a bit of spruce ain’t it?” Dillard said. He managed to draw a few laughs.

“Not in baseball,” I said. “In baseball, this is going to be one of your most important tools. You’re going to use this tool to build runs.”

“A bat?”

“Yes,” I said. “You call it a baseball bat.”

“We can tear down any branch from a tree, and that’s a baseball bat?” Asked a woman from the crowd.

“No,” I said. “We’re going to make proper baseball bats. We’ll figure that out in due course, but for now, for the purposes of this exercise, where I’m showing you how the sport works, we’re going to use this branch. Okay? For now, this is a baseball bat.”

“And, what’s that?” Trevor said, pointing to the fist sized stone.

“Glad you asked,” I said. “This is a baseball.”

“Hang on,” Dillard said. “You said the whole bloody thing’s a baseball, ain’t it?”

“Yes, the sport itself is called baseball,” I said. “But, in baseball, you use this thing called a ball, and its proper name is baseball.”

I pointed to the giant behind me.

“Take him,” I said, arm held up toward the enormous man. “That’s Trevor.”

“Sure is.”

“You might call him, Trev,” I said. “But, his full name is Trevor.”

“I’ve not been called Trev,” the giant said. “Not ever, I don’t believe.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “Point is, it’s a shorter version of your proper name. Same thing for this.” And, I held the rock out in front of me again. “This is a ball, but its full name is baseball.”

“But, this whole game, these teams you speak of, it’s all baseball as well?” Trevor said.

“Correct,” I said. “I understand it’s confusing.”

“No, I believe I have it,” Trevor said.

“What you doing with the baseball then?” Dillard said.

“Alright,” I said. “Here’s how you win the battle, er, the war against your enemies. When you play baseball against, say, Murphy Mountain. You have to use your bat-”, and, again I held the branch overhead. “And, you use this baseball-”, held the stone for all to see again, “and together, they build runs.”

“How you do that?”

“You’re going to whack this thing with this thing,” I said. And, I displayed the branch making contact with the stone as I held them in my hands.

“Whack?” Said Gak.

“Hit,” I said. “You’re going to swing this branch, this bat, and try to hit this stone, this baseball.”

“Aye, right.”

“This is how we take first fortress?” Trevor said.

“From home plate to first base,” I said. “Yes. Here, let me show you.”

I had Proctor take up a position several feet from me, with the rock in his hand. Then I stood in front of the gathering holding the branch the way a batter held a bat. Or, at least, I was doing it to my best recollection from having watched games on TV. I’m sure my form was terrible.

“Right,” I said. “Proctor here is what’s called in baseball, a pitcher. I’m a batter.”

“Because you have the bat,” Trevor said.

“Precisely.”

“And, he has the baseball, so he’s the pitcher,” Trevor said.

“Well, anyone can have the baseball, but yes, his job on the team is to pitch the baseball toward me, and my job is to try and hit it with this bat,” I said.

“And, that’s going to make a run?”

“Ideally, yes.”

It looked like everyone’s eyes went swirly.

“Here’s the thing,” I said, “the batter, me, I’m from Murphy Mountain.”

“No you ain’t,” shouted a rat faced man in the crowd. “You’re from the sky.”

“For the purposes of this demonstration, pretend I’m from Murphy Mountain,” I said. “And, imagine Proctor here is from Moonlight. He’s representing your village, playing for your village’s baseball team. Understand?”

There were enough nods, that I felt as though most did understand.

“Now Proctor is going to pitch the baseball toward me, and I’m going to swing this bat, and try to hit the baseball,” I said. “This is going to help me get from here, which is my home, or home plate, and get through those fortresses, those bases, and back home again. And, remember, every time you get home again… that’s a run.”

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“But, you have to hit the baseball?” Trevor said.

“Yes,” I said. “For the most part.”

“Hang on,” Dillard said. “If you’s from Murphy Mountain, and he’s one of us, why’d he want to pitch that baseball to you? He don’t want you to build them runs then, does he? We want the runs, we don’t want you all from Murphy Mountain to build ‘em.”

“Yes,” I said. “You’ve got it. This is the war. This is baseball. Proctor, the player - the pitcher - playing for Moonlight doesn’t want me, the player - the batter - for Murphy Mountain to hit this baseball when he throws it toward me. When he pitches it in my direction. He wants me to swing my bat, and to miss.”

I took a long, exaggerated swing with the tree branch just to show everyone what I was talking about.

“Because if you hit it, you can take a fortress?” Trevor said.

“Yes,” I said, and I recognized the excitement in my voice. It was gratifying to see their gears turning, and see they were slowly catching on.

“If Proctor pitches the baseball, and I swing at it, and I hit it, I am then on a mission to run from my home to the first fortress that in baseball we call first base,” I said. “Let’s give it a try.”

Many among the crowd stared at me with their jaws slackened. You could clearly see they were enthralled. I was certain my explanation of this sport was a complete mangling, but for whatever reason, the villagers remained riveted. I was thankful.

“Proctor,” I said. “You go ahead, and pitch the ball toward me. I’m going to try and hit it.”

Perhaps I should’ve been afraid, but I hadn’t given it a second’s thought. I watched in horror as Proctor wound up like I’d seen major league baseball pitchers do on televised games, and he reared back, and biffed the fist sized hunk of granite toward me with such velocity, I immediately dropped to the cold mud. Pretty sure I’d only just missed getting the rock upside the head.

The crowd of villagers erupted into laughter.

“Whoa, Proctor!” I shouted, and gathered myself, stood back up. “That was close.”

Proctor’s face turned crimson. “My apologies,” he said. “I don’t know why I threw it that hard. Nor did I mean to throw it right at you.”

“‘Tis not the goal?” Gak said. “He must hit you with the baseball, yes?”

“No,” I said. “You don’t want the pitcher to hit the batter with the baseball. If that happens, the batter automatically gets to take first base.”

“Auto? Mat?” Gak said, he’d never heard that word in his life.

“Sorry,” I said. “If the pitcher hits you with the baseball when they throw it toward you, you are simply granted passage to first base. It is given to you.”

“As a reward for your pain?” Gak said.

“That’s a good way of looking at it,” I said. “Sure.”

I gave the rock back to Proctor. This time he tossed it underhand. I swung at it, and missed. More laughter.

“That’s not what you want to do,” I said. “That’s a strike.”

“But you did not strike it,” Dillard said.

“No, no,” I said. “In baseball we try to hit the… baseball. And, if you swing at the baseball, and we do not hit the baseball, that’s called a strike.”

Speaking of strike, it was in this moment when it struck me… whomever invented this ridiculous sport had to have been trolling. Gratifying when people got what I was saying, yes, but hugely frustrating at the same time.

The longer the teaching went on, the more of those Russian nesting dolls popped up. I needed help.

What to do now? I thought. Go into describing balls and strikes, or keep talking about creating runs? Hits?

“Toss me another,” I said to Proctor, and I threw the rock back to him.

This time I made contact. The branch struck the stone, and the vibration ran like an electric shock up my arms. I ignored the pain, dropped the stick, and took off like a shot toward an imaginary first base. The rock, for its part, went pretty much nowhere, and merely dropped in front of me.

I ran several meters before stopping close to a group of old men staring at me with amusement as I heaved in gobs of chilly air.

“Why’d you run?” Gak said. “No one chases you.”

“The people on Proctor’s side will try to catch me before I make it to first base,” I said. “You’re trying to hit the baseball, and if you do, it’s up to Proctor and his teammates to gather it, and use it to catch you before you make it to the fortress.”

“I don’t understand,” Trevor said.

When he said it, he encouraged a chorus of voices from the villagers who all agreed, they didn’t understand either.

Enter: the System. You could call it ‘deus ex machina’, and you’d be right to, probably. But, I didn’t care. To me it was ‘deus ex… thank the freaking heavens, where’ve you been already?’.

Text slammed into my vision.

[ATTENTION, HUMAN:

You are thirsty.]

I wasn’t.

[SUGGESTION:

Seek immediate refreshment.]

You might be surprised to know, I actually understood what the aliens were asking me to do. Fine, it’s obvious to you, but I’ve never been quick to pick up on hints, no matter how logical.

Having collected a gold coin from Proctor, I jogged to the Boop Soda machine leaving the large gathering of Moonlighters behind me. Proctor didn’t ask me for explanation, he knew what I was doing.

The coin struck bottom in the machine, and a fresh can dropped into the receiving tray.

The System had seen fit to intervene in my egregiously awful attempt at teaching baseball to these ancient people. That was how I saw it, and it had to have been true. You’re seeing it, you see how poorly I’ve been doing. What I’m saying is, I wasn’t at all reluctant to down more soda, regardless how disgusting the flavor might be.

I was right to intimate I’d be disgusted, however. A purple, and silver can presented itself. Grape ‘Splosion. I hate grape. Well… I actually quite enjoy eating grapes, but I can’t stand grape flavored things. Grape soda pop? Yuck.

But, again, if the System was interrupting me teaching baseball, I’m all ears, er, taste buds. Couldn’t be any worse than water chestnut.

Before cracking the can, I ran back holding it, and noticed all eyes were on the shiny object in my hand.

“‘Tis it?” Asked a young woman.

“It’s a drink,” Dillard said. “He’s had ‘em before. Guard your bits.”

Trevor walked around behind the crowd as a form of self protection. Gak frowned, not understanding why a few people were retreating from me.

“What do you suppose?” Proctor said. “Lightning again?”

“Who knows?”

“Grape,” Proctor observed. “Interesting. Are you a fan?”

“Not at all.”

“How much will you drink?”

“More than the water chestnut swill,” I said. “But, probably not a lot more.”

“What do you suppose the System has in mind here?” Proctor said.

“Something to help these people learn the game, I hope,” I said.

“My thoughts as well,” Proctor said.

He was the only one not moving away from me. We both understood, whatever magic effect the soda would bring, it wasn’t going to kill us. That would defeat the purpose. Obviously, the others wouldn’t understand this.

Once I’d cracked the can - a moment that startled a few bewildered villagers - the five minute timer in my vision began. I went about it aggressively this time in order to overpower the flavor, and just… get it down. I tilted my head back, and threw three gulps of soda down my throat.

The fizz burned on the way down, and the grape was every bit as gross as I’d remembered. It had a mixture of over sweetness, along with that unmistakable tart grape wave that takes you back to family picnics where you’re eight years old, sun stricken, and crying because you’ve pooped your swim trunks.

Five times I slammed the soda. It was all I could muster.

“That oughta do it,” I said to Proctor. “Whatever the System has in mind.”

I knew to wait for the five minute counter to finish before expecting any magic to kick in. My only fear was that some of the villagers might get bored and leave since I’d basically just stood there waiting instead of continuing with my horrible baseball lesson. Luckily, no one did.

Boom! The countdown ended. New text pounded my eyes.

[WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

You have consumed 2.5 oz of Grape ‘Splosion flavored Boop Soda.

Prepare for effect.]

Immediately, my eyes felt heavy. Almost as if the muscles in my eyelids reached peak fatigue in the span of a second. I could barely keep my eyes open. I started seeing two of Proctor. I was so dizzy as well.

Both Proctors appeared genuinely concerned.

“Are you alright?” He said. Then his voice turned into a spiraling echo.

More text popped in front of me, and oddly enough, I could see it clearly, while everything else turned into a blur.

[WARNING!

You are engaged in teaching the sport of baseball.

Click ‘Yes’ or ‘No’.]

I did as instructed, and blinked to virtually click ‘Yes’.

[Grape ‘Splosion = Simulate effect

You have consumed 2.5 oz.

2.5 oz = 5 consumptions = magic x 5

You have chosen the ‘Simulate’ flavor. (x5)

Prepare for effect.]

I read what I was seeing out loud to Proctor.

“Simulate what, exactly?” Proctor said. “Your teaching? What would that entail?”

I had no idea, but I also had no time to think about it, because my eyes slammed shut entirely. All bodily control was lost. I dropped to the cold, hard ground, and the world was gone.