haikus various
			I've Got Dreams to Remember Andrew Bomback
			excerpt from: The Phillie Phanatic Andrew Ervin
			Flies Roy Kesey
			artwork David Kramer
			The Tools of Ignorance Nick Mainieri
			The Dark One Daniel McArdle
			Not Just Another Day at the Ballpark Jim Ruland
			I'd Do It Again, Too Grant Stoye
			C.J. Hribal Nick Fox
			BASEBALL ARCHIVES
			Grant Stoye spends more time obsessing about his fantasy baseball team than helping plan his own wedding. He also thinks Publishing Houses and Grad Schools should give refunds. His ultimate goal in life is to make a five foot tall Cadbury egg and eat his way out.

Cory glares at me across the room. His left eye is swollen and purple. If you look closely you can see his veins throb as they pump blood to his stupid, beedy-eyed, cat's asshole of a face.

His lips crack and bleed as he mouths, "Fuck you" to me. I check to see if Principle Pelton has her back turned. She does. I grind my teeth.

My right hand is sore from where I socked him. It was the first time I had ever raised my fist in anger against another person, but I'd do it again in a hearbeat. Just looking at his reptilian expression of cold anger beneath his puffy, tear-stained cheeks boils my blood. He had it coming.

I make eye contact with our school's secretary. She squints her eyes at me and I return the favor. Then she rolls her eyes. I hear Cory snicker. She rolls her eyes and turns back to her computer. A chuckle catches in his throat. I give her the finger with my left hand.

"Ms. Davis!" he calls out. She turns towards us and sees me with my finger extended and my facial expression goes limp. Cory laughs like a maniac. Mrs. Pelton looks over and in that moment I know I'm suspended for at least another day.

I look directly at Cory, whose laughter trails off as he sees my face go red, just like it did a half hour ago. I figure that a two-day suspension might as well be three, and I leap out of my seat and punch him right in the balls. I raise my injured right hand to smack the bewilderment right out of his face when I feel my shirt collar yanked back like a lassoed horse.

But I don't care. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY calls Cecil Fielder a cunt when I'm around.