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43 holden Jonathan Holden Buying a Baseball As I turned over in my palm that glossy little planet I was going to hand my son I was wondering how it could still cost the same as when I was his age. Around came the brand: Rowlings. Made in Haiti. Like those poor city kids I'd heard have no idea that milk came from a cow, I'd never known before where baseballs come from. They were always there in the stores in bins, stitched tight as uncracked books, each with its tiny trademark, Made in Hell. We'd test the tough seams along both fingers' links to get a thrill of power remembering how to fake a staggering grounder out so it would leap to the mitt at our convenience, how that black magic squeezed in the core would make it spark off the bat with a high, nasty crack you could mistake for no other sound in the world. ...


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