A GAME AT YANKEE STADIUM
by Mark Newman (marknew742@aol.com)
There's more at stake for Mark at a Yankees game than he would ever guess


Mark Sullivan didn't often to go Yankee games by himself, but 
tonight a friend of a friend of a colleague in his New York office 
had offered him a single ticket, and since he was rarely in New 
York he took it.  The seat wasn't bad -- the main level, midway 
down the left field line, but only five rows from the field.  And 
even though it would be over ninety degrees at game time, he 
figured a few quarts of water would keep him cool, along with a 
beer or too.

Since it was a Monday holiday off after the fourth of July 
weekend, he went up to the Stadium early, enjoying the show of 
scantily clad girls parading around the stadium. He watched the 
Orioles take batting practice, noticing Ripken hitting several 
balls over the left field fence.  He was glad Ripken had recovered 
his form after giving up the Iron Man record.  Soon the scoreboard 
came to life, with a series of advertisements for the Daily News, 
the New York Commodity Exchange, and JVC.  They ran a DiMaggio 
video, and then a bloopers tape that was so funny that he almost 
missed the three women coming through the crowd to sit next to 
him.  Two of them didn't interest Mark in the least, but the 
third, who was sitting next to him, looked very, very nice.  She 
was young, probably just out of school, and was a little bit small 
for his tastes, but she had a gorgeous face and a good figure with 
an attractive hint of muscle tone.  Her skin was smooth and she 
had bright green eyes, a trait that always turned him on, 
especially after years of Marilyn's brown ones.  He smiled at her 
and she smiled back.  

Since his divorce, Mark had mixed feelings about a new 
relationship.  With Marilyn as committed to her career as he was 
to his, the two of them had not had children, they were each self-
sufficient, and their assets were generally easy to divide other 
than a few sentimental things and the beach house they'd had to 
sell.  Still although divorce was not traumatic, the whole 
experience left him reluctant to start another commitment.   But 
he loved women, and at the age of 31 his 6'2" well-muscled frame, 
along with his ample income, gave him plenty of opportunities to 
fill his calendar and his bed.  Sometimes he arrogantly thought 
that it was getting the women out of his calendar, and his bed, 
that was the real problem.  Mostly, though, that attitude was a 
mask for the unease he would feel when he had to tell a woman he 
no longer wanted her.  

This girl, however, looked to be worth taking a chance.  He was 
just about to start up a conversation when there was a buzzing 
around him.  Someone nearby had won one of the stadium promotions 
they ran on the scoreboard.  He looked up.  It was run by 
something called The New York Power Exchange and his seat was the 
winning one.

"How do you like that?  I won!" he said to the girl.

"Wow!  I've never won anything."

"I wonder what the sponsor is.  It sounds pretty strange, like a 
trading floor for power companies selling electricity to each 
other."

"You're right, it does," she answered, laughing, "but --

Just then, a woman in a blue suit and a baseball cap with a NYPE 
logo made her way to him.  "Good evening sir. Is this your seat?  
Can you show me the ticket for Section 65, Box C, seat 4?"  Mark 
pulled out his rain check.  "Very good."  She was completing some 
forms on a hand held computer. 

"Congratulations, sir.  You have won a $20 power rebate.  All you 
have to do is purchase from The Wiz, within the next three months, 
three or more of the electronic appliances listed on the back of 
the rebate form, mail it to us with the receipts and your electric 
bill, and we will arrange to credit you with $20 on an electric 
bill one or two months afterwards.  The details are all on the on 
back of the form."

"That's quite a prize," he said, sarcastically.

"I'm not finished, sir," she said, a little impatiently.  "If you 
wish to exchange the power rebate you can play our exchange game.  
To do this, you must select one other fan in the stadium tonight 
who is not related to you by blood, marriage or adoption.  He or 
she will play against you."

Mark looked over at the girl next to him.  "Do you want to play?"

"Sure," she agreed.

She turned to Mark.  "Your name, please."

"Mark Sullivan."

"And Mr. Sullivan, are you over eighteen years of age?"  He 
smiled.  "I'm sorry, but I have to ask you.  New York State law."

"Yes," he smiled.  "I am." 

"Good, she said, continuing with the details for her computer.  
"And you, miss, are

"Debra B. Torrengs.  And I turned twenty one last month."

The NYPE woman nodded and handed Mark the device, which looked 
like a Psion, but with a NYPE logo on it.  "I'll just ask you to 
key in your best guess which team will win the game tonight and 
then to indicate that you accept the rules of the game.  That's 
all there is.  Mr. Sullivan, as the winner of the drawing, will 
choose first, and then Miss Torrengs will take the other team."

Mark looked at the little computer.  The whole thing seemed very 
involved.  He keyed in Yankees on the tiny keys, clicked on 
"accept" and then handed it to Debra, who did the same with the 
Orioles.  As she handed it back to him he felt a little tingle up 
his arm.  He could tell she noticed it too.

"Um, miss, you should have this device checked out.  I think we 
both just got a shock."

"Thank you.  I will do that, sir.  Now, I hope you enjoy the game, 
both the Yankees and our little sideshow.  We'll check back with 
you later."  She left.

"It seemed like a lot of trouble for a $20 Con Ed rebate," he 
said.

"I know.  And she was so serious, too!"

"You like the Yankees?"

"Yeah, especially Derek Jeter.  He's very good, isn't he?"

"He may be one of the best.  We'll see.  Pettitte started out very 
well, but he's been doing worse every year.  Jeter seems to be 
getting better."

"Well, he's very popular."

Mark liked the way she talked.  Her whole face lit up, when she 
looked at him, especially her eyes.  He could fall in love with 
those eyes.  He stopped himself though.  He took a swig from his 
water bottle.  The game would start soon, right after the national 
anthem.

"Do you work in New York?"

"Uh-huh. I'm just starting a new job next month.  I graduated from 
Hunter College in June.  I'm very excited.  It's a marketing job 
with a small company, but it's involved with the internet, so it 
could end up very big.  And I like the people, even though some of 
the guys are sort of too geeky for me."  She wrinkled her nose a 
little and smiled.

"That's great.  I work in finance, bringing some of those 
companies public.  If you hit the right one, you can do very, very 
well."  She nodded, listening to him intently, and took a quick 
look down at his hand, his bare ring finger.  "Maybe we can get 
together, you know, later."  

"That sounds cool.  But I'll have to check with my friends, you 
know.  I don't want to abandon them or anything."  She looked over 
to talk to them, but they were talking about some problem, so she 
shrugged, got out a pen and wrote her phone number on Mark's hand.  
"You don't mind, do you?  I'll talk to them later.  Barbara's 
boyfriend just left her."

Mark nodded sympathetically. This was going nicely, he thought.  
He might even see a little action tonight.

Pettitte was starting to pitch.  His first few throws were balls, 
a bad sign.  Then Anderson hit a shot to the right side, but 
Knoblauch speared it for the out.  Rescued from that problem, 
Pettitte promptly walked the next batter, Bordick then gave up a 
single to Surhoff and then Belle, scoring Bordick.  As he crossed 
the plate, Mark felt a little sick and closed his eyes.  

"Mark, are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure.  I just felt a little dizzy.  I hope it wasn't the 
hot dogs."

"I know.  It's really hot out here.  Maybe you should drink some 
more water."

Mark nodded and drank half of his container.  "Yeah, that's 
better," he lied.  He looked back at the field, worried, but 
Pettitte got the next two batters.  Then in the Yankee half of the 
inning Knoblauch led off with a double and advanced and scored on 
the next two outs to tie the game.

"Smart baserunning!" he said and he and Debra clapped, then she 
stopped suddenly.

"Oh, I forgot!  I have to root for the Orioles.  I have them, 
don't I?"  

"Yes, I guess so.  Well, you can root for the Orioles, and Jeter."

"That's a great idea!" She laughed and put her hand on his arm.  
"Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine now," he said.  And he was.  He looked over at her 
again.  She was very cute, for sure.  He felt a pleasantly tight 
sensation in his shorts.  This could be a very good night.

Unfortunately, Pettitte continued to get behind on the hitters, 
and Ripken led off the next inning with a double. Pettitte got the 
next hitter, but Ripken scored on a single, and Pettitte got 
behind on the next hitter and walked him.  He retired the next 
two, but the Orioles now led again, 2-1, and again Mark was 
feeling a bit sick.  He looked over at Debra, chatting with her 
friends.  He noticed her legs for the first time and how muscular 
they were.  Maybe she was a gymnast or a runner.  He'd have to ask 
her later.  He was out of water, so he got up between innings to 
refill his water bottle. A little walk and more to drink would 
help.

By the time he got back the Yankees were already out of their 
inning, and Baltimore was nearly gone too. Pettitte was settling 
down, it seemed, but he was still throwing too many pitches to 
last on this hot evening.  Maybe that was just as well.  

In the third, Brosius led off with a single and after a sacrifice 
and a Knoblauch walk the Yankees had two men on base with Jeter up 
and only one out.  The crowd was into it now, clapping away.  So 
was Debra.  She smiled at him again and he looked her over, 
surprised at the way her biceps jumped with each clap.  He hadn't 
realized her arms were so developed too.  Just then he heard the 
crack of the bat.  Jeter had hit a sharp ground ball to Bordick, 
the shortstop, who turned an easy double play.  The Yankees were 
out.

The next inning started well with Ripken striking out, but that 
led to a double and a walk and then Brady Anderson hit a double, 
scoring one run and leaving the Orioles with second and third with 
just one out.  Mark felt dizzy again, and watched Bordick strike 
out for the second out. Surhoff hit a long single to right, and 
with the runners moving one more run scored and it would have been 
worse except that O'Neill threw out the second runner at home, 
ending the inning.  Mark was really feeling ill and started to get 
up, thinking to get more water.

"Are you O.K., Mark?"

"I ... I don't know."

"Just sit.  Barbara will give you some of ours."  She looked over 
to her friend, who took Mark's bottle and filled it.  "It's really 
hot.  You'll feel better if you just close your eyes and relax a 
little and keep drinking, I'm sure. "

"Yeah, maybe you're right."  He closed his eyes and felt a little 
better, then sipped the water Barbara brought him.  

"Now just stay there.  Keep your eyes closed.  I'll tell you 
what's happening.  O'Neill's up now."

"Really?  He just made that great play.  Funny how that always 
seems to happen."

"I know!" she agreed.  "I can tell you're feeling better already.  
Ok, O'Neill walked on four pitches."

He did feel a tiny bit better, but he still felt weak. She called 
the pitches and Williams had worked the count to 3-0.  He opened 
his eyes.  He wanted to watch this.  On the next pitch, Williams 
swung at an outside pitch, then fouled off the next for strike 
too.  It was a full count, a key play.  Everyone was on his feet 
except Mark.  He heard the crack of the bat and a groan.  He stood 
too and saw another double play, ending the threat.  The inning 
ended with a long fly out by Martinez.

"They're just not bringing the guys home," he complained.

"No," she agreed.  He looked over at her more closely.  Her shirt 
was tight on her, and her breasts seemed higher than he'd thought 
at first, pectoral muscles visible above them.  She met his look 
directly, almost inviting him to say something.  But she couldn't 
be growing.  That was crazy.   And although normally nothing would 
deter him from just saying what came to mind, he held back.  It 
seemed too weird and he lacked the strength to explain himself.  
So he kept quiet. She looked at him, and her brow furrowed, then 
she turned away to talk to Barbara.

A moment later the woman from the Power Exchange came over.  "How 
are you two doing?  Enjoying the game?"

Debra turned back and nodded.   Mark shrugged.  "Well, that's to 
be expected.  The Yankees are losing.  Sir, we did have the unit 
checked out and there was a short circuit.  We have repaired it 
and thank you for bringing it to our attention.  We'll see you 
again before the end of the game."  She walked quickly away.

"Hey, wait," Mark called.  "Drat!"

"What's wrong?"

"I had wanted to ask her what the prize is.  Not that it looks 
like I'm going to get it.  I hope for your sake it's better than 
that rebate."

"Thanks.  It would have to be, you know?"  She looked at him 
again, as if waiting for something, then shook her head and 
shrugged as he settled back into his seat and closed his eyes to 
rest.  

He didn't say much to her at all the next two innings.  She 
chatted with her friends, and he continued to feel strange, like 
his body wasn't his.  He felt so hot and weak that he just didn't 
want to move and watched the game as if through a gauze curtain.  
The Yankees threatened in both the fifth and the sixth but didn't 
score, while the Orioles went down meekly.  At least Pettitte 
seemed to have his stuff again.  She'd look over at him every so 
often, but he still felt too strange to say anything about what he 
was feeling, and soon she was spending most of the time turned 
away from him.  The heat was probably getting to her as well.  His 
expectations for after the game were starting to go downhill.

Torre replaced Pettitte with Grimsley in the seventh, and he 
didn't look sharp. Belle led off and hit the ball hard, but right 
at O'Neill.  Then Conine singled sharply and Amaral hit a long fly 
to left, which Ledee caught.  With Ripken up Debra was perched on 
the edge of her seat expecting something.  Sure enough, on the 
third pitch Ripken tagged the ball hard, sending it to deep left 
field.  Both Williams and Ledee chased it, but it cleared the wall 
and the Orioles led 6-1.  

A huge wave of weakness washed over Mark, and he leaned back in 
his chair.  His heart was pounding.  What if he was seriously ill?  
Did he have to call an ambulance to get him to a hospital?  In the 
Bronx?  He opened his eyes to see Debra hovering over him.  He 
stared at her.  Her arms were huge, her upper arms studded with 
softball-sized biceps.  His own felt so heavy and weak.  He lifted 
them with a great effort, and was startled to see just a small 
swelling in his upper arms where his own biceps should have been.  
His arms were smaller than he could ever remember -- he'd always 
been muscular, even as a child.

"What the fuck is going on here?"  Debra turned to him but didn't 
say anything.  "Don't you see it?  Something strange is happening 
to me and to you too."  

"I know."  She said quietly, with a pursed smile, a little tone of 
guilt in her voice.  "It's the New York Power Exchange game, 
that's all."

"The what?"

"The power exchange.  You know, you picked the Yankees. I picked 
the Orioles.  My team is winning, so the power goes to me."  He 
stared at her blankly.  "Your power.  Your strength."

"But that's impossi -- this is crazy!"  She shrugged.  "I'm 
getting out of here."  He moved to stand up, to join the rest of 
the crowd who were abandoning the Yankees for the evening, but 
Debra put her hands on his shoulders and held him in place, 
motioning to someone with her head.

"What seems to be the problem here?"  It was the woman in the blue 
suit.  She must have been right nearby and looking at them.

"What the fuck is happening to me?" Mark said, in a panic.

"Excuse me sir?  This is the game you and your friend signed up 
for."

"The -- I've never heard of such a thing!  What kind of an outfit 
are you?"

"The New York Power Exchange is a non-profit organization 
dedicated to restructuring disparate power relationships, whether 
racial, sexual or financial, for the purpose of developing a more 
just, diverse and interesting society. Our financial affairs are 
regulated by the New York State Attorney General's Office, and 
copies of our charter and financial records are available for 
inspection at the Attorney General's offices in Albany."

Mark stared her.  "What kind of mumbo jumbo is THAT?  You can't do 
this to me!  It's got to be illegal.  You can't just take 
somebody's strength away.  It took me years to develop this body.  
You have to stop this right now and give me back my strength!"

"I'm sorry sir, but I cannot do that.  You entered the contest 
freely, as did Miss Torrengs.  It would be unfair to her to cancel 
the contest simply because the Yankees, and you, are losing. And I 
assure you it's entirely legal.  Our lawyers have given us a firm 
opinion, as has the Attorney General.  We have not administered 
any drugs to you, nor have we violated your bodily integrity.  The 
full details of the NYPE game were available to you on our hand-
held computer, and you have accepted the terms -- without reading 
them I know, but that was your choice."

"I don't have to stand for this."  He turned to Debra.  "You'll 
just have to let me go.  I'm not staying here to be part of this 
farce."

She took his hand off his shoulder.  "I think it's worse though, 
Mark, if you leave."

"That is correct.  Unless you become seriously ill or have a 
family emergency, if before the ball game ends you leave without 
the consent of the other player you forfeit the game and the score 
of the baseball game will be deemed to be 11-0.  Based on our 
models, this would leave Miss Torrengs with almost 95% of your 
non-essential strength."  Mark stared at her.  "The Yankees 
already have one run; unless the Orioles score 19 runs, you will 
end up much better than a forfeit.  I really suggest that you 
stay.  You know what they say, sir.  'The game is never over until 
the last out.'"  She gave him a businesslike smile and walked 
away.

He turned to Debra.  "You-you knew about this all along?"

She shrugged and looked down at her feet.  "I'd heard about them 
in my Women's Studies course, I guess.  Yes."  

"I can't believe it.  And what would you have done if the Yankees 
were winning?"

"I don't know.  I wasn't very strong.  It's not like I had a whole 
lot to lose.  I guess I would have started over again, working out 
a little, you know."  She looked back at him.  "Hey, you picked 
me.  I didn't make you do it."

"I know, I know.  It's just --

"Come on, let's watch the game.  Anything can happen, you know."

While they had been talking, little had happened.  The Orioles 
made their third out, and the Yankees were retired in the seventh 
with only a walk to their credit.  In the eighth, Grimsley 
continued to look shaky.  The first batter walked, and then 
Anderson hit another sharp line drive that Knoblauch caught.  
There was another walk and now Surhoff was up again.  Mark 
couldn't believe that Torre had left Grimsley in the game.  It 
looked like he had given up.  But so much was at stake!  

Mark's heart pounded as Surhoff took two balls and then swung at a 
fat pitch, right down the middle.  The ball soared off his bat 
into straightaway centerfield.  Bernie took off after it, then 
slowed down and watched it sail over the wall with room to spare. 
Mark glanced over to Debra and her excited face, then with horror 
turned back to the field and watched the Orioles circle the bases, 
making their unhurried and unhindered progress from base to base.  
As each runner touched the plate a new wave of dizziness engulfed 
him.  He felt as though his body was caving in on itself, his 
breathing becoming more labored, his heart pounding, as his 
weakening muscles struggled to take in air and pump blood.  By the 
time Surhoff has reached the dugout, Mark's arms and legs were 
like sticks with a thin coating of soft gelatin, while next to him 
Debra arms were visibly growing, her muscles sprouting like a 
time-lapse movie of a rain forest bursting into bloom, her face 
flushing with vitality and power.  Soon at the urging of her 
friends she was standing on her seat, the crowd cheering her as 
she flexed her biceps and expanded her huge chest again and again, 
stretching her perspiration-drenched shirt to transparency.  Her 
biceps rose out of her arms gigantically, Mark's large muscles 
looking twice the size on her smaller frame as they had been on 
his arms.  While Torre brought in a new pitcher, the scoreboard 
monitor searched the stadium for the source of the excitement and 
quickly found Debra.  The cheers grew even louder as their 
pictures appeared on the stadium television, Debra's muscular 
poses bringing everyone in the whole stadium, which had little in 
the game to cheer about, on their feet to roar again and again 
with each titanic flex.  And next to her, clearly visible, was 
Mark, his thin, sickly body a pathetic contrast to Debra's 
muscular power.  "The New York Power Exchange" flashed on the 
scoreboard several times.  Then the new pitcher was ready and the 
game resumed.

Mark's heart sank further as Belle hit a double, but the last two 
batters hit weakly to Jeter and the inning ended with the Yankees 
down 9-1.

"Debra," he begged.  "You have to do something to help me.  I 
can't live like this.  I'm so weak."

She frowned at him.  "Come on, I didn't think you were a welcher; 
you agreed to play the game and you have to finish.  Just let it 
happen Mark.  They could still pull it out, you know."  She turned 
to her friends, clearly annoyed, showing him her broad back and 
shoulders.  He could tell she was talking about him, but he 
couldn't hear what she was saying.  He could see them laughing, 
though, one of the girls stroking her biceps in admiration, and he 
turned away to watch the game by himself.

Jeter led off.  Debra looked at the batter's box and started 
clapping, rooting for her favorite.  That was sporting of her, 
Mark admitted to himself.  He ignored the sight of her biceps 
exploding each time her hands met and tapped her on the shoulder.  
"I'm sorry, Debra. I - I don't know what I'm saying.  I'm kind of 
in shock."  She smiled back at him and put her hand on his bony 
leg.

"I understand, Mark.  It is pretty weird -- for both of us."  

"You ... really want all that muscle?  I mean, you're a very 
attractive girl."

She smiled.  "Thanks, but I, uh, do like it.  Yes.  Being strong 
is pretty cool too.  And you know, some guys really like strong 
women.  But even if they don't ... well, I like the way I look and 
feel.  Don't you think my arm looks nice?"  She held it out for 
his inspection.

He nodded reluctantly.  Something about her smooth skin made her 
muscles look ... gorgeous.  And he know what she meant.  He'd 
always loved being very strong.  And now ... he couldn't think 
about it.  Not yet.

Jeter had failed to get on base at least once in a game only one 
time all year, so he was due.  He waved to some kids in the stands 
and gripped the bat.  He let one strike go by and then grounded 
weakly to Bordick, who threw him out easily.  O'Neill singled, but 
Bernie struck out.  Then Tino walked.   There were two out, and 
Chili Davis was up.  Even if he could knock in a couple of runs, 
that would make a difference. He'd get some strength back, and 
then, maybe they'd keep on rallying.  He watched intently.  Chili 
took a strike, then a ball.  He swung hard at the next pitch and 
hit a long foul into the seats.  The next pitch was a ball. Mark 
took a deep breath, realizing he hadn't breathed for at least 
thirty seconds, and looked over at Debra who was staring intently 
at the field, her prodigious muscles tensed.  And then Chili hit a 
long fly to left field.  The ball soared into the air while 
Surhoff chased it.  Surhoff leapt -- and speared it, crashing into 
the wall. Debra tightened her fist as if to help him hold it, her 
forearm and biceps bulging hugely, and Surhoff did hold on.  The 
inning ended.  

Mark's heart sank further when the Yankees took the field. Most of 
their stars had left the game, replaced by rookies and castoffs 
getting some rare playing time.  Except for a double, the Orioles 
did nothing, but then it was the turn of the second stringers.  
Curtis flied out to short center field, Mantos to short left, and 
then Girardi tapped out to Bordick at short to end the game.  The 
lady in the blue suit was standing nearby.  She checked to see 
that both of them had stayed at the game and punched some buttons 
on her computer.  Mark felt a snapping in his body like a door 
slamming shut.  He looked up and she waved and left.

As the sounds of Sinatra singing "New York, New York" filled the 
stadium, Debra jumped into the air, then caught her two friends, 
lifting both of them upside down in her strong arms as they 
squealed and pounded her on the back, laughing.  She put them down 
and turned to Mark, who had stood up and now steeled himself to 
show the sportsmanship he had been taught.  

"Congratulations, Debra.  I -- I don't really know what to say, 
except ... you're a nice girl and I hope you --

She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek.  "Thank you, Mark.  I'm 
sorry it had to be you.  You're being totally great about it.  
Hey, I know you don't feel well.  Let me help you out of here."  
She lifted Mark onto her shoulders, and the four of them made 
their way through the crowd, up the ramp and out into the street, 
where she helped him down.  On her shoulders he had brief sense of 
power, towering above everyone else in the crowd, his legs 
dangling against her breasts as her body glided easily through the 
mob, but now, on his feet, he felt shaky again.  Even though he 
probably weighed no more than 125 pounds, his knees threatened to 
buckle with each step and he couldn't catch his breath.

He cleared his throat.  He couldn't bear to let her get away.  
"So, uh, listen, Debra, we should have that drink.  Where to you 
live?  Are you going down the west side or the Lex?"

Debra's smile froze on her face.  "Oh! Right!  But, uh, Barbara, 
we have that thing, don't we?"

Barbara looked up. "Oh definitely. Yeah, we had some other plans, 
you know, friends from college.  They're meeting us after the 
game.  Hey, we have to go or we'll miss them!"  She grabbed Debra 
and they ran off, waving one last time.  Mark tried to follow, but 
the crowd pushed him every which way and he had no strength to 
push through.  It was all he could do to stay on his feet, and by 
the time he'd steadied himself, they were gone.

He stared at her phone number on his hand, then closed his 
trembling fingers around it, carrying his empty hand home.  

[MN:  The account of the game follows a game I saw, in 100 degree 
heat, on July 5, 1999.  The names of the fans have been changed to 
protect their privacy.]