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The Cherrybird’s body coiled up tight as he tracked the softball’s homeward arc. Then he unwound on the thing and sent it sailing over the firehouse. The same firehouse he had drunk under the table last Octoberfest, instantly becoming town hero. It was 1981, and the Cherrybird’s flared jeans made satisfying, canvassy sounds as he rounded third. He slowed down to savor the final leg of his journey and locked his eyes on Diane, his brown Datsun 240z, parked right beneath the stands, and in the stands just about everyone in town on their feet, stamping in unison and chanting, “Cherr-y-bird! Cherr-y-bird! Cherr-y-bird!”

Date Written: August 08, 2003
Author: qualcomm
Average Vote: 4.25

08/8/2003 anonymous (5):
04/4/2004 scoop (5): Burns with the intensity of a St. Elmo's fire raging out of control.
11/3/2004 John Slocum (4): excellent, tight
11/3/2004 TheBuyer (4): pretty rad qualcomm find.
11/4/2004 TREE (4): nice very