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But Hall was good. He is a pro, and he put the reading across, to openhearted applause. They all left, colder than hell outside, snow in the air. A woman listener, no baseball fan, vigilant in detecting masculine cow flop, said she liked Hall's poetry and she wanted to get the book and read it. And the baseball part? "It was O.K.," she said. "I didn't mind it."
< Once again, winter dies, the green new season begins. Hope stirs. Annies primp.
Cursor up! Write ball!