fastball raze decades divorced from their last conversation, a chance meeting at the cold_cuts counter brought back still-sharp memories of his stint as assistant coach for a fledgling baseball team. a man with a torn rotator cuff took off his sunglasses and smiled. he was a relief pitcher. before age and injury took the sting off, his fastball was lethal. he had a hell of a time controlling it, but when it was on song, you couldn't hope to touch it with any rigid stick. you'd just watch the horsehair blur and hit the fifth layer of leather in the palm of the catcher's mitt. 230403 what's it to you? who go blather from