Settle in again. “There’s the pitch... in the zone... swing and it’s a line drive up to first; but wait, where’s the shortstop? The first baseman comes in from his position to meet the ball...
too late. Billy Phillips is safe at first for a single!” Jack waved to his son, hopping up and down at first base. Billy waved back, distractedly, his attention fixed on removing the smartball’s sensor belt for the next batter, who was trotting out to first to pick it up. And there’s another nice thing about baseball, he thought, then stopped. Go home, Jack, he thought, or you’ll get started on that other great American pastime: making baseball analogies.
Bill the Pill Phillips, Hall of Famer, sauntered loose-limbed and relaxed up the walk to the door of his house. Glove over bat, bat over shoulder, he kicked the dust off his sneakers on the doorsill and went in.
“Dad? You around?” he called from the front room.
“I’m down in the Dungeon, Billy.” his father’s voice came from the air. “How was the game?”
“Great. I got a double and two singles and one of them brought a guy in. Five innings. We lost.”
There’s still another great thing about baseball, Jack started to think. By now that little piece of his mind was beginning to sound like Howard Cosell doing a George Will impression. Or maybe it was George Will doing a Howard Cosell impression. Shut up, he admonished it. “Terrific,” he called, “I’ll be an hour or so, yet. Why don’t you get cleaned up and grab a snack or something?”
“OK.” Bill the Pill went up the stairs to his room. He set the bat down in the corner and looked around. It looked different, somehow, now that he had shipped all his trophies and awards off to the Hall of Fame. Better off there, he thought, where they can inspire others. They’re just clutter here. Then his eye lit on the box.
“Hey, Bunter!” Billy called.
No response.
“Bunter?”
“Yes, Master Bill.”
“What did you do today?”
No response. Billy pulled a face.
“Bunter, who is Anne?
“Anne is the Queen of Oogaboo,” was the immediate reply. OK, thought Billy. He still works.
Then he had an alarming thought. “Bunter,” he asked, “did I leave you on all day?”
“I don’t understand the question, Master Bill.”
Billy thought a moment. Something Jim had said. Ah. “Bunter, have you been in active mode since last night?”
“Yes, Master Bill.”
“The whole time?”
“Yes, Master Bill.” This is bad, thought Billy. What if I messed something up? Well, just ask him. Jim did.
“Bunter, did it hurt you to be in active mode all day?”
“No, Master Bill.”
“Why?”
No response. This was like pulling teeth. Oh, well, it was only the first day. Try something else. “Bunter, what did you see while you were in active mode today?”
“I saw you wake up. I saw you get out of bed. I saw you go to the door. I saw...”
“Stop. Stop. What did you see when I wasn’t here?”
“The first time you were not here, I saw the room. The second time you were not here I saw the room with the closet door shut. The third time you were not here I saw the room without the bag of books. A fly came in and walked on the wall. The fly left my field of vision. The fourth time you were not here I saw the room with the bag of books and without the things in the corner that you were carrying just now.”
“That sounds awfully boring.” He thought over Burner’s litany for a moment, then realized how it was done. “I bet you’re something else at ‘These two pictures are almost the same.’ ” Once again, there was no response. Billy went to the corner and picked up the bat and glove. “Bunter, are these the ‘things in the corner’ that you were talking about?”
“Those are the things that you were carrying when you returned to the room.”
“Yeah, but do you know what they’re called?”
“No, Master Bill.”
“This is a baseball bat. This is a baseball glove.” He held them up as he spoke. “Do you know how to play baseball, Bunter?”
“No, Master Bill.”
“All right. I’ll explain it to you.” He brought the box over to his desk and pulled over a piece of paper and a pencil. “OK. First, you have this diamond, see. Now you stop me if you have any questions…”
They were still at it an hour and a half later. Billy was saying, “No, a run isn’t the same as a home run. A run is always just one point but—” when they were interrupted.
“Bill! Dinner’s ready.” Dad called. “Take a break now and come on down.”
“OK!” he called back. “Come on, Bunter, let’s go eat.”
“Sorry, Billy, I wasn’t expecting a guest. I didn’t set a place for Bunter.” Dad turned from the stove with a full plate as Billy settled himself in.
“That’s all right, Dad,” said Billy, unfazed. “He can just sit here and watch.” He propped the box up against the fruit bowl. “I’ve been teaching him about baseball.”
“Really. Why?”
“Well, ’cause he noticed the bat and glove and didn’t know what they were, so I told him, but then I figured that just the names were no good if you don’t know what they mean, so I started explaining it and, well, like that.” Billy’s words rushed out as Dad set down two full plates and settled himself.
“Bunter asked about them?”
“Not really. Sort of. See, I asked him what he did all day and all he did was watch a fly on the wall.” He paused. “Oh,” he looked over a little sheepishly, “I might have made a mistake. I left Bunter in active mode since last night. Does that hurt anything?”
Dad thought a moment. “No, I don’t think so. The way I understand it, active mode just means that Bunter can start a conversation on his own; and that’s only with a control name. So active mode just means that he can speak to you without you speaking to him first.”
“If I may, Master Bill,” said Bunter, startling them both, “active mode also requires me to make an attempt to anticipate the future needs of all controls that may be present. In passive mode, I am to assume that the sequence of events that I observe is the optimum sequence.”
“Huh!” said Dad. “Bunter, can you understand me?”
“Yes, Dad,” said the box.
Billy dissolved in a fit of giggles and Dad laughed. “He’s not your Dad, he’s my Dad,” said Billy, when he caught his breath.
“I beg your pardon, Master Bill; and yours, sir. I inferred an incorrect form of address,” said the box, in a perfectly serious tone.
“Quite all right, Bunter,” said Dad. They ate in silence for a while. “Let me try something, Billy. Bunter,” said Dad, “what is an ‘out’ in baseball?”
“An out is three strikes, sir,” said the box.
“And what is a strike?”
“A strike is counted against a batter if the batter swings at a pitch and misses, or if the batter fails to swing at a pitch that passes through his strike zone.”
“Billy,” asked Dad, “were you reading from a rule book?”
“No, Dad,” said Billy. “I just drew some pictures and talked. He sure sounds like a rule book though, doesn’t he?”
“Sure does.” Dad looked at the box for some time then said, half to himself, “Hasn’t been with you long enough. That must be the speech pattern and vocabulary he got from Jim.” Neither Billy nor Bunter had a response to this. Then Dad asked, “Bunter, what is the distance between the bases on a baseball diamond?”