The Wheelhouse: On BABIP

There I was, standing at the railing looking out into the exhibit.

In the foliage, I can barely make out the eyes of the creature, staring into my soul and plotting my demise. Beads of sweat begin to roll down my forehead.

I cast a nervous glance at the sign just a few feet away. The right half is missing, and a few slivers remain on the ground as evidence of yesterday's vicious attack.

"DO NOT FEED T..."

Sensing my uneasiness, its face emerges from the shadows and the beast draws closer.

You've reached the end of our free article preview.
See below to find out how you can read the full version of this article.

---