Kevin Wald: Egil at the Bat The plot of the following work is extrapolated from the first half of Chapter 40 of Egil's Saga; the scheme -- and, for that matter, forty percent of the lines -- are stolen outright from a certain well-known Vinlander epic. Enjoy: ---------------------------------------------------------------- The outlook wasn't brilliant at that Hvitarvellir game; The boys from Borg were losing, with but two runs to their name, And now with Fridvald dead at first, and Berg-alf also slain, The fearless fans still felt no fear -- but quite a lot of pain. A straggling few got up to go in deep dispair. The rest Clung to that hope which beats eternal in the human breast; They thought, "If only Egil could but get a whack at that -- We'd put up even money now, with Egil at the bat." Bard Glass-arm was before him, though, and also Leif the Lame (And neither was as good as you might figure from his name), So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat, 'Til Egil shoved them both aside, strode forth, and grabbed the bat. There was ease in Egil's manner as he stepped into his place; There was pride in Egil's bearing, and a sneer on Egil's face. And when he tossed his helm aside, and gave an eerie laugh, No stranger there could doubt 'twas he who swung that ash-wood staff. Grim Helgason, the pitcher, ground the ball into his hip. He threw, and mighty Egil's ash-wand hit -- a foul tip. The old men used to say, "In every blow struck, foul or fair, How hard you hit it matters not, unless you hit it square." The catcher caught; the ump cried "Out!"; the fans let out a roar Like the beating of the stormwaves on a stern and distant shore. "Kill him! Kill the umpire!" came a voice from off the field, And it's likely they'd have killed him, too, and split his linden shield, Had not Egil raised his hand, and with an ugly little smile Declaimed a rhyme, of which the gist was, "No, that ain't my style. This, however, is," and stormed the pitcher's-barrow, where He swung the sturdy bat at Grim -- but didn't hit him square. "Get out!" the umpire shouted, and the echo answered, "Out!" As Grim hurled Egil to the ground, and knocked the boy about. Then Egil scrambled to his feet, and, beaten but unbowed, He left the sporting-field amidst the jeering of the crowd. The sneer has gone from Egil's lip; his visage burns with shame. From Thord Granason he gets an axe -- they go back to the game -- And Egil now runs up to Grim (who's just caught someone's throw) -- And now the air is shattered by the force of Egil's blow . . . Oh, somewhere bands are playing, and the sun is shining bright (The latter will continue until roughly twelve at night), And somewhere there's a youth without an axe-blade in his head, But that isn't true of Grim, whom mighty Egil has struck dead.