A fox invented the hidden ball trick, and it was common for a fox team to try it six or seven times a game. One moment you were having a delightful conversation with the first baseman, and the next tagged out. It was rarely that simple, however. Any fox would tell you. These schemes could involve song, dance, theatrics and in some cases, fan participation. You’d think by the second or third time opposing packs would figure it out? Nope. Their tricks worked time after time, becoming more and more clever. Their patrons discussed hidden ball trick variations the way chess enthusiasts discussed openings. I think they loved the old look what I’ve got more than the game itself.
Fox baseball games also had signals, oh were there signals, real signals, fake signals and the stealing of signals. They were given with flags, whistles, and choreographed dances on the bench. There was even a rumor that one fox gave signs telepathically.
Their games also had arguments, long arguments. It was like going to the theater, and a game without one was very disappointing to the fox patrons. They loved them. A home run got only a polite cheer, but arguing with the owl? Woo hoo! It was a hootenanny. That’s what they called arguing with the owls, hootenannies. There was a well established decorum for all of this, but I’m pretty sure only the foxes knew just what that was. Owls would demand triple the food to work a fox game.
Most creatures didn’t trust the foxes, dogs included. It’s not that we didn’t like them, on the contrary, foxes could be wonderful company. They just had a bad reputation, you see? They were different, and that made us uncomfortable. Yes, they played baseball, which was something I guess, but they played it poorly and in their very strange way. The rules were the same, but their style of play was intolerable to anyone but their own kind. It was maddening to watch the foxes play their brand of ball. It was an abomination.