Back in the good old days when Tim and I played on the same intramural softball team (I was the player/coach, Tim was the guy I had to bat fourth or he'd throw a tantrum*), Tim would boast about his power hitting and he looked the part: late 20s, 6' 8", big Wookie beard. And, give him credit, he swung for the fences every time.**
So I know that this story has got to be eating at his insides (Swinging ...):
Home runs are outs in this otherwise all-American Houston suburb about nine miles west of downtown, where encroaching development has upended one of the sport's most hallowed rules, even, for a time, getting home run hitters ejected from the batter's box.
*Joking; it must be Friday.
**Joking. He didn't swing for the fences all the time, just most times.