Scandium, Baseball, and the Periodic Table of DEATH and Mystery
There is nothing else like it, really. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, you mill about within a relaxed, happy crowd of people, listening to the treble shouts of excited children who hold up and twist one hand encased in a thick leather baseball glove, the other hand clutched tightly by an adult so they won’t get lost in the throng. The smell of broiling hot dogs mixes with the sharp scent of mustard, and layered through the air is the salty yeasty waft of beer. You check your tickets and enter a short dark tunnel to emerge into a …