They walked back in silence, only to find a crisis awaiting. Kelly was in full rebellion. "I will not play on that stupid grassy field any more," she said. She held out the tail of her shirt in both hands. "Look at that! Grass stains! On silk! I quit!" Kelly yelled, slamming down her glove. "Oh, look what that stupid glove has done to my nails!"

Michael frowned. "You can't quit, Kelly. We have to have four women on this team."

"Or we forfeit," Kevin rumbled.

Lonny shrugged. "Big deal. We're tied anyway."

"Yeah, there's no way we can score another goal in the time we have left," Creed said. Everyone looked at him for a moment.

"Well, I'm not giving up!" Dwight said fiercely. He turned to Angela. "We have one woman left who hasn't played yet."

"Dwight, I can't play this game," Angela said steadily. "I don't know how."

"Let me take her place," Andy said eagerly.

"No problem," Jim said patiently. "But you'll have to wear a dress. We can only replace a woman with a woman."

Dwight snorted. "That should be no problem for Drew."

Andy started to retort but Pam cut him off, turning to Angela. "I know you don't want to let the team down, Angela," she said.

Angela looked at her. "I'm not a tomboy like you," she said. "I have some idea of what a woman's place is."

Pam blinked. "Really? I --"

"Angela, we need you," Dwight cut in. He looked intensely at the tiny woman. "I need you. Please."

Angela's gaze settled on Dwight. "Will you ... can you show me how?"

Dwight smiled. "Of course."

Oscar groaned. "We're screwed."

"Shut up," Meredith said. She flexed her right arm, rubbed her shoulder. "Let's get back in the game before my arm cramps up."

A cell phone started chirping. Everyone checked their pockets. Darryl was the winner. He walked away from the group, talking.

Michael slapped his hands together. "Come on, Team. Let's go smash these guys!"

Lonny smirked. "Yeah, right. Not unless we get more hits."

"Isn't anyone going to help me clean up this stuff?" Angela said, gesturing at the discarded napkins, paper plates and cups. Everyone looked around at everyone else, no one volunteering. Finally, Pam picked up a paper plate and the rest reluctantly followed suit.

Darryl strode back, closing his cell phone. "Gotta go," he said tersely. "I got to get home right now."

"What? No, you can't!" Michael said. "You're our best player!"

"No, he isn't," Kevin said.

"Sorry, Michael, I gotta go. Lonny, can you get a ride home?"

"Sure, man," Lonny said easily.

Darryl nodded at the group, picked up his equipment, and stalked off towards his truck.

"Damn," Jim muttered under his breath. "Okay, I guess we need a new third baseman."

"Put me in there, and I'll get you a home run," Andy said loudly.

Jim got a panicked look on his face. Pam knew exactly what he was thinking. With Andy on the team, there was no telling what would happen.

"Hey, man, isn't it my turn?" Creed said.

Jim smiled with relief. "Yeah, I forgot. I promised you a chance earlier."

"Hey!" Andy said.

"No, we have to be fair," Jim said solemnly. "Creed spoke up first. Creed, you're on third base."

"Great," Creed said. "Who's my caddy?"

Oscar laughed and Andy shook his head in disgust. Pam got a sinking feeling. Andy might be a better choice after all. But Devon was calling from home plate, and the Vance Refrigeration Victors were lining up behind the backstop in batting order, so it was too late. She exchanged looks of mock despair with Jim, and trotted back to her place at home plate. This was going to be a disaster.

All her worst fears were fulfilled when Meredith gave up a hit on the first pitch to Bob Vance himself. Vance sent the ball directly to Angela in right field--who cringed, squealed, and missed it entirely. Bob slid into second base to the sound of cheers from Vance's Victors.

Devon laughed and Pam sighed. We're here for fun, she told herself. Not to win. But she wanted to win.

Phyllis was up to bat next. She held the bat uncertainly, bending her knees self-consciously.

"Traitor," Pam hissed.

"Oh, dear," Phyllis said. "Pam, you don't--"

Meredith fired the fastball right past Phyllis, to land in Pam's glove with a thunk.

"Steee-rike!" Devon yelled.

"Why, Pam! You deliberately distracted me!" Phyllis looked down at her with surprise.

Pam grinned. "All's fair in love and baseball," she said.

"Come on, ladies," Devon said. "Focus."

Meredith went into her windup and threw. Phyllis swung at the ball so hard she swung around and stumbled out of the batter's box.

"Stee-rike two!"

"Oh, Pam, that's not fair. That was too low!"

"Then you shouldn't have swung at it," Pam said.

"Come on, honey, you can do it!" Bob Vance yelled.

Phyllis bit her lip, frowned, and set herself for another pitch. This one came high and wide, but she swung on it anyway and Devon yelled, "Strike three! You're out!"

"Boo!" yelled Bob Vance.

Phyllis walked back behind the backstop, shaking her head.

A tall, beefy man with a grey ponytail was next into the box. He swung the bat once or twice, missing Pam by millimeters. She stayed put, refusing to be intimidated. Meredith wound up, fired--

--and Ponytail Guy hit it like a pro. WHANG! went the bat, and the ball sailed up, up and outta there.

"Home run!" screamed a woman behind the backstop, and Pam looked on with resignation as first Bob Vance, and then Ponytail Guy crossed the plate. Vance Refrigeration was ahead by two runs.

"That's cheating!" Michael yelled. "We get a do-over!"

Devon chuckled. "Can't take it, can he?"

Pam wiped her brow. She was so glad she'd changed into Jim's T-shirt; she felt much lighter and cooler. It gave her a funny, jumpy feeling in her stomach to know she was wearing his shirt, that his skin had touched this same fabric.

"Batter up!" Devon yelled.

Meredith struck out the next batter, a mousy woman with short blonde hair, but Pam could tell she was tiring. Her pitches were wobbling so dangerously low that some of them should have been called balls. But Devon called them strikes and Pam wasn't going to argue.

Sure enough, the next guy at the plate was the tall, rangy batter who led off the Victors' batting order. "Hey," she said.

He spat, said nothing, swung the bat to his shoulder. He caught just enough of the next pitch to send it bouncing to third base. Creed dove for it, caught it, and cocked his hand to throw it to Meredith. But Meredith, misjudging the ball, had dropped back to the track between second and third. Pam took off running for the mound, holding her glove up. Creed fired the ball at Pam. She felt it sock into her glove, and in one motion turned and threw it to first base. She didn't look, didn't aim, didn't think: she knew Jim was there. And he was. He stretched one long arm up and to his right, caught the ball and swept it down just as the runner hit the base.

"Out!" Devon yelled, and cheers erupted from the DunderHeads.

Jim jogged up to her as the runner walked slowly back to the backstop. "Good shootin', Beesly."

Pam nodded, too breathless to answer. Meredith walked up, cussing a blue streak.

"I'm gettin' old."

Jim slapped the ball into Meredith's glove. "You're doing fine. Watch this next girl, though. She's a thief."

"Right."

"You gonna be okay?" Jim asked.

Meredith was panting, wiping her forehead. "Guess so. Haven't pitched like this in a long time."

Jim clapped her on the shoulder. "Okay. Let me know if you need a break."

The next batter hit a fly to centerfield, and Toby caught it easily for the third out. Pam was grateful; her knees were starting to ache from the constant squatting behind the plate. She limped back behind the backstop.

"Doing all right?" Jim asked. He rummaged through the ice chest, which now was full of half-melted ice. Pam peeked over his arm, spotted a grape soda, and sneaked her hand in past his. "Hey! That was the last one!"

She popped the top and took a sip. "Yeah, it was," she deadpanned. She took another swig and handed it to him.

She watched his Adam's apple bob as he finished the soda in one long gulp. "Faker," he said. "Wait til--"

The pain hit her like she'd been shot--a sharp, agonizing jolt in the calf of her right leg. She gasped and bent over, hands grabbing her leg. Overbalanced, she hit the ground on her left side, crying out.