He opened the bullpen gate and walked out onto the wet grass. He was wearing a blue hoodie and a blue hat, silver letters etched above the brim and pulled ever so slightly down on his forehead, as if in response to a sight better gone unseen.
His head was turned to his feet. Sometimes he would look up to spit out sunflower seeds and then lick his lips. But after it was the feet again. In the dugout he removed the hoodie, smoothed his once-golden hair back and affixed his hat like a crown, knowing full well the meaning of the metaphor.