The picture, disseminated across thousands of sports blogs was anything but random.
The piece of wood-so much more than just a piece of wood even before it made contact- was traveling at almost 120 miles per hour.
Katie Broadridge would remember the roar of the crowd more than the crack of the bat, and somehow the vision of the lone outfielder, sprinting to the wall and standing helpless as the ball sailed over the padded 385 mark, twelve rows up, ricocheted off an elbow and hit a seat, caroming and causing two separate melees in search of a 700th home run ball that was potentially worth the price of a four bedroom on a small lake.
The photographer-she would win multiple prizes for the photo of the exact moment of contact.
The internet- the masses, those who cared little for sports in general or baseball in particular, would make a meme out of the well-endowed woman behind the bat, rising from her seat and splashing foamy beer over her ample, deeply tanned breasts.
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