INTRAMURAL SOFTBALL GAME TODAY ON MAIN FIELD it proclaimed in large letters.

Curious, the guard strolled over to view the rowdy softball contest in progress, pondering whether or not to take a seat in the bleachers.

Noticing his arrival, the game’s umpire immediately held up a hand to pause play, prompting some glares from the players. The umpire then eagerly launched into an obviously rehearsed monologue: “Go-tham City! It was a cold day in September when the Joker’s Jesters last met the Catwoman’s Claws team at this very venue. Peppered by home runs, the Claws could only watch in dismay as the Jesters dealt them a humiliating 8-1 defeat. Today! These two teams are back for a rematch, and the Claws are out to draw blood!”

“Okay. Can we get on with the game now, Mr. Personality?” asked the Cluemaster, bat in hand and obviously ready to take another swing.

“Good after-noon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to today’s game!” the umpire continued, pointing over at an odd collection of misfits standing in the outfield. “We think you’ll agree that today’s line-up is a good one….

“Starting at first base for the Claws: a seasoned veteran - the Wizard!…

“At second base: a mammoth and awe-inspiring presence - Solomon Grundy!…

“At third: part-time crime boss, full-time competitor - Benny the Butcher!…

“Filling in at shortstop for the Claws: the spicy and bewitching - Lola Lasagne!…

“The center field position for the Claws: boasts both speed and grace - it’s Blaze, from the Falseface gang!…

“In left field: the wily and perplexing - Tweedledee, and in right field: his partner - Tweedledum!…

“At catcher: the man who puts his opponents out like a light every time - Sandman!…

“And pitching for the Claws: fierce combatant and team captain, just back from a very brief absence - Catwoman!”

“And I’m The Cluemaster and I’m waiting to bat and let’s get on with the game!” growled Cluemaster irritably.

“I am your eloquent umpire, Mr. Personality,” the umpire said, bowing to his audience, before reluctantly returning his attention to the game. “Here’s the windup - Catwoman hurls a curve ball!”

Catwoman’s pitch was ruled low and outside. Her next pitch was straight over the plate, though, and Cluemaster practically tore the cover off the ball, smacking it into the sky. The Claw outfielders put their hands up to block out the noonday sun as they tracked the ball’s trajectory. The ball sailed off the field and appeared to be headed over the high prison wall and off the grounds altogether, but just as it was whizzing over the wall, a loud WHAP! sounded as a glove reached up to catch it. This wasn’t, however, just any softball glove. No, indeed; it was a glove colored in deep, dark-blue hues, a long, sleek glove extending almost to the elbow; a glove lined down the side with serrated edges; in short…a BAT-GLOVE!

ALMOST GOT ‘ER

The convicts gasped as they recognized two silhouettes that never failed to strike terror in their vile hearts.

“We’re joined today by two distinguished guests who are enjoying today’s match from the parapet of the penitentiary wall: the mighty Caped Cru-sa-der, Batman, and his crime-fighting ally, Robin!” Mr. Personality explained to a bleacher audience that was ignoring him. Seeing that the ball catcher wasn’t an actual participant in the game, although standing within the field of play, the Cluemaster took off in a dash for first base.

“Don’t just stand there, Batman, throw us the ball!” yelled Blaze.

When the request went ignored and no ball was forthcoming, the rest joined in with cries of “Throw the ball” (as well as random cursing). The Claw team watched in panic as Cluemaster raced around the diamond.

“He’s to second base! And still going! Now to third base!” Mr. Personality exclaimed, as if this was the most exciting thing he’d ever witnessed. “Will Batman return the ball in time to help the Claws? Or do his allegiances lean towards the Joker’s Jesters?”

Blaze ran frantically for the wall.

“Give me that ball!” she said, shaking her fist.

By now, though, it was too late. Cluemaster raced across home plate to be greeted by the cheers of his teammates.

“He made it! An in-the-park home run! Can you believe it? Can you believe it?” Mr. Personality screamed.

It was only then that the ball plopped into the grass at Blaze’s feet.

“Oh, thanks a lot!!” bellowed Benny the Butcher.

“Grundy kill you!!” boomed Solomon Grundy.

“You two should be ashamed of yourselves - ashamed!” scolded Lola.

“G’wan, I think I see someone jaywalking a mile back,” joined in Tweedledum. “Why don’t you go give him a lecture?!”

Mr. Personality kept a running commentary for any who might fail to grasp the situation. “And the Claws have turned on Batman and Robin! They are clearly not welcome at this venue to-day! The Caped Crusaders coolly regard their detractors with open disdain! What will happen now?”

The answer was provided by Ted the Prison Guard, who stepped out onto the softball diamond, rifle in hand.

“All right you convicts! You can either stop yelling and finish your game, or you can all go back inside! Which is it going to be?”

The two figures slipped back over the wall as the grumbling players turned their attention back to their game. Satisfied that order had been restored, Ted wandered away from the softball diamond. When the convicts glanced up at the parapet again, Batman and Robin were gone.

“That little homer makes the score 6-2, Catwoman,” taunted the Joker from his team’s bench. “Why don’t you throw in the towel and we try a nice game of cards instead?”

The Wizard was the first to respond. “A game of cards? With you!?"

“I’m not interested in any of your offers, Joker,” hissed Catwoman. “Now zip your lip!”

“Fine, kitty, fine,” the Joker shrugged. “Your choice, of course. By all means - enjoy the rest of the game.” As could be predicted, he laughed merrily.

As they waited for the next batter from the Jesters to come to the plate, Tweedlee asked, “What did those costumed freaks want, anyway? They usually don’t come all the way down here just to mess up a softball game.”

“And I wonder why Batgirl wasn’t with them?” pondered Tweedledum.

“I don’t know,” said Blaze. “Maybe she’s working alone this week.”

“Well, I hear that Batgirl has gone missing!” Lola said conspiratorially. “I’ll bet Batman and Robin are trying to figure out what happened to her.”

“Huh,” said Benny. “Well, afraid I can’t take credit for her disappearance, but you wouldn’t believe how close I came to finishing her off last month.”

“Dream on,” said the Wizard. “Batgirl’s never been as close to death as the trap I had set up.”

“What about me?” said Lola. “Did I ever tell you about the time Batgirl poked her nose into my scheme to counterfeit antique parasols?”

Who spoke next was impossible to determine, for everyone was speaking at once. After a few moments, Benny put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly. When the others quieted down, he continued.

“Well, since I was the first to speak up, I’ll start with my story and see if any of you can top it. And you’re going to have to admit that Bat-Broad came this close to being on a permanent vacation!”

As Catwoman threw a fastball to strike out the Grasshopper, Benny continued with his tale.

“See, until the day my lawyers sprung me, I spent all my time in the cooler thinking about all the thousands of dollars the police department just has sitting around as ‘rainy day’ money. Since I was going through my own extended rainy day period, I felt some of that cash might cheer me up quite a bit. Trouble was, no one else seemed to have ever heard of this mystery fund. But I knew from my last caper that it existed. And it occurred to me that the most secure place for the bulls to hide their loot would be at the Bull Pen - to use a baseball anomaly - in other words, the police station!”

Intrigued by this idea, none of the convicts pointed out the difference between an analogy and an anomaly to Benny.

“Once I got out of the joint, all it took was a little asking around and a little payola to get me the electrical and structural plans to Police Headquarters. So I got all my boys together, and then one night last month we paid an unexpected visit to Cop HQ. It was a little after midnight. The place was completely deserted. Lemme tell you, there’s no feeling that matches marching right into a lion’s den, armed to the teeth and ready for anything! Gets my adrenaline up just remembering it! ”

Benny paused for a moment to reflect on the events of that fateful evening….

“Boss! Is that you?” asked Tony.

“Yeah, it’s me! Now get that flashlight beam out of my face! Go ahead and turn on the lights - no one can see in, and no one’s going to think twice about the lights being on at Police Headquarters.”

“I got it, Benny. Is that better?”

“It ain’t as good as having that hundred thousand, but at least we can see now. What’s taking Frankie so long in the evidence room?”

“Here I am, Butcher. There ain’t nothin’ in the way of dough in the evidence room. Now if you want murder weapons, there’s plenty. You want illegal moonshine - you’re all set. But no moola!”

“Of all the…! Okay, you and Tony start tearing holes in the walls. I want every inch of this place searched!”

“But are you sure it’s here, boss?”

“Of course it’s here, moron. You saw it yourself - they all knew about the dough - that detective, the Commissioner, and Batgirl”

“Wouldn’t the safest place for the loot be at Batgirl’s hideout? No one knows where that is.”

“Which is why the cops wouldn’t trust her to just walk off with it. They know they’d never see it again. No, I’m sure it’s here.”

The cronies exchanged doubtful glances with each other, obviously in no rush to spend the whole night in an unsafe location, tearing open every wall in the building. The lack of enthusiasm in the air did not go unnoticed by Benny.

“Okay, seeing as how you’re all having doubts about this, why don’t we just ask Miss Batgirl herself?”

He pointed to the roof.

Minutes later, he and his stooges were standing on the roof, figuring out how to activate the Batsignal. As the light suddenly came to life, piercing the night sky with it’s searing beacon of justice, Benny noticed one of his hoodlums taking a magic marker to the surface of the huge searchlight.

“What do you think you’re doing, Frankie?”

“We don’t want every bat-jerk in Gotham descendin’ on us, do we, boss? I’m just gonna change the signal so’s we get only females. I figure if I just draw a curvy pair of legs sticking out under the bat emblem…”

“Gimme that pen, moron! Save your masterpiece for the art museum. The papers say Batman and Robin are out of town. Now quick, let’s get back downstairs. We’ve got preparations to make.”

Back on the softball field, the Claws’ pitching talents were holding off their opponents for a change. The cons in the outfield sidled up closer to Benny to listen as his tale continued to unfold.

“You know, being here in prison with you folks opens up so many new horizons to a fellow. You meet lots of interesting people who give you all kinds of handy information. I had Specs, my electrician, get to work quick in the Commissioner’s office. Batgirl must have seen the Batsignal, ‘cuz she showed up right on time - just as we were putting the finishing touches on our ‘building improvements.’ We watched from the roof as she parked her cycle down on the street. She hesitated, noticing there weren’t no other cops around, but then she trotted right up the stairs. I climbed down from the roof on the fire escape to a ledge outside the Commissioner’s office. As soon as Batgirl strutted into Gordon’s office, Tony slammed the door closed behind her and chained it from the outside. I watched her whirl around and go back to the door, only to find she couldn’t get out, of course. So then she starts walking around the office, calling out for Commissioner Gordon - as if that old duff would be up this time of night! He probably couldn’t stay awake past 8:30 if his family’s lives were at stake. Since it was light inside there and real dark outside, she couldn’t see me looking in at her through the window…”

Benny’s voice crackled through the speaker attached to the Commissioner’s phone. “Well, I see you got our little invite, Batgirl. Do you know whose voice this is?”

“Benny the Butcher!” exclaimed Batgirl, looking around warily. “What evil scheme has that rum-soaked brain of yours come up with this time?” She paced around the room, trying to analyze her predicament.

“There’s been one thing on my brain ever since you sent me up the river, girlie. See, me and the boys were talking tonight, just wondering where all that money’s hid that I got convicted for stealing. We came down to the station to file an official information request, but to our surprise all the bulls must be out on doughnut breaks, and there’s no one here to help us. So I said to the boys, ‘you know, Batgirl seemed pretty pally with those two-timing cops. I’ll bet she could tell us where all that loot is, if we could just persuade her.’ And now here you walk through the door right when we were discussing you. Ain’t life strange?”

“Not as strange as the thought of you coming willingly to Police Headquarters,” Batgirl replied. It seemed unusually warm in the office. She rubbed her neck as she continued. “I’m afraid you’re going to just do without that money, Benny. I don’t know what happened to it. Naturally, you’d be the last person I’d tell, even if I did.”

“That’s kind of what I was afraid of, which is why I got a deal for you. I’m sure you noticed you’re getting warm all over as we speak, and no, it’s not because you’re so excited to hear from me. Do you want to take a guess why?”

Batgirl looked under the desk, in the drawers, and behind the file cabinets. Without warning, she raced across the room and rammed the window with her shoulder, but the pane held. Benny’s voice cackled over the phone speaker. “Hah! I love it! Why don’t you try again? Every possible way out of there has been reinforced so that there’s no way you’re leaving.” She could feel herself starting to break into a sweat under her cowl.

Benny continued, “Since you’re not doing too good at answering my quiz, I’ll give you the answer, but--”

Batgirl’s eyes blinked involuntarily as a bead sweat trickled into them.

“Now, how about it, Batgirl? Do you feel like telling me where that dough is?”

“The only dough you’re going to be getting your hands on will be what you use to make cornbread in the prison cafeteria, Benny.”

“Wrong answer. Well, that leaves you with three choices, then: A) you can tell me what I want to know; B) you can flail around for an exit and go out quickly in a ball of flames, or C) you can stand completely still while you sweat all over yourself and I get to spend the next few hours watching your body slowly give out from lack of water.”

Benny chuckled as the Dominoed Dare-Doll stood silently in the middle of the room, apparently having decided on the last option. Batgirl didn’t want to let Benny see how much she was feeling the effects of the broiling temperature. It felt like beads of sweat were trickling from every pore in her body.

After a minute the phone speaker crackled again. “Geez, it’s kind of warm today, ain’t it? I think I’ll have a nice cool glass of water.”

“So will I,” muttered Batgirl.

She suddenly darted for her father’s desk. Ignoring the mounting heat, she grabbed her Batarang and rammed its tip down on top of the lightbulb in her father’s desk lamp. With a pop, the bulb burst and sparks flew out of the connecting socket. In the room’s super-heated atmosphere, the sparks were enough to ignite into a small fire on Gordon’s desktop. Paperwork began to sizzle. Luckily, there were lots of annual leave requests lying on the Commissioner’s desk.

Fighting to block out the heat-induced panic she was experiencing, Batgirl seized the flaming papers and held the small blaze up at the sprinkler system outlet. Although the high ceiling was out of her reach, plumes of smoke billowed up around it. Within seconds the sprinkler responded with a torrential downpour of water that extinguished the fire.

“Hah! Good thinking, doll,” said Benny. “Except all those droplets falling at once are just going to send the motion detector into overdrive. You just signed your own death warrant. Unless you spill the beans, you’re going be roast rodent inside a minute!”

“Not if my Instant Bat-Precipitation-Converter has anything to say about it,” proclaimed Batgirl, pulling a small device from her belt and aiming it up into the sprinkler’s spray of water. She switched it’s setting from “vapor” to “hail” and watched the wondrous device work its magic. Instantly, instead of cascading water droplets, the room was pelted with falling tiny pebbles of hail.

“No dice, angel! Falling hail, falling drops of water, either way you’re just making the room super-hot. That hail ain’t going to survive any longer than you’re going to!”

He was right. Batgirl saw that the hail was melting as soon as it landed on the floor, and evaporating altogether within seconds. The room was getting even hotter, not cooler. “See, Batgirl? They don’t get Christmas in Hell!”

The room seemed to spin as Batgirl’s vision blurred. She continued to stubbornly aim the precipitation converter upwards. She fought to remain conscious, but it was a losing battle. Just as she was falling to her knees, she heard clunking sounds from the pipes in the walls. The changing composition of the downpour had packed the sprinkler head with hail, jamming it up completely. The pipes bucked and jolted as they coped with the persistent steam of water running into a plugged sprinkler head.

Batgirl could hear the muffled hiss of escaping water as several sections of pipe within the walls sprang leaks. Water sprayed crazily in the narrow confines between the walls. One stream spattered steadily against the motion detector and super-heating unit that Benny’s men had planted behind the finished paneling. The heating unit was now receiving signals to focus all of its temperature-increasing abilities on the nearest movement, which was the spot where the water was colliding against it.

Seconds passed, water continuing to pelt the rapidly-blinking high-tech devices. The heating unit and motion detector trembled and rattled in frantic activity.

BOOM!

The huge explosion tore open the wall of the Commissioner’s office. A gaping hole suddenly appeared in the outside wall just behind Benny. The force of the blast knocked Specs, Tony, and Frankie from the window ledge. Tony and Frankie frantically managed to grab onto what was left of the ledge with their fingertips. Specs grabbed onto Tony’s and Frankie’s pants legs and held on for dear life. Benny looked behind him in shocked amazement as his ash-covered thugs yelped and clung desperately to the ledge.

Batgirl staggered over to the hole in the wall, panting. She sighed with relief as she stuck her head through and felt cool nighttime air against her temples again. The sudden appearance of her masked features startled Benny so much that he let out an audible cry of fear. He backed away from her, taking care not to step off the ledge.

“I don’t know how you did that, but you’re not taking me in again,” he vowed, shaking a fist. Abandoning his helpless cohorts, Benny clambered back up the fire escape, retraced his steps back inside the building and made a run for it. As he trotted down the stairs and past the Commissioner’s office, he noted that the office doors were still locked tight from the outside. Batgirl couldn’t get out that way, and he knew she was currently in no condition to be sprinting after him.

Benny chuckled as he threw open the front doors to the building, but then shrieked in horror when he saw the Batgirlcycle driving up the police station steps. Although no one was riding it, the cycle was heading straight for him! He tried to close the doors, but the Batgirlcycle rammed into them. The doors were blown open, landing Benny on his backside. He crawled back on his hands and knees as the motorcycle revved its motor menacingly.

“A-a-allright. I give! I’ll let your friend loose,” Benny babbled in panic at the cycle. He hastily undid the chains which kept the Commissioner’s office shut. The doors opened to reveal a smiling Batgirl standing expectantly on the other side. Her hands were manipulating the remote-control device for her Batgirlcycle from her utility belt. Looking down at Benny’s frightened, groveling form, she shook her head in amazement and disgust.

“….and so although I held off half the police force by myself for an hour, I was finally forced to give up,” Benny lied through his teeth as he concluded his tale.

Lola whistled. “Well, I have to hand it to you. You certainly came close to finishing off Batgirl. If she just hadn’t had that gadget with her...”

“’Instant-Bat-Precipitation Converter!’” Benny fumed. “Who carries one of those around? How organized can you get?!”

“Not fair!” Solomon Grundy agreed.

“What chance do us little guys have anymore?” Benny asked. “How am I supposed to prepare for something like that?”

Tweedledum said, “How many pockets does she have in that stupid utility belt anyway? It can’t be more than…what, twenty?”

“Twenty-five, tops,” said Benny. “Look, it’s a perfectly nice day out today. If I were to suddenly have to wherewithal to make Batgirl freeze to death right this minute, what do you want to bet she’d have some Bat-heat gizmo ready in that utility belt to get herself out of it? How much do you want to bet?”

“Since we don’t have no way of testing it, it’d be a pointless bet,” said Tweedledee.

“What if I were to tell you that I could settle your little bet?” Everyone turned at the sound of Catwoman’s voice.

“And how could you do that, Catwoman?” asked Blaze. “Have you got the contents of Batgirl’s utility belt memorized?”

“Oh, let’s just say I have ways of finding out.”

“Hey! Claws! Let’s go! Are you going to bat or what?” Cluemaster called to the group of cons as he wandered onto the field, mitt in hand. The fielders now saw that, while they had been distracted, Catwoman’s pitching had finished out the inning. They headed for the dugout.

As they strolled toward their dugout, the Wizard spoke up.

“Say, you fellows might enjoy hearing about the time that I hoodwinked the Caped Crusaders into trying to stop a speeding train from reaching a bridge rigged with dynamite. You see…”

“Heard it!” yelled Tweedledee.

“Boorrinng!” said Tweedledum.

“Sheesh, Wizard, you must have told that tale a million times,” said Benny. “And the story’s too dang long to sit through once! Give it a rest, why don’t ya?”

From near home plate, Mr. Personality joined the discussion. “I could not help but overhear the harrowing account of your associate’s erstwhile exploits with the Caped Crusaders. I must admit that I too have experienced the agony of defeat in this area of endeavor. It so happens that I also have a story that directly pertains to this discussion.”

The Claws paused to hear what the umpire had to say.

“Although all know of my masterful machinations, many of you are unaware of the events that led me to this hard road of crime, or from whence I came. Today! Those secrets will be revealed!”

The Claws moaned and started trudging off.

“Okay, okay,” said Mr. Personality hastily. “We’ll go straight to the highlights.”

Most of the players hung around nearby to listen. Bolstered by the attention, Mr. Personality launched into his tale.

“Now, it may interest you to know that I transitioned into the ‘unannounced funds withdrawal’ business with the same flair that I exhibited in my years in the sports entertainment industry. Although the methods employed in the two fields could not be more different, the majority of time in either career is primarily spent observing large men race around clutching various objects in their arms. In a move that quite frankly exhibited genius on my part, I combined the best of both my worlds by devising an arrangement whereby my colleagues and I would disrupt the basketball contest between the Gotham Gabardines and the Salt Lake Cynics (which I have never personally found to be much of a contest, nor do I anticipate will be as long as the Gabardines refuse to take my advice to get a point guard with some rebounding skills.) Our sabotage of the game would serve as a diversion that would allow us to abscond with the Heistmann Trophy collection housed in venerable Gotham Museum’s Sports Wing. Although the assembled basketball fans were no doubt anticipating a second half as tepid and inept as the half they had just witnessed, such did not turn out to be the case. …”

That things had changed over half time was soon apparent to everyone in the coliseum.

“And there’s the second half tip-off -- the Cynics have recovered,” the usual television announcer in the booth was saying. “Looks like there’s a little elbowing and jostling going on down there. Make that a lot of elbowing and jostling. What the….? Now some punches are being thrown. Two different fights -- make that three different fights have broken out on the court! Both benches are clearing!

“I don’t understand this at all,” continued the commentator, shaking his head. “These teams didn’t have a bit of animosity towards each other in the first half. Now they’re trying to kill each other.”

Suddenly, television pictures across the city clouded up with static. Just as thousands of Gothamites were rising to their feet to adjust their television antennas, the fuzzy picture cleared up as quickly as it had fizzed. Only now in place of the normal announcer stood Mr. Personality himself!

“Greetings, sports fans. It is my profound pleasure to be with you here today for what is rapidly developing into biggest brawling fiasco in Gabardine history! How, you ask, could such a disgraceful scene come to pass? Well, as I have learned from inside sources, there is in fact an explanation for the players’ bizarre behavior….”

Behind Mr. Personality, a door could be seen opening, and through it raced Batman and Robin. “That’s enough of the play-by-play, Personality,” said Batman, crowding the flamboyant villain’s personal space.

“We’ve got an announcement to make that the folks at home will sure enjoy hearing,” said Robin. “You’re under arrest!”

“For exercising my first amendment rights? For commenting on an event that is, without question, of interest to all?” asked Mr. Personality, gesturing with his microphone at the carnage down on the court.”

“How about ‘Use of Illegal Narcotics To Effect the Outcome of a Sporting Contest’?” said Batman.

“Well, if it is your allegation that my presence is unwelcome here, sir, then I will be saying farewell for now,” said Mr. Personality, and before the Caped Crusaders could respond, he touched a button on the side of his microphone.

A loud electrical crackling could be heard. Batman and Robin stiffened as they were jolted by a strong electrical shock, then dropped to the floor, dazed and in pain.

“Batman, I feel it my duty as a broadcast industry expert to point out that you are obviously no more qualified to appear before a television audience than you are in attempting to compete with me in a contest of wits. You should be more careful where you stand.”

Relieved to see that his trap had left the duo momentarily paralyzed, Mr. Personality took the opportunity to kick the fallen heroes. The camera followed him as he leaned over to address his stricken foes.

“Although your heads would no doubt make fine trophies adorning the hood of my vehicle, I have some items in mind that I am confident will more than make up for the depressing thought of your masked faces remaining attached to your necks. So this is Mr. Personality, signing off for now.”

Back at the softball game, the convicts had found that the game was proceeding more efficiently without Mr. Personality calling the pitches, so no one tried to interrupt his tale.

“…so while the Dynamic Doorknobs lolled about comically on the floor, completely incapacitated by the shocking surprise that I had arranged for them, I made my escape down the back stairwell. My associates had absconded with every last Heistmann Trophy on the premises, and thanks to my drugging of the basketball players’ water (along with my electrifying broadcast performance) no one was even aware of the thefts until an hour later.”

Solomon Grundy reluctantly left the huddled group to step up to the plate for his turn at bat.

“Very impressive,” Sandman said to Mr. Personality. “However, since you are standing here within the walls of the penitentiary, I presume that something went wrong along the way.”

“A perceptive analysis on your part, sir,” admitted the umpire. “No sooner had I returned to my hideout at the Gallipoli Golf Club Works to examine the evening’s bounty than we were alerted by my alarm system to the fact that we had unwelcome guests in the vicinity. It was not difficult for me to deduce who those trespassers might be. I ordered the lights extinguished and then we concealed ourselves to await the arrival of our stubborn gate-crashers.…”

Having jimmied open a window with a Batarang, Batman and Robin leapt down into the darkened halls of the club. They peered down the long corridors, then moved cautiously forward. “I don’t know. It could be a trap, Batman,” said Robin.

“We’ll have to keep all our wits about us, Robin,” was the solution offered by his mentor. A light suddenly came on directly above them. There followed a number of loud Thwack! sounds from the other end of the hallway. The two looked at each other, trying to recall where’d they heard the noises before.

“Golf balls!” they exclaimed simultaneously just before the incoming balls began slamming into their unprotected bodies. Their first instinct was to crouch and cover up to shield themselves. This reaction unfortunately kept them rooted in one spot, which was all the opportunity Mr. Personality’s minions needed. At the other end of the hallway, the goons were wildly whacking away with one irons at numerous golf balls lined up at their feet.

“They’re goin’ down. Keep it up!” yelled the first goon, named Don.

Bruised and pummeled by a torrent of precision-aimed balls, the Dynamic Duo dropped to their knees in pain.

“Must…get…up, Robin,” said Batman through gritted teeth.

Another wave of white orbs cascaded down on their noggins, plunging the pair into unconsciousness.

The Dynamic Duo was somewhat surprised to awaken at all, but their relief was short-lived. They discovered that they were securely tied hand and foot, and were lying on what appeared to be a giant baseball glove.

“Batman, where are we?” asked Robin.

“Right where I want you, Boy Wonder. In the palm of my hand!” said a nasally voice nearby. Rolling over to look over the edge of the massive glove, Batman discovered that the glove was attached to the end of a huge catapult. Mr. Personality was standing twenty feet below the suspended pair, gesturing up at them. The carefully arranged lights surrounding him made it clear that his statements were intended more for the television camera in front of him than the Dynamic Duo. As an underling at the camera controls slowly zoomed in for a close-up, Mr. Personality continued with his presentation that was being broadcast over pirated airwaves.

“Go-tham City! The scene of many a hard-fought victory for the inimitable Caped Crusader and the equally nimble Boy Wonder! But today we are coming to you live, ladies and gentlemen, as that winning streak comes to a gruesome and final end. Above me you see a colorful pair as helpless and confused as newborn babes;

The Caped Crusaders watched indignantly. They wanted to respond to the remarks, but their nemesis seemed to have the ability to talk non-stop without taking a breath.

“Just nine glorious minutes from now, Batman and Robin are going to be catapulted out of this uniquely-oversized baseball glove and into the sky. But fear not, ladies and gentlemen, there will come a stunning reversal of fortune for our heroes…things will get worse! Rather than fulfill their airborne personas as bats, they will instead assume the rolls of balls - baseballs! Thanks to the miracle of modern television and to an impressively constructed baseball bat located half a mile away, you will now witness the grand slam to end all grand slams. Said baseball bat, whose enormity surpasses even that of the baseball glove above me, will knock a homer that sends this airborne duo flying back towards this camera, to sail past and over us and then plummet lifelessly into the West River!”

“And if your baseball bat comes up with a strike instead of hitting us?” yelled Batman in challenge from his perch.

“Lamentably, cuts in our programming budget have prevented us from having an additional giant glove waiting behind the bat to catch you should your hypothetical strike come to pass,” said Mr. Personality. “Be assured that should my bat miss, and your helpless figures fall broken and splintered to the pavement beyond, I will be more than willing to sadly record the drop as an error in my play. However, I feel safe in predicting that ‘bat’ will meet ‘Bat’ in a merger that you and our viewers will find spectacularly memorable, although in your case there will be little opportunity to test this memory, coming as it does at the end of your profes-sion-nal career.”

All across Gotham, television viewers were gasping in shock and disbelief, except in places of incarceration, where the broadcast was met with enthusiastic cheering.

“And now, Batman, soon to be known as ‘Bat-mash,’ do you have any final thoughts you’d like to share with our viewers?” Mr. Personality gloated up at his prisoners.

“Just this, Personality: Yes, it appears to be the bottom of the ninth inning for Robin and me, with two outs, and no men on base, but I swear by all that’s decent…”

“Batman,” Robin tried to interrupt.

“..that our team will refuse to accept defeat from the likes of you. We will…”

“Batman.”

“..draw upon an inner strength derived from a lifelong devotion to the principles of fair play and a spirit of…”

“Batman.”

“Excuse me.” Batman said to his foe and disappeared from view as he rolled back from the edge of the glove. Turning to face his partner, Batman said impatiently, “You wanted to add something, Robin?”

“Didn’t he say we only had nine minutes before this catapult activates?” asked Robin.

“That’s right. I’m glad you were paying attention.”

“How long ago did he say that?”

“I would estimate it was four minutes ago.”

“And how much time do we have left now?”

Batman paused to make the calculation.

“Point well taken, Robin.”

Mr. Personality called out, “Batman, your statements of braggadocio emblazon all the futility that represents your current efforts. I leave you now to your richly deserved fate. You have no idea how bowled over I am to have had the opportunity to interview you just before your untimely demise. Be assured that your passing will provide a lively diversion for the entire television-viewing public!”

“…and thus I departed with my colleagues, secure in the knowledge that there was no likely avenue of escape for the Caped Cru-saders,” the umpire told the group gathered around him.

But even as Mr. Personality continued to regale his cohorts with details of his death trap, elsewhere -- in a secret Gotham location -- Batgirl was slowly coming to her senses. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs of unconsciousness. The sound of a truck motor filled her ears. She was startled to find herself unable to move, and lying in a very confined space in complete darkness. There was something in her mouth preventing her from calling for help. She wondered anxiously what lay in store for her…

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