Sacrifice Bunt By Lucy Jacobs You hold the bat at eye level, knees bent, get down to meet the ball, preparing to give yourself up for the common good. Your bat is an extension of your body, the idea being to catch the ball with all you have. Someone is depending on you to move him along, a vulnerable friend, the kind of guy who wonders in sweat WHAT AM I DOING HERE. A limbo of wind comes off the mound, nothing but a tiny marble small enough for a navel. Squared, you have given yourself away, each rotation of the ball saying NO PLACE TO HIDE NO PLACE NO O You can’t think about it, about popping it up.