“It should be coming on at the next break,” Ms. Morengo announced.
A time-out was called in the football game, and a commercial came on the screen.
Everyone stopped talking and watched. The commercial showed a baseball game.
Amid a cloud of dust, Clyde Livingston slid into home plate as the catcher caught the ball and tried to tag him out.
“Safe!” shouted the umpire as he signaled with his arms. The people at Stanley's house cheered, as if the run really counted.
Clyde Livingston got up and dusted the dirt off his uniform. As he made his way back to the dugout, he spoke to the camera.
“Hi, I'm Clyde Livingston, but everyone around here calls me ‘Sweet Feet.’”
“Way to go, Sweet Feet!” said another baseball player, slapping his hand.
Besides being on the television screen, Clyde Livingston was also sitting on the couch next to Stanley.
“But my feet weren't always sweet,” the television Clyde Livingston said as he sat down on the dugout bench.
“They used to smell so bad that nobody would sit near me in the dugout.”
“They really did stink,” said the woman sitting on the couch on the other side of Clyde.
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