Sixteen strands of hair, lined up end to end, away from South Baltimore, a yen for baseball rises up in a busload of early morning commuters. The bus pulls over, and somewhat miraculously, the driver produces a rubber ball and a long stick. They are ready, these people, to play a primitive game, a simple game. But as they begin to choose sides, arguments erupt. They have, each individually, judged each other's physical ability, categorized each other. It gets pretty bloody. You probably heard about it.