Name: Bingo Brennan
Team: Robforth Bay Skippers
Position: Third Baseman
Age: 21
He knows what it is before it even leaves the pitcher’s hand. A meatball, served up right at his belt level; the kind of delicious pitch that practically makes him salivate. At 70 miles per hour—give or take—it’s a lucky number Bingo would never expect to see in a game.
Truth be told, it’s the seventieth time he’s seen one today.
It’s the Home Run Derby, and the first one ever held on the boardwalks of Robforth’s Pier Park. As he smokes that ball out of the stadium, an already buzzing crowd explodes into the fossa’s big ears. He’s one away from tying the other finalist’s result with fifteen seconds to go, but he can’t help but admire the splash that follows the ball into the water some-450 feet away from home plate.
He jolts back into his stance as his older sister, Rosie, waves for his attention and begins her next windup. She’s responsible for more in his life than being his pitching wingman. At birth, Bingo was given the name passed down from the legacy of his great-great grandfather: Cornelius. Rosie, with the observational skills to notice her young brother’s luck in their childhood games, gave him a nickname that’d be feared in twenty years by pitchers from every corner of the world. His reputation for good fortune came to follow him through the years. While most players’ uniforms adorned their surname on the back, a special exemption was granted to the fossa known best by those two childish syllables.
Right now, Rosie lets her next pitch fly. It’s not perfect, but Bingo wouldn’t replace her with anyone. He was offered the help of a teammate or coach, as was every slugger in this event, but declined. Sixty home runs into his night, the chemistry between the two gives him more than throwing accuracy.
He gets just enough on that one to barely clear the wall. A showboat of a fossa, yet he hardly reacts to it. The heel saves his celebration as he stands still, ready for one more pitch, looking to send everyone home now.
If the first pitch was perfect, this one is a platonic ideal. The force of contact between bat and ball ripples through Bingo’s arms. The buzzer sounds through an expiring clock as Rosie turns around. The bat drops to his feet, and he takes off, still watching that ball shoot up, up, and out into an LED-lit sky penetrated by the announcer’s booming voice.
“And Bing-O was his name-O!”
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Logo, uniform, and card assets by me. Card font free for personal and commercial use.
Team: Robforth Bay Skippers
Position: Third Baseman
Age: 21
He knows what it is before it even leaves the pitcher’s hand. A meatball, served up right at his belt level; the kind of delicious pitch that practically makes him salivate. At 70 miles per hour—give or take—it’s a lucky number Bingo would never expect to see in a game.
Truth be told, it’s the seventieth time he’s seen one today.
It’s the Home Run Derby, and the first one ever held on the boardwalks of Robforth’s Pier Park. As he smokes that ball out of the stadium, an already buzzing crowd explodes into the fossa’s big ears. He’s one away from tying the other finalist’s result with fifteen seconds to go, but he can’t help but admire the splash that follows the ball into the water some-450 feet away from home plate.
He jolts back into his stance as his older sister, Rosie, waves for his attention and begins her next windup. She’s responsible for more in his life than being his pitching wingman. At birth, Bingo was given the name passed down from the legacy of his great-great grandfather: Cornelius. Rosie, with the observational skills to notice her young brother’s luck in their childhood games, gave him a nickname that’d be feared in twenty years by pitchers from every corner of the world. His reputation for good fortune came to follow him through the years. While most players’ uniforms adorned their surname on the back, a special exemption was granted to the fossa known best by those two childish syllables.
Right now, Rosie lets her next pitch fly. It’s not perfect, but Bingo wouldn’t replace her with anyone. He was offered the help of a teammate or coach, as was every slugger in this event, but declined. Sixty home runs into his night, the chemistry between the two gives him more than throwing accuracy.
He gets just enough on that one to barely clear the wall. A showboat of a fossa, yet he hardly reacts to it. The heel saves his celebration as he stands still, ready for one more pitch, looking to send everyone home now.
If the first pitch was perfect, this one is a platonic ideal. The force of contact between bat and ball ripples through Bingo’s arms. The buzzer sounds through an expiring clock as Rosie turns around. The bat drops to his feet, and he takes off, still watching that ball shoot up, up, and out into an LED-lit sky penetrated by the announcer’s booming voice.
“And Bing-O was his name-O!”
---
Logo, uniform, and card assets by me. Card font free for personal and commercial use.
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Mammal (Other)
Gender Male
Size 926 x 1280px
Love all of these so much! The stories and vibe you're building are A+.
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