 Fall off the table. What you talking? Bill Greeson pitches the game of his life against the Monarchs. He limits them to four hits. Even local Kansas City papers give him props. They write, he was poison. He was powerful. He was superb. I had something on this poor little arm. When I got two strikes on you, I said bye. Buckle near, you had a fit, boy. Could nobody touch it. Not that night. It was awful.