I kind of feared facing George the businessman, the guy who knew numbers, and basically asking him for money for what was really, the closer we got to the Great Wall, for kind of a stupid idea.
So I was kind of glad when we walked into the Great Wall, Dan already hanging back so that I had to give him a little shove, a little after the noon crowd had shoved off and Itch was shoving brown bottles into the coolers, and we said we wanted to see George, and he asked why, and we kind of shrugged and he went up into the restaurant and came back and said George was out.
So I'm trying to think how to formulate this whole idea, how to sell it as Dan and I are walking down Fourth Street, kind of like Cisco and Pancho, me a step or two in front and Dan coming up behind me and he starts mumbling. "Business," he says and I turn around and ask what, and he says, "Business, it'll be good for business, for the Paradise. You know after the game everybody goes to the bar, good crowd you know, tell him about that."
And hell, I'm thinking he already has a good enough business, and if that crowd wasn't out playing softball they'd be sitting in the Great Wall anyway, so how does that help? But I don't say anything, just nod my head and walk on.
After a few steps on he says, "Publicity, it'll be good publicity for the Paradise, have our scores printed in the paper, us guys walking around in our Great Wall jerseys"
"Tee shirts?" I asked.
"Well we gotta have tee shirts, how else are we gonna look like a team?"
Actually sounded like a pretty good idea, yeah taking the field, looking like a team, probably with some kind of team yell, pounding our fists into our gloves, covering the bases, the outfield, daring the other team to try to hit the ball between us, our peerless defense. Problem was that this was getting a little more expensive. The fee was going to be a hundred bucks, and this would add, hell I don't know maybe another hundred bucks to the cost.
"Two hundred dollars?" George asked when we were seated upstairs in the restaurant part having like a business conversation, waitresses in the background filling up the sweet and sours and hot mustards. "Too see you guys play baseball?" And there was sort of a silence, Dan nudging me, and me saying, "Well softball actually." and his eyes narrowing for just a minute into that cold business stare, and then he asked, "You guys any good?"
Good? No we weren't any good at all. "Sure we're plenty good," I answered.
And he started laughing. "Good, you guys? Sure at drinking beer you pretty good."
"Well," I started, but I didn't have anything to follow that up with, but it didn't matter.
"Sure," he said, "Sure I do it. Two hundred bucks to see you guys, you beer drinking bums, see you guys out in the field running around, hah, I pay that easy."
Well that was easy. We sauntered down to the bar. Where Itch was shoving brown bottles into the coolers.
"Well, how about that?" he answered, but I just let it hang so that after he emptied all the PBRs he asked, "What idea?"
"Ever played softball?" I asked.
"Nope," he answered, lugging up a case of Old Style,
"But you played a little baseball didn't you, when you were a kid, I mean." Itch was a tall and lean guy, I could see him reaching up for the ball I'd thrown in after my spectacular catch, coming in on high after the bounce, landing back on the bag before the desperate slide back of the runner, Double play!!
"Well yeah," he answered, like he was looking for an argument.
"First base!" I jumped on it.
"As a matter of fact," he answered, and then he was suspicious again, "Why?"
"Well we're getting up a team."
"A team?"
"A softball team." Dan jumped in, eager to get the spotlight.
"Who?"
"Us, the Great Wall, us guys," Dan on his horse now. "We just talked to George, it's all fixed, he's going to front us, are you in?"
"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard of," Itch answered, and then he did kind of a surprising thing. He was holding an Old Style which he was going to put into the cooler and he flipped it up into the air. We watched it twirl up neck over bottom and just as it was surely headed for the floor he grabbed it by the neck and eased it into the cooler. He looked surprised himself for just a second, and then he said, "Well perhaps I can be persuaded."
So there it was. A couple hours ago it was just Dan, pounding that old mitt of mine, and now we had money, we had a center fielder, a first baseman, and a shortstop. Dan plucked that plum for himself. I was a little doubtful of that considering his considerable mass, but it was his idea after all, and he had been a minor league baseball player, so what the hell.
Itch surprisingly set a couple free ones in front of Dan and me and Dan pulled a little notebook out of his back pocket. Six positions to fill but it was only early afternoon, a whole day awaited us
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