Queen City Baseball

Cincinnati was hot. The signs all said about 93°, there weren’t any humidity readings but I guess they don’t need those things down here alongside the river. The humidity never changes.

We each had a goblet of Cincinnati beer and a great warm German-type pretzel with dijon mustard and asiago-cheese-melt dip. Inside the restaurant the noise was so high that your hair would rise; outside, the weather was hot and moist. We went outside and ate a clammy meal, and watched the downtown canyons of Cincinnati turn blue as the evening began, and the pretzels tasted better with every bite.

Hideo Nomo was the pitcher for the Dodgers and he was pitiful. But that was only the first inning, in the second he came out and slammed the door. He wound up being the winning pitcher. Ken Griffey Jr. showed up and looked uninterested. Grissom, Beltre, Green, Larkin all played like real major leaguers anxious to show the world how great baseball looks at it’s best.

“Pass this down.”

I looked up to my right to see a plastic beer bottle. A “beer-guy” was handing it to me and motioning to my left. I looked down the row and saw a guy smiling and holding money in his hand. I took the beer and handed it to my wife, who passed it to the Asian-looking guy on her left who passed it to the Asian-looking woman on his left who passed it to a black guy on her left who passed it to a black woman oh his left who passed it to a middle-eastern looking guy on her left who passed it to guy with the money. The guy with the money gave the middle-eastern guy on his right a ten dollar bill. The middle-eastern looking guy passed it to the black woman on his right who passed it to the black guy on her right who passed it to the Asian woman on his right who passed it to the Asian guy on her right who passed it to my wife who passed it to me. I gave it to the beer guy. He handed me six dollars and left. I handed the six dollars to my wife who handed it to theAsian guy on her left who handed it to the Asain woman on his left who handed it to the black guy on her left who handed it to the black woman on his left who handed it to the middle-eastern looking guy on her left who handed it to the guy with the beer.

I am a retired auditor. I can’t help but think about this. From some mythical world somewhere comes a snippet of conversation either overheard or imagained.

“So you received $10?”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
“Oh, I don’t know who he was.”
“Don’t know?”
“No - no idea.”
“So what did you do with the money?”
“I gave it to the guy next to me.”
“You gave it away?”
“Of course.”
“OK, and who did you give it to?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know who you gave the money to?”
“No, no idea at all.”
“Do you still have the receipt?”
“Receipt? I didn’t get a receipt.”

But all night long, beer, soda, peanuts, pretzels, and hot dogs went back and forth, left and right, all through the crowd, and money changed hands, moving smartly here and there.
Well, it’s one of the things we do nicely as a nation. Or maybe that’s just Cincinnati. Or maybe that’s just baseball.

© John Womack, 2006. All Rights Reserved.