“The best I ever saw? I hate these kinds of questions.”
“How about top five?”
“That would be easier. But I don’t like having to make lists. I’m not that guy. I know that guy but he’s not me.”
“I know. I’m the list guy, the stat guy, the nerd guy, and the guy’s guy. So, before we get started, tell me, what’s the best baseball play or game that you’ve seen in person?”
“I’m not sure this is where you were headed, but the most memorable game was the doubleheader I saw when I was on acid.”
“You’re right, dude. That wasn’t where I was headed. I was thinking a no-hitter, a grand slam, a playoff game, that sort of thing.”
“I got to tell you, by the end of that doubleheader, as fucked up as we were, we were the soberest people there. A doubleheader, summer, lots of really, really drunk people … it was memorable.”
I was standing behind these guys in the registration line, getting a contact high off of them. I couldn’t smell any dope but they still reeked of it. Maybe it was the Hawaiian shirts, surfer shorts, and flip-flops. Here I was thinking this was going to be a more strait-laced, middle-America kind of crowd and already things were shifting.
Even though these guys looked like stoners, they were in pretty good shape—maybe mid-twenties and probably played baseball in high school or college.
I’m guessing the latter because we were all about to register for the Los Angeles Dodgers Adult Fantasy Baseball Camp in Vero Beach, Florida. It was October 1984. The humidity was giving us a break, and we were going to shag balls, play some games, meet some all-stars, learn some pointers, and become better team players.
At least that was part of the job description I’d been given. I wasn’t here because I was a baseball fan or former player trying to relive my glory years. I was here because my client was starting a company and he wanted to do some team building. The Dodgers were going to help him do it. In case they faltered, I’d be there to make it all better.
It might have been easier without the murders.