The following is a fictitious account. The author in no way is suggesting that any of the following events actually occurred.

Our scene takes us to the Dodger Stadium parking lot. The sun shines brightly on this January morning. The cars of the full-time office employees dot the parking lot. A Ford F-150, looking like it hasn’t had a wash in months pulls into the vacant spot closest to the ticket window. The driver’s door opens and a portly, unshaven man shifts his legs to get out of the truck. As he stands, it is apparent that the man is David Wells. He rises and picks some crumbs from his T-shirt front and nibbles on these morsels. A Taco Bell wrapper falls to the ground. He bends to retrieve it and upon standing up, he adjusts his pants so as to avoid the possibility of an unsightly plumber’s butt. He leans back into the vehicle and fetches a Taco Bell bag and takes the last slurp of his Grande Coke. He drops the cup and wrapper in the bag. He grabs a couple more loose garbage items from the cab, throws the items in the bag and lets out a belch.

Pleased with his fullness he turns and eyes the ticket office. Boomer shuts the door to his truck and proceeds across the parking lot. He stops at the garbage can and deposits the remains from this morning’s late breakfast/early lunch. With his right hand he removes his sweat-stained Bubba Gump Shrimp baseball hat, and with his left hand he scratches his scalp. He replaces the lid on the top of his head, and with the gait of a man determined for his destiny he strides along the walk leading to the ticket office of the Los Angeles Dodgers.

At the ticket window a middle-aged, bespectacled woman greets her prospective customer. She puts aside the daily paper and removes the glasses from the bridge of her nose and leaves the spectacles to dangle from a lanyard. Boomer notices from her name tag that the ticket office clerk is named Darlene.

Darlene: “Good morning. Welcome to Dodger Stadium! How I may I help you?”

Wells: (Seeming a little preoccupied or maybe slowed by the digestion process) Yes…hey…yeah I like to look into your season ticket packages.”

Darlene: “Fine, we have several. Give me a moment, and let me retrieve our brochure.”
Darlene stands up and walks to the back of the ticket office. She replaces her glasses on her nose as she inspects the piles of publications. “Here we go. You can find the prices and packages for all of our season ticket holders. She hands the brochure to Wells. As she does, she notices the drips of leftover taco sauce on the customer’s shirt front. “Did you have anything in particular that you wanted to look at?”

Wells: “Actually, yes.” Wells leans forward and lowers his voice. “I wanted to check into your all-you-can-eat section.”

Darlene: “Oh sure. That’s new this year. We have received several inquiries. You know you could have phone or contacted us by email.”

Wells: Yeah… I like the personal touch. Besides it kinda gets me outta the house.”

Darlene: “I see. Nice day for a drive.”
Wells: Studying the brochure. “Yeah.”

Darlene: “As you can see the all-you-can-eat pavilion is located in right center field.

Wells: Without looking up from the brochure, “Is there a menu listed in this pamphlet?”

Darlene: “Let me see…oh yes, it’s on page 12.”

Wells: Quickly flipping the pages “Found it. Thank you.” Then speaking more to himself than to ticket clerk, “Dodger Dogs, Nachos, Peanuts, Popcorn, Coca-Cola products, and water. I trust that the condiments will be provided?

Darlene: A little puzzled by the question, “I would imagine that ketchup, mustard, and relish will be provided.”

Wells: “Any different varieties of mustard? I kinda like brown sugar mustard on my dogs.”

Darlene: Clearing her throat, “Well, I don’t know. It doesn’t say anything about the selection of condiments.”

Wells: “How ‘bout the nachos? Will they have nachos supreme available?”

Darlene: “Supreme?”

Wells: “Yeah, you know cheese, beans, chili, jalapenos…”

Darlene: “I’m not certain. The all-you-can-eat section is in the planning stages. Perhaps, you could make a request.”

At this point Wells’ cell phone begins to ring to the familiar tune of ‘come and get it’. Without looking up from the possible menu he flips the phone and brings it to his ear. “What’s up?”

Gregg Clifton (Wells’ agent): “Hey Davey! How’s it going kid?”

Wells: Obviously distracted as he reads over the disclaimer regarding the limits to all-you-can eat, “Hey.”

Clifton: “Got good news for ya.”

Wells: With a furled brow as he continues reading the disclaimer, “What’s that?”

Clifton: “I just got off the phone with Kevin (Towers). The Pads’ are all set to offer you a one year contract. They signed Maddux a little while ago. It seems that forty-year-old pitchers are en vogue.”
Wells: Mumbling aloud to himself, “Season ticket holders will be offered discount prices on a variety of beer and wine products…”

Clifton: “Dave?”

Wells: “Hmph! What? Were you saying something?

Clifton: “Yeah. The Padres have a one year deal for you.”

Wells: “One year deal? When? This year?”

Clifton: “Yes”

Wells lowers the phone from his mouth and stares off into the blue California sky.

Clifton: “Dave? Are you there?”

Wells: Snapping back from a dream-like state, “Oh yeah. Hey, Gregg, remind me again what’s the Padres’ post-game buffet look like?”

Clifton: “The usual, dogs, burgers, bar-b-que chicken…”

Wells: “Sounds good. How many games would I need to pitch?”

Clifton: “Good question. The contract is incentive-laden. You start making money after your fifteenth start.”

Wells: “Do I need to travel with the team if I’m not pitching. Clemens got that deal, and I really wanna shoot up the coast and catch some Major League Soccer action with the Galaxy. They just signed Beckham, and I really like to catch a view of Posh in my binoculars.”

Clifton: “I don’t know. Let me look into it. I’ll call you back in a while.”

Wells: Hangs up the phone and returns to his conversation with Darlene. “How much for a pair of tickets in the all-you-can-eat section?” ……

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