M. and found a stool at the corner of the bar. I followed about 15 minutes later, but sat about 5 seats down the bar and pretended not to know her. The bar was not very crowded. In fact the only men in there were some executives in their 60's talking business. Jennifer looked nervous, so I asked the bartender to set her up with a glass of wine. Jennifer typically doesn't drink and when she does, she drinks very slowly, but she downed this glass quickly to calm herself. I followed by sending another glass her way.The bar started to get more crowded around 8:15 but still nobody that remotely resembled a potential candidate. I started to think the idea was not going to come to fruition, but decided to patiently wait it out a bit longer. About 20 minutes later, a handsome man in his early 40s walked in. He was about 5'8" tall with a muscular, athletic build and dressed in a snappy sport coat. He had dark hair and was tan. He was clearly by himself and found a seat at the bar across from. The weather guy on TV called it an occluded front and said it could hang around into the weekend."We want to play. Do what you can," I told him.He nodded, tight-lipped. "You done good. We'll do our part."I shook his hand, waved at the others, and went to the locker room. It looked like most of my players were dressed, but we were not going to get any fielding or batting practice on this day. A couple of men were playing checkers; most were just chatting, working on their gloves and watching the clock and the TV set. Bob Philips from the Post and a new guy from the Times were waiting for me. The three of us squeezed into my office, and I flipped on my Mac, a newly acquired habit."Gonna be a game?" asked the Times' reporter."Hope so," I said."Gregory?" asked Philips.I nodded. "And everybody else. This is it, you know." How come you're working so hard here at the tag end of a bad season?" the Washington Times' man asked."That's how we play baseball. Only way to do it. Nobody jakes. We.
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