In honor of all the rain causing havoc at various ballparks today, here is a chapter from my novel The Greatest Show on Dirt about rain and tarp pulls, every minor league employee’s favorite exercise.
By ten o’clock our last lingering co-worker was Shannon, who had hooked up with one of Burt’s business school buddies. Roderick Paterson apparently found the bulimic hipster look a turn-on. Jenna panicked when it was time to go and she couldn’t locate her assistant, but a search of the premises turned up Crack Whore Girl sucking face on the picnic table in the back yard. Her sarcastic tongue was so worn out from wrestling with Roderick’s that she was actually pleasant as we chatted on the front porch. They were the last two guests to leave, shortly after twelve-thirty. Jenny and Burt went up an hour later, leaving me and Rich alone in the gathering dampness. I reached into the cooler and pulled the last two bottles of beer from the lukewarm bath that had once been four bags of ice.
