Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, of course they're not mine. No profit, etc.

Feedback: Comments welcome at lwalker@owlcroft.com

Susan, Cheri - many thanks and may all our teams win this year!

This story is for all of you who've had a tough week and just need to go to a ballgame and relax.

by

Owlcroft

Mark McCormick stood up with the rest of the crowd and shouted, "Come on, blue! Give us a break!" He sat back down and grinned to himself. He didn't really care whether the Dodgers won the game or not; it was just fun to be out in the early evening, not working, replete with Dodger Dogs, listening to Judge Hardcastle and Sonny reminiscing about Myrna Loy.

It had been a fun day. Lunch at Janny's Fish Dish on the San Pedro docks, then a tour of the boat Sonny worked on. No, it's a ship, a ship, not a boat. The captain gets mad if you call it a boat. Then they'd spent a couple of hours on Rodeo Drive with Sonny promising to buy everything they saw in the windows "when I hit the big time".

Mark sighed contentedly. Batting practice had been interesting, too. It had been one of the judge's better ideas to come early and watch the players get ready for the game. And those pina coladas - good thing they were non-alcoholic or he'd be draped over the railings by now.

"Get in the game, ump!" screamed the woman in front of him.

McCormick chuckled. He was learning a lot from listening to the people around him, including a few additions to his vocabulary. Of course, it was a shame the Dodgers were losing 7-1, but Mark was happy just to relax and shout epithets when everyone else did.

Once the Phillies had gone ahead with four runs in the first, two in the second, and one more in the third, Sonny and the judge had taken their attention from the game and spent more time on their conversation than on the action on the field. They'd started with the Brooklyn Dodgers and moved, somehow, onto film actresses from the forties. Mark leaned across Sonny to tell Hardcastle, "Hey, you almost married Jane Bigelow. Tell Sonny about that."

"Jane Bigelow!" Sonny was astonished. "Really? Come on, Milt, give!"

Mark went happily back to the game.

They all stood for the seventh inning stretch and sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame". Hardcastle looked around Sonny to McCormick and said, "Sorry about the score, kiddo. It's more fun when your team wins."

Mark shrugged. "I'm having a great time. How about you two?"

"Are you kidding? This is terrific!" Sonny rubbed his hands together. "Out at the ball-yard with my kid. Great seats. Who cares what the score is? After all, it doesn't matter who wins or loses," he assumed a somber expression and said pedantically, "it's how you play the game."

"Well, the Dodgers are playing crappy," Hardcastle snorted. "Ah, forget it. You can't win 'em all. Hey, Sonny. Remind me about those record albums when we get home."

"Yeah, I'm looking forward to hearing those." He turned to McCormick. "Big band stuff. The judge here's got a lot of great records, lot of classics." He turned back to Hardcastle as the crowd started to re-seat itself. "But I gotta get back to the ship tonight. Maybe next time?"

"Sure," Judge Hardcastle cocked his head. "But I thought the next cruise didn't start 'til tomorrow afternoon."

"You're right, but we got a new band member coming in tomorrow and we need to rehearse before the boarding starts. Yeah! That's the way to start!" he shouted, as Madlock rounded first base. "Once the passengers start coming on board, I'm a Hospitality Agent." He sat up straight and assumed an air of consequence.

"So, what does a Hospitality Agent do?" The judge made a face at a called strike.

McCormick made his "hmmp!" noise and grinned at Sonny. "He romances all the little old ladies with blue hair and hearing aids, right, Sonny?"

"All right! Come on, don't stop now! Keep it going!" Sonny applauded Sciosia's double off the wall, scoring Madlock, and turned to his son. "We do not romance them." He winked at Hardcastle. "We make them think we would if it weren't for the rule against employees dating passengers."

The three of them rose and screamed with the crowd as Stubbs hit a bomb into the bleachers, scoring two more runs.

"Hey, look. At least they made it close." Sonny smiled wryly and closed the truck door. "Maybe next time, right?"

Hardcastle slid over to the passenger side window to ask, "Yeah, what about next time? You got any plans for two weeks from now? How about dinner at the estate and we'll put on those records?"

"Sounds great." Sonny beamed at the judge. "I tell you what; I'll bring the steaks. No, no arguing, now. You can do the cooking, and Mark and I'll tell you what you're doing wrong." He winked and started toward the gangplank leading up to the Topaz Duchess. "See ya in two!" He shouted back.

Both Hardcastle and McCormick waved back; then Mark put the truck in gear and headed for the PCH.

The judge sighed. "Too bad. They got so close. Oh, well, nobody wins all 162." He glanced at McCormick. "You really have a good time?"

"Yeah, I did. You?" Mark registered the judge's nod, then flipped the left turn signal as he looked back to check the traffic. "Not that I believe Sonny's turned over a new leaf or anything. He'll do something stupid at some point, but yeah, today was fun." Smoothly merging onto the freeway, he added, "We'll be home in about an hour, unless you want to stop for something to eat."

"Oh, dear Lord!" Hardcastle clutched at his stomach and moaned. "I ate three of those things and nachos and beer. I may never eat again." He opened his eyes and said curiously, "How many did you have?"

"Three. Same as you. There's some leftover pizza in the fridge, though. We could always have that later."

The judge looked interested, then remembered he was supposed to be suffering. "Nah, you have it."

There was silence for a while, then McCormick shot a look at his passenger. He opened his mouth to speak, paused, then closed it again.

Hardcastle noticed. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Come on, what? It's not like Dodger Dogs make me stupid, ya know." He yawned hugely. "Sleepy, maybe. What?"

"Nothing. Nothing important, anyway." Mark drove on another few miles with a concentrated expression.

"Judge," he said hesitantly, "Will you tell me the truth if I ask you something?"

Hardcastle was torn between irritation and curiosity. "What the hell kind of question is that? You're asking me if I'm gonna lie to you? And I don't even know what you want to ask."

"Yeah, that was kinda stupid." McCormick shrugged. "I mean if you're going to lie to me, would you tell me ahead of time?" He sighed briefly. "Look, I guess I just wanted a way to ease into this."

"Well, what?" By now the curiosity had prevailed and the judge slewed around to face his interrogator.

"It's just . . . you seemed to really, I dunno, enjoy talking with Sonny about stuff like when the Dodgers played in Brooklyn and music from the forties." He checked the rearview mirror and pressed slightly harder on the accelerator. "Stuff that I don't know anything about. It just made me wonder if maybe you miss being around people your own age."

Hardcastle looked at him in disbelief. "Being with people my own age? What about playing poker twice a month, and the Jazzmasters, and all the judges' seminars and conventions, and the Police Benevolent League Basketball Association, and --"

"Okay, okay!" Mark laughed. "I didn't say you never saw anyone your own age." He moved into the fast lane and turned serious again. "I just thought maybe you might want spend more time with people who had more in common with you; you know, that had gone through some of the same experiences, that had the same background, had the same likes and dislikes. That's all."

"You mean, instead of hanging around with you all the time?" The judge looked thoughtful. "Is this your Emily Post way of telling me you wish I'd join some senior groups and get out of your hair?"

"No! That's not . . .see, this is exactly what I was afraid of. I just noticed how much you and Sonny actually have in common, and I thought maybe you missed that. Being able to talk to somebody about Myrna Loy, for instance." McCormick passed a station wagon and pulled back into the slow lane. "You know, reminiscing about stuff, sharing memories."

"Let me tell you something, McCormick." Hardcastle leaned an elbow on the doorframe. "If I ever wanted the company of people my age, I could find dozens of them and spend every minute with them, talking about the past and sharing memories, as you put it. But you know what?" He smiled slightly. "I'd rather keep doing stuff to remember later on. And it's too late now to train somebody else to keep up with me, don't you think?"

Mark looked at him seriously for a second. "You sure, Judge?" He turned his attention back to the road in front of the truck. "I guess I'm asking if there's something else you'd rather be doing now that you're finished with Project McCormick."

"Hah! That's a project that'll never be finished."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." Judge Hardcastle clapped his hands together. "How much of that pizza was there?"

finis