The Bucharest Digest - 2046.4
Posted: Mon Apr 12, 2021 3:11 pm
The team has stepped into the lead in the Wild Card for the first time this season. It's less than we wanted, but its something. Mitch Dalrymple has been on a tear since he ALLEGEDLY woke up drunk ALLEGEDLY on the floor of a visiting team's locker room ALLEGEDLY on the morning after a night game. ALLEGEDLY.
And things have been looking up for me, career-wise. I got my first face time with the owner, Mr. Naim Diya al Din, though it didn't quite happen the way I had hoped.
It came because of a public outreach effort to use some of our practice facilities to host a baseball workshop for local kids interested in the game. He wanted an update, and McBride, of course, knew nothing about the project. McBride was, at the time, too focused on eating the perfect kit kat bar. First, he takes the chocolate off the wafer on all sides, then tries to remove each of the 3 layers of the wafer part without breaking them. If he can, its the perfect bar. He's ordered a huge box of kit kat bars in pursuit of this goal.
Anyway, that’s why I found myself in the owner’s office, with a loose understanding of the workshop program, and questions about which players I should talk to about committing to be a part of it.
I knocked on the doorframe, because the door was already open. When I looked inside, I saw Mr. Diya al Din and another man staring back, and their eyes let me know I was interrupting.
“Oh, I’m .. . uhh . . sorry,” I mumbled.
“No, it’s alright,” Mr. Diya al Din said. “We’re finishing up here.”
He handed the man an envelope, so thickly packed it could not be sealed, and past the gaping maw of the opening, I saw the tell-tale colors of Romanian currency. The man swiped it from his hands, and said something sharply in Romanian. He rushed past me out the door.
And things have been looking up for me, career-wise. I got my first face time with the owner, Mr. Naim Diya al Din, though it didn't quite happen the way I had hoped.
It came because of a public outreach effort to use some of our practice facilities to host a baseball workshop for local kids interested in the game. He wanted an update, and McBride, of course, knew nothing about the project. McBride was, at the time, too focused on eating the perfect kit kat bar. First, he takes the chocolate off the wafer on all sides, then tries to remove each of the 3 layers of the wafer part without breaking them. If he can, its the perfect bar. He's ordered a huge box of kit kat bars in pursuit of this goal.
Anyway, that’s why I found myself in the owner’s office, with a loose understanding of the workshop program, and questions about which players I should talk to about committing to be a part of it.
I knocked on the doorframe, because the door was already open. When I looked inside, I saw Mr. Diya al Din and another man staring back, and their eyes let me know I was interrupting.
“Oh, I’m .. . uhh . . sorry,” I mumbled.
“No, it’s alright,” Mr. Diya al Din said. “We’re finishing up here.”
He handed the man an envelope, so thickly packed it could not be sealed, and past the gaping maw of the opening, I saw the tell-tale colors of Romanian currency. The man swiped it from his hands, and said something sharply in Romanian. He rushed past me out the door.