“… Look, I’m not saying the mountains aren't beautiful, I’m just saying there are better routes to get to Grand Junction.”
Former Chicago Black Sox General Manager Vic Caleca is yelling to be heard over the rush of wind through the open passenger window of the Lincoln Navigator he and Asst. GM Bill McGuffin rented to go in search of the team’s fabled International Complex.
Asst. GM Bill McGuffin
“This can’t be right,” he mutters.
“What???” Caleca yells.
McGuffin looks up and glances at Caleca, who’s steering the Lincoln with one hand and sipping a wine cooler with the other.
“I got this weird text just now … it’s from Marnie in the Sox ticket office wondering if I’m gonna need my seats for the playoff series against Yellow Springs,” McGuffin yells back.
Caleca shakes his head and rolls his eyes in response.
“Damn it, Bill. I told you to go easy on those psilocybin mushrooms – they’re not for amateurs.”
McGuffin shrugs and tosses the phone over his shoulder and into the back seat while he takes a long draw from a bottle of Crown Royal Blender’s Mash he'd been cradling between his knees.
“No kidding,” he says. “That’s as horrifying as those damn Des Moines bat logos that attacked me and Max outside of Pella in the spring.
“From here on out, I’m stickin’ to whiskey and nitrous oxide.”
Caleca grins and stomps on the gas pedal.
“I love it when a plan comes together!” he yells.