UNCLE MERL'S BAR & GRILL
By
Peter "Lou" D'Alessio
Copyright 2010
“Okayokayokay, I know we been gone fa’ever, but Dragonus Orientus ova there HAD TO HAVE food from Ho Ping’s joint. Wad a pain in the tail, no place to park anywhere!”
“Hoi, I should’a known!”
“Hey guys, where the hell is Ho Ping’s?”
“Ahhh…it’s a little place in Peking…”
“Peking? China?”
“Well… yeah! But dat ain’t the hard part. Dey bin closed since May…1739.”
“You time traveled for Chinese take-out???”
“Look, jus’ try the Lo Mein and THEN tell me it wasn’ woith the trip!”
So we sat there, eating Chinese food (Campy was right. For three hundred year old Lo Mein, it was outrageously good!) and chatting. An argument broke out between Campy and Chou as to who was the better outfielder in his day—Phillip of Macedonia or Mickey Mantle. Max knocked off the last batch of fortune cookies, except for one, and we sat—at Arthur’s Round Table—sipping Chinese tea, talking baseball and feeling content.
“So?” Campy looked at me from across the table.
“So what?”
“ ‘So what’ he sez! The Chinese, joik, the LoMein!”
“Um, good. It was…good.”
“Ah, ‘scuse me…good? Only good? You got better?”
“Try Jinny Lin’s, over in East Orange. Tell her I sent you!”
“Oh.”
“Just kidding. Really great, Campy, best I’ve ever had. What do I owe, guys?”
“Hey, it’s on us…actually, it’s on Moil. I hit the register for the loot. You jus’ pay attention and get the facts straight. Maxie, can ya grab us a couple a’ pitchers, we’re runnin’ low.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, there is one thing I still don’t understand.”
“Shah, kid. Go’head.”
“With all you went through in those “dark” days, I’d kind of expect you guys to be a little more bitter about the way things’ve worked out. If it was me in your shoes, er, hooves and claws, I think I’d be a little bent out of shape with the human race.”
Max tilted back in his chair. “I’ll tel’ya. We pulled your hairy tuchases out a’ d’trees. We helped ya ta loin how to walk, talk, shag flies an’ bunt. Under the right condition, y’alright.”
“S’okay! One a’ you guys screwed up. Big deal. Tings are tough all ova. Ya jus’ haven’t loined ta make a fair call unless dere’s a three-enna-hav ton umpire standing on top a ya. I found that tings could change fa’da better. Who knows, someday the Dodgers may come home ta Brooklyn! Well…maybe not.”
“Hoi, bud wadda voild it could a’ been…”
“You mean if Arthur hadn’t screwed up?” I questioned.
“Nah. Ta be honest with’cha, ya can’t even blame him. He was jus’ da fuse on the fiya cracker an’ Moil lit him up.”
“Then you’re saying it wasn’t anybody’s fault?” In the corner of my eye, I noticed Max was starting to sqoim, er, squirm. If he’d been wearing a collar I’m sure he’d have been tugging at it. A thin line of perspiration was forming on his frontal ridges.
“Uh, Max? Is there something I should know?”
“Weeelll… If ya wanna get technical ‘bout things…”
“Geees, will ya listen ta’ him! Kid, he was sittin’ there when the hole was dug!”
“C’mon, Maxie, give it up. That’s what you guys got me here for.”
“Ehhh, dependin’ on ya’ point a view…ya might say it was sort a’ a Jew’sh ting.”
“Max, bounce that off me one more time, you’re losing me.”
“Well…it all started in Is’ral. Mmmmm, ‘bout, oh, shix thousand years ago. I was liddle more than a pup. It was ‘bout sch’even-thoidy on a nice spring evening. I was sittin’ on the sh’ide a’ a hill wid a human frien’ a’ mine, Hoib. Hoiby was the voist infielder ya could ever hope to find. But give’im a hoid a’ goats? He was fab’lous, a natch’al! They loved him! Anyway, Hoiby was tendin’ his goats and I was sittin’ nex’ ta him, oilin’ my mitt. An’ we were both sittin’ dere watchin’ lightenin’ hittin’ on Mount Shi Ni. All of a sudden, Hoib starts actin’…wat! Weird? He goes off inta dis, dis… stupor. That’s the only void I kin dink of. So Hoiby goes off inta dis stupor, dis trance. An’ den? H’right outa d’blue, dis goathoid decides he’s gonna have dis gh’reat mystical h’experience jus’ ta undermine the very fab’ric a’ civilization as we knew it!”
“Max, stop, you’re losing me.”
“D’schmuck figgered it out! ‘Max’, he sez, ‘dere’s only h’one God!’—Well, I’ll tell ya I almos’ schit on my tail! ‘Hoib!’ I sez, ‘if ya keep ya mouth shut, NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW!’”
“Okay, you got me, I’m lost! WHY…was that such a calamity? I always thought that was sort of a good thing.”
“Yeah—from where you sit today! Back den? We didn’ tink you vas ready for that kinda tinkin’. Now ya say, who vas we to judge? BUT! We got the void right from d’Top. Dragons have bin h’round ‘lot longer than people have. Back in d’good ole days, The Boss was a lot closer to d’workers. An’ like d’Boss said, ‘In da beginnin’ was d’void” an’ d’void was keep yer jowls shut! D’Big Guy jus’ didn’ want d’press. Until Hoib spilled d’beans, evy’body evy’where was h’runnin’ h’round prayin’ t’rocks, trees, liddle tiny stat’chews a’ horsys or boids. An’ after all dat prayin’, if ya thought tings was still crappy, ya pick up anudder rock or tree an’ said ‘screw d’old god, I got a new h’improved one!’ I’m not sure, but I tink it’s like bein’ born again. An’ if tings still stayed crappy, you went up to the new and h’improved, new and more h’improved god! An’ ya’d keep goin’ until tings got better. But now, after Hoib flapped his trap, ya only get one day in court and that’s for a final decision! An’ it’s etoinal, ta boot! D’Boss didn’ vant dings t’vork like dat, BUT… You made d’call!”
Max rocked back in his seat, as far as he could go. He removed the unlit stub from between his teeth, examined it in a manner that reminded me of a diamond cutter studying a diamond to be shaped, and re-seated it into the proper location between his teeth. “So,” he continued, “Now ya got h’religion, ya got choiches, temples, mosques, religious codes and philosophies—n’ h’evy’body starts actin’ mashugina! D’nex’ding ya know, nobody’s playin’ baseball on a sch’erious level. No one’s practicin’ nuttin! H’evy’body h’runnin’ around tryin’ t’figger out God’s foist name. Oh, dey had a schmear a’dem. J’hova! Dat was my favorite—He looks like a J’hova!”
“MAX! YOU KNOW GOD???”
“Well, I sat nex’ta’im a few times over at Yankee Stadium. He’s been a h’rabid Yankee fan ever since the h’Red Sox traded off d’Babe! But ta continue, before ya know it, d’Egyptians sweep tree straight, and two thoids a d’country winds up woikin’ construction on d’Nile, puttin’ up a bunch a’ pointy topped buildings! D’Egyptians! Gh’reat ballplayers, but dey couldn’ pitch a h’roof fa’ schit! Evy’ding went right to a point and straight ta da ground. Man, you couldn’ find d’doors on half a’dem. Anyway, if it wasn’t for Moses and some fancy base runnin’ we’d still have tuchases woikin’ for Cairo Construction, Incorporated.”
“You’re pretty high on Moses. Was he really that great a ball player?”
“Let’s jus’ say he vas about d’bes coached player d’voild has ever known!” He adjusted the cigar stub and looked around the table at his compatriots as if asking for conformation.
“We’d kinda hoped this ‘One God’ ding would blow over”, Campy interjected, “but it never did. The seeds was sown!” The other dragons at the table nodded in what I would term a remorseful fashion.
Campy rose from his seat and walked to the television set. The rain had stopped and New York was pounding Boston again. I began thinking about what Max had said about God being a “rabid” Yankee fan and how, if that got out, it would really upset the theological apple cart. I looked up to see Max staring pensively at me. “Don’t vorry,” he said seriously, “twenny, thoidy more years, God’ll let Boston off the hook!”
Campy wasn’t quite ready to drop the “One God” thing, and he paced the dance floor, muttering half to himself. “D’joiks! Even d’Egyptians wanted into the One-God act. Whad the hell was dat guys name? Amon Ra…Amon Hotep…Amon Joy—I don’t remember. He made the push, but it didn’t sit well with the fans. An’ when he tried to convert some of the ballparks into temples? Dey ran him outa Egypt on a rail! We really felt bad for the guy, wad widt a hun’red thousand angry fans screamin’ ‘PLAY BALL, PLAY BALL, PLAY BALL!’ at’im evy’where he went! We kinda hoped this’d put a lid on it. Nod a chance! For the nex’ twenny-five hun’red years it was jus’ sorta a’ annoyance, but den it really blew up!
“Ho’Boy! The whole friggin’ ding went wild!” Campy threw his hands…claws…in the air with disgust. “Tree-thousand years, Jews had THE book on “One God” religions. I’ll be honest widt ya, I tink He was flattered by it. Even talked to a couple of’em, least thas’ wad I hoid, right Maxie? But evy’time you’d turn around, WHAM, dey’d add another chapter to da book. We shoulda seen it was becomin’ a training manual fa major religions…”
“Nah, we shoulda seen we was headin’ for a bum-rap right from the get-go! The very foist chapter ends with a reptile getting’ youse guys kicked outa Paradise. We never did any sech ding! But even DAT was okay, we could deal wid it. But the minute Jesus starts fa-tootsin’ around wid dings, we shoulda seen the han’writtin’ was on d’wall. Right off de bat, we shoulda seen He was gonna be a nut-buster for us!”
“Jesus? Of Nazareth? The guy with the beard and sandals? That Jesus? Gave you a bad time?”
“Actually, not Him. He was a pretty good egg, a real sweetheart. Evy’body loved’im. Bes’damned catcher I ever saw—‘cept for maybe Yogi. Could He call a game? Boy, ya dink He could read minds! Ya couldn’ run on’im, He’d pick ya off at second so fast you’d swear the ball jus’ showed up in the secon’ baseman’s glove! An’ Hit? Holy Smokes, He’d kill ya wid triples!”
“So what was the problem?”
“Oi ge’val, what h’rotten taste in team mates! Had a buncha fisherman backin’im up. Couldn’ h’run, couldn’ bunt, couldn’ field… wad a bunch a yutzes!”
“Yeah, an’ dey had this squirrelly lookin’ guy, use ta manage the team…Jude, Jud? I forget. ‘Sell his mother for a buck. If ya shook his hand ya counted yer claws after!”
“Hey guys, guys! Hold on here, you’re getting me confused again. What’s this got to do with Arthur and dragons?”
“Oi, keep ya shoit on! Kids taday, ha! No patience!”
“We comin’ ta dat part. Now ya gotta realize, ain’t no one had a winnin’ season since Rome got its act ta’gedder. An’ dings really changed fa Is-rye-el…”
“Hoy, how many times I should half to tell you! It’s Is’ral…IS’RALLL!”
“WHAT-FREAKIN’-EVA! Dings really changed where…where HE came from! Ever since Hoiby, all the rules changed f’dem! No Saturday double headers, in fact ya didn’t play any ball on Saturday…that’s fine at home, but wow, does it mess up the ‘away’ schedule! Ya couldn’ sign or draft free agents from udder countries widout real hassles. An’ talk about loosin’ d’crowd, they stopped soivin’ hot dogs at the ball park, sompin about answering to a ‘higher’ authority. Now I ask ya, what good is a cold beer at a ball game widout a dirty-water dog to go wid it?
“Ya gotta understan’. Back in the day, you h’rose n’ fell widt d’home team. A loosin’ streak could las’ fordy or fifty years like nuttin’ and not makin’ the Sch’eries for a century or two? Oi, wadda a tragedy!”
“Gee. I never looked at the Red Sox in biblical terms…”
“Sit tight! We’ll get ta dem later. Now, even wid all dis, Isr…where he came from…never finished in the basement of their division. I’ll tell ya, for a small country, they held their own! Ev’y few centuries or so, a helluva player’d come along an’ evy’ding picked up. But all dees guys were, shall we say, well coached in the tradition of Moses. Okayokay, Moses really laid down the law! But all dees guys were sayin’ the same ding—wait, there’s a guy comin’ the Boss tol’ us about…”
“Steinbrenner?”
“The BOSS! An’ stop interrupting’! Da Boss sez when He comes He’s gonna change the game fa’ever! Ya know how dings are in baseball. Half the history of the game is rumor, an’ half the rumor becomes tradition! Ba’fore ya know it, rumors is flyin’…He’s comin’, He’s here, He’s battin’ .897 with 300 stolen bases! He’s gonna come from a ‘double A’ farm club. They’re gonna put a new star in the sky jus’ for Him!
“Woid traveled fast in dem days, and the rumors was flyin’ so fas’n’furious, guys on other teams was watchin’ to see if there really was gonna be a new star in the sky. Okayokayokay! Along comes Jesus Ben Joseph! A poifect player wid the luck a’ d’Irish! He even starts out by bein’ born in the right place! His folks was headin’ for a season opener against da Romans in the ole’ man’s hometown. Back den, ya could ‘reach out an’ touch someone’ so haf’ way through the trip, they get stuck in dis little backwater town wid no motel reservation. At da las’ minute instead of havin’ ta toin ‘roun’ and go home, they get ta cop a squat in dis barn, see?”
“OI! Wat luck! Three weeks after they leave—Boom!—schlum clearance! D’friggin’ barn is a 7/11 now!”
“Hey! You gonna let me tell dis story or wat? Okayokay, dis is where the new ‘super star’ is comin’ from. Now! Get ready fa dis. Who comes ridin’ over da hill lookin’ fa the new ‘King a’ Diamonds’? None udder than the Asian answer for ‘Tinker ta Evers Ta Chance’! You got it! ‘Caspar ta Balthasaar ta Melchoir…”
“D’gh’reatest’ infield of d’day!”
“Max speaks da troot! Now, dey is convinced dis is da guy! As a boithday gift, dey each leaves him a present…”
“Let me guess! A bat, a ball and a glove!”
“Hey, das’right! Ya hoid dis ba’fore!”
“Ehhh, Not exactly. Go on.”
“Well, you would dink that wid a start like dat, it all would a’ gone right ta da kid’s head. Not Jesus! His Ole’ Man raised’im right!”
“Geval, he vas a h’regular kid! A nice kid! D’kid vould kill himself to help people He didn’ h’even know! I’m tellin’ ya, they don’t make’im like Him anymore, no sir!”
“Now, fa’a few years, dings seem ta die down. Occasionally, you’d cop a story ‘bout Him swingin’ a bat at a local picnic or sompin’. I dunno, maybe ‘cause He was a kid from a small town, da scouts kept overlookin’ him. No offers, no contracts, no bonuses for signin’, nuttin’! He was almos’ thoidy years ole’ when He finally decided ta grab his bat an’ glove an’ put his own team ta’gedder an’ take his show on da road…”
“Hoy! Ya tink Bingo Long had a h’rough time getting’ a game? Here was this ball team that smelled like a h’run-a’vay fish stand. NOBODY wanted to play dem n’ a-especially in July an’ August! Whew!!!”
“Maxie ain’t kiddin’! An’ dey stank in udder ways, too! But Jesus was THE player! He dig’em out a’ any hole dey got in! Really bring’em back from da dead! Inside a’ tree years, this guy’s got one helluva followin’! They’re comin’ from Naz’rit, they’re comin’ from Galilee. They’re comin’ from Jaru’slam! Da poor bastid couldn’t take a squat widout some fan climbin’ over’im! The Man was golden! Four guys on his own team actually had de balls ta write unauthorized biographies about Him. Made a fortune for’em, tied’em all ta’gedder into one book! Dey blew dis ding ta’gedder so fast, dey left out haf’a wad He said and got da udder haf’ wrong! But it sol’ like crazy. I always been amazed at the stories you people buy!”
“Ch’razy! Thas’ d’void! We use ta call it ‘D’gh’reatest ‘haf’ story’ eva tol’!’”
“Wad a book for ‘Crazy Artie’ to get his hands on! Arter wasn’t da brightest guy I eva met an’ by the time da monks got through re-writin’ what was left a’ da ‘Troot’—Jeeesus, wad a holy mess!”
“Then the dark ages really got dark!”
“No kiddin’! Da monks had Arter by da shortstop, an’ dey was gettin’ wad ever dey wanted. You’d dink they’d leave da average guy alone? Nod a chance! Their motto was ‘you knock’em down, an’ I’ll kick’em!’ Hey, times was a lot harder den. Folk really had ta scramble jus’ ta keep dem’selves fed. Wad would it hurt to let farmer Fred have a few laughs? Who da hell was it hoitin’ to let him throw the horsehide around wid his kid or take a quick roll in the hay wid his ole’ lady? The monks said it was wrong—so it was wrong! Off wid da team shoit an’ on wid da hair shoit. Lose da bat, find da whip. We didn’ give a damn da monks hated us, but jees, dey even hated dem’selves. Wad a bunch a’ party poopers. Does it surprise ya we took a powder?”
“Ah, not really.”
Max rose, scratched his tail, walked to the bar and filled another couple of pitchers. “D’voild use ta be a preddy good place ta be born into. Ahhh. Maybe someday, it’ll get better.”
I looked across the table at Campy who was feigning interest in the message written in the last fortune cookie and mumbling something about ‘having to learn how to read Chinese—someday!’ under his breath.
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