[SelzShoes]

. . . So the son of a bitch is standing there, holding the girl and he say, "Honest skip, I didn't know she was your daughter." Dumb bastard finds himself on the next train to Georgia and never made it back. So the lesson is never screw some nameless bimbo, at least ask what her last name is before you nail her. Oh brother, can you believe it--KSD wants me to do a baseball show for NBC with Frank Eschen, since the majors or something similar to it at least is going to be starting up, get people back in the mood for the game, that sort of thing. Doing the same thing I'm doing now, 'scept I'd be getting paid instead of buying drinks and steaks for you freeloaders every night. Just telling stories, not the same ones I tell you boys. Thems strictly for the fathers, if you know what I mean. They give me enough trouble with how I talk on the radio; I don't need anymore grief from the teachers and all those other do-gooders. They want something for the kids, I guess—people who don’t have the spirit we’ve got, eh fellers. I’ll drink to that. Anyway, I got to thinking to myself, “Diz, you’ve given that ol’ wing of yours a rest for a couple years, why not see if they can use a wily ol’ vet on the club.” Yeah, I’m serious about that. With all the garbage goings on with the whatever the hell they’re calling the two leagues now—somebody like me, put some asses in the seats to see ol’ Diz; I think I could give a club some wins. You saw how I threw in the War Bond game last year—plenty of zip back on there. Ok, maybe I’m not like I was in 1933 or 34, but I’m at least as good as I was with the Cubs back in 1938. Man, I was a pitcher that year, now if I got the pop back on the ol’ number 1, look out brother I’m coming back. Hell, all I needs is a chance to show what I can do; bet the Brownies would give me a shot, and even if I don’t I got something to talk about in the booth when I get back to call their games. Yeah, I know, I know, they ain’t gonna be in St. Louis next year, that’s flat out bullsh*t, all this hullabaloo, I don’t know what everyone is all up in arms about. This is a Cardinals town now, and there ain’t but room for one club here. Still think of all the ticket I could sell wherever the Brownies end up, man, I’m telling you brother it will be beautiful. Anyway, that reminds me of a story I was told about when the Federals were playing, it seems . . .