[SelzShoes]

“What a god forsaken place this is,” PCL president Charles “Pants” Rowland as the air cooled car moved through the dusty roads.

“And Phoenix isn’t?” replied his right hand man and league treasurer Jackson Millbyrn replied. Sheepishly, Rowland nodded in agreement. The Pacific Coast League was now finding itself reaching out into the dessert to find almost suitable homes for its franchises. Long ago the mild weather of the coast made the endless summer of ball one of the most pleasant things in the world. Now, players and officials had July and August in the cauldron of Phoenix to look forward too.

The car pulled up to the hotel, almost completed, rising above the dead land majestically. A tribute to man’s ability to make nature conform to his needs. They two men strode towards the entrance, where the doorman greeted them, “Welcome to the Flamingo; we hope you have a pleasant stay.”