[SelzShoes]

“Waddyameanurthrownusout?” Frankie Frisch, the Fordham Flash, had a tendency to speak quickly when he was upset. This morning, three in the am to be precise, he felt justified in his rage.

The night manager of the hotel was very firm in his stance. “We can not have caterwauling—drunk—baseball players disturbing our other guest as yours have done the past 3 nights.”

“Drunk? FanymyboysrdrunkthenImmamonkey,” Frisch’s argument of the sobriety of his players at this point was only relative. The players were not drunk, at least when compared to their manager. Frisch took a swing at the manager missing by a country mile. The only real effect was Al Lopez, one of the few Pirates who had been sleeping, lost his grip on the shoulders of the besotted skipper.

"Geez Frank," Lopez wheezed under the effort of trying to hold up the Flash, "Give it a rest." The prospect of trying to move scores of players in the middle of the night, with no set destination did not hold much appeal to the veteran catcher. Lopez knew he had to act quickly before any hope of finishing the night in bed and not on the street. "Look, can't this wait until morning?"

The manager quickly shook his head to the negative. "I've had 12 complaints since midnight alone. This will not stand."

Frisch had slowly settled onto the floor, laying his hot head on the cool tile. He was mumbling something about showing the hotel manager some manners.

"Look, if I can get the boys to bed, let us just finish out the night." Al Lopez was noted for his occasional lapses into passion; tonight that fire would not suit his purpose. "That many men trying to move out would cause quite a ruckus--more than they're kicking up now. You know what kind of trouble kicking one drunk out can cause--this many, whew. Better just call John Law now if you know what I mean."

Frisch gurgled a not-so-veiled threat against the ancestors of the hotel manager. A threat thankfully obscured among the spit and vomit that had collected in his mouth.

The manager was doing math in his head. The cost and consequences of throwing out an entire ballclub at this hour, as compared to the cost and consequeces of throwing them out in the morning. Time and sleep, as well as the day manager, made it entirely possible this scene would repeat itself in the near future. "How long before they are confined to rooms?"

"Only a handful left."

"I'm in a forgiving mood--have them in quarters in ten minutes, we will delay discussion of your eviction until the morning." While the Pirates slept, the manager knew he would have the time to craft his argument to the day manager. They may not be thrown out come morning, but the noose would at least be tied.

Lopez pulled Frisch back to his feet, before turning to the Buccs assembled to watch the show. "What are you waiting for bums, get yer asses back upstairs--NOW!" The men scrambled towards the elevator without stopping to help thier fallen manager. "Bastards," Lopez whispered under his breath as he only was left to navagate the Fordham Flash back to his room.