Binding Arbitration by Elizabeth Marx

BINDING ARBITRATION by ELIZABETH MARX 1 THE HIT THAT PULLED ME FROM THE GAME Aidan 11 a.m. Thirty years of experience in locker room antics hadn’t prepared me to manage the filming of a thirty-second television spot with six six-year-old fairies. They say life imitates baseball–-if that was the case, then mine should be silver plated peanuts and gold encrusted Cracker Jacks, but I hadn’t had a prize fall out of my cardboard box in weeks and Sailor Jack and Bingo had jumped ship. The ump laughed, before singing to the tune of Take Me Out to the Ball Game: Take him out of the bullpen, Pay him for an endorsement. Give him some pixies and faerie dust, He won’t care until all his seams bust. Most guys with a clear conscience hear his own voice in his head, but I’m a professional baseball player. A turn-of-the-century ump commands mine. Ever since I took a tumble on the side of a mountain last year, the ump’s been running a continuous color commentary. When my agent, Fletch, arranged what he considered an ‘easy’ gig, the ump enjoyed my discomfort more than a beer guy enjoyed
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