6-12-00 M 12:15 PM

[ticket stub Chicago Cubs vs Detroit Tigers Wrigley Field Sat Jun 3 2000 3:05 PM SRO] I was looking for the bathroom, and I went out a door in the bar into the hotel lobby next door. Mac and Bob were just coming back with the cameras. When we tried to reenter Houston's, some off-duty cop with a cop mustache, and Silent Bob (not our Bob), the dork-ass manager, told us the restaurant had just closed. "We're already in," I said. "We have a table. I was just looking for the bathroom and ended up in the hotel. These guys just went to get some cameras so we can take pictures with the rest of our party, who are still inside."

"I don't care," sez the cop in his Chicago cock accent, like you're trying to talk with your throat as open as possible. "We're closed."

We explained again, politely, the circumstances, but he was adamant and unreasonable. "You know what?" (our) Bob said, "You're rude."

"Rude? He's an asshole," my brother and I jinxed each other. 

"Just let me my bill then, so I can pay and get out of here," Bob said.

"Fuck him. Don't pay. Let's just bail."

"I'll go get everybody." 

"You're not going in there." He stood in front of me.

I pushed past him; I was energized by whiskey and how wrong he was.

"I'll have you arrested," he said.

"Kiss my ass," I told him.

At the booth, I told Bob's girl what was going on.

When I came back out, I heard the cop saying to Bob, "I know who you are."

It became clear to me then that the guy was a White Sox fan among whom Feck was notorious for his role in brawl in which he incited the fans through his taunting to shower him with beer in the bullpen.

Whatever. A limo arrived and we all piled in, having a smoke on the way to the Excalibur. We put the Lakers on the TV in the limo. When we got to the club, we got the VIP treatment at the velvet rope. "Oh, you're with the Tigers," the doorman asked as I went in with the rest. "What position do you play?"
"Third base," I didn't exactly lie. 

My brother had Xtasy for the Tigers and Mitch, but decided I was the odd man out. Mitch dropped his and spent the rest of the night looking down like he might see it under the flashing-colored lights on the dance floor. We mingled a bit. I didn't dance. I joked with Mitch about what a swinging stud I would be if I wasn't married, so why was he standing around like a dweeb? Pool tables and arcade games filled a floor downstairs. A bouncer at another velvet rope stood sentinel before the upstairs. As I stood there, the doorman from the outside came by and said to the bouncer, "This guy's one of the Tigers."