A Plea To Righteous Nick

Dear Nick Bray [Concessions Manager; Pro Sports Catering]:

Congratulations on your company, Pro Sports Catering, signing with the Fayetteville Woodpeckers. I have been around the minor leagues for a very long time and have recently had the pleasure of corresponding with one of their executives over the past few weeks, so if they are satisfied with with you working with them, you must be a solid dude — righteous even.

I was hoping you could help me out with a problem, even though it is probably outside your your job responsibility. Allow me to explain the situation, and perhaps you can direct me in the correct direction if you cannot solve this problem on your own. I would go straight to the source, but your company’s website leaves a bit to be desired in terms of finding proper ways to communicate — surely not your fault.

Last November, I attended an Arizona Fall League night game in Peoria, which is a stadium your company services. The beer line was was enormously long, and it took over two innings to be served. Yes, beer line as in singular because there was only one beer line in the entire stadium to service the 1,841 in attendance. There also was only one employee manning this line, a poor, overworked and overwhelmed female who was never going to be confused as a teenager again. Nick, I am sure you would agree that is some serious horseshit — one employee to serve thousands of customers on a blustery night. I am confident that would never happen on your watch.

There was something amiss with our order. There was a large group of us from all over the country that barely fit into our rented standard elite SUV. These guys are baseball fan royalty. Somebody changed their order or something, and she almost lost her mind. Well, I thought she did. My buddies Harold and JoeD said she didn’t, but I am pretty sure she did, and I deftly talked her down from the edge with my soothing voice and trusting eyes.

She was dealing with money and pouring beers both, which was very hard to do and slowing things down. Either her assistant wasn’t helping properly, or didn’t exist; we can’t remember that part. She was fine and dealt with that pretty well. It seemed like a situation where an overworked person with 100 angry people waiting for beer would lose their mind, but she actually handled it rather spectacularly.

You know why Nick? Because I was there to get her her through it because that is what I do.  I mean, it was kind of a mess there. Confusion abounded. There were extra beers, I believeI also remember her hands were freezing because she had to keep fishing beer out of the cooler. That had to have been an OSHA violation.. She either gave us the wrong beer order, or someone changed their order (or both), and she was going to have to put her hands back in that cooler, and no one was changing their order to accommodate her, so I said, “Let’s buy them all!” I then looked directly in her eyes, and she realized everything was going to be just fine. My buddy Lee and I got stuck with some sort of pig swill, but we made sacrifices for the GREATER GOOD. Or maybe Lee’s Uber hadn’t arrived yet, and I was walking around with two shit beers while those obnoxious Canadians there to see Vlad Guerrero Jr. were ranting like damn fools. Oh, something similar happened the previous year, so this is not a one game anomaly. Somebody is cutting labor at the expense of the fans and the employees. 

Anyway, Nick, I demand recompense from your company — not you because I am aware that this had nothing to do with you. I don’t really want anything for me because baseball has made me spiritually wealthy over the years. I want something for this poor, overworked employee. I suggest your company pay her children’s college tuition. You guys are expanding and can afford it — you even run Rancho Cucamonga’s stadium these days (I have great stories about that place that maybe I will share later). Alas, she was probably just a temporary employee who quit that cold night, so your company probably won’t be able to find that frostbitten poor thing to help her out (she might have even died in a shelter that night), so let me suggest something to make this all square.

There is a bar in left field in Peoria. Last spring, for the first time ever, my Cactus League crew was denied access because we were not part of some private party associated with a local law firm. My buddy Law Dawg even made calls to the law firm to gain entrance. The ambulance chaser on the line even assured Law Dawg that we would get access. It never happened, and we heard why. I propose that your company rectify their grievous error by assuring my crew has lifetime passes to that bar. We will certainly make that bar so, so much money because our baseball pilgrimages involve vast amounts of alcohol consumption. I understand that you probably just cannot snap your fingers and make this happen. If you could direct me in the proper direction though, I would greatly appreciate this.

Your friend in baseball,


PS: Have the Woodpeckers shared their soon to be adopted slogan with you yet?

Fear the Wood!

Respect The Pecker!

I gave them that idea.

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