Beer, bread, Baseball

After a road warrior sales career criss-crossing the plains, red-eyed on beaten blue highways, I have finally reduced myself to the B Trinity: Beer, bread and baseball.

The kids are grown, reasonably educated and chasing their brood. The dog is dead and my ex-wife is now sucking the soul from new Mr Me, poor bastard. So I navigate the major league routes discovering more than just diners n dives.

It’s spring in the midwest, pitchers and catchers are warmed up and the mowers are heading for the outfield. In a few days, we head for opening day on the Ohio River in Cincinnati where the Reds will strive for a touch more than mediocrity.

On the way and throughout the year, with assorted ne’er-do-wells, I’ll pop in and out of the best bakeries, bars, and ballparks in the country—unannounced, but in loud fashion, chatting with a cadre of characters who might otherwise have gone unnoticed.

Eyes and ears open Bohemians! The season of malcontent begins.