Jan. 3, 1989: Baumer wins a couple hundred on nothing at all
Getting back to work day after New Year’s is tough enough without Baumer coming around talking about couple hundred bucks he won playing some kind of goofy bowl-game football thing with a big advertiser and some of his buddies. Nobody minds that Baumer won money off these guys, since they can afford it first and second, better that a local jerk like Baumer wins it than a jerk from out-of-town which is most guys that advertise and like Baumer enough to include him in their private little football game. But it’s just the way things are that Baumer’s the guy wins these jackpots and not anyone else around the company. Anyone else would be better than Baumer but it’s always Baumer. One of those things confirms there’s an unseen hand guiding things, but the hand don’t always have a brain attached.
Doesn’t take long, maybe five minutes after the coffee, for Baumer to establish with the sports department that he hit the jackpot. “Way it works,” he says, with the air of someone who just won four hundred easy money, “is that you put in your fifty bucks – assuming you guys could scrape together that much -- and for that fifty bucks you get a bowl game and a team. Can’t choose the bowl game, can’t choose the team. Done for you, drawn out of a hat. Then there’s a scale of what players on your team do for you in that game and what the game is and everything that determines how many points you score. Team with the highest scores after the New Year’s Day bowl games wins the pot. And guys, start spreading the news, I am the pot winner.”
“Never would have guessed,” Mort says from behind his terminal.
“What bowl did it for you?” Homer says, acting interested the way he does with everything, lunch to grass to spots on his shirt.
“Independence Bowl, guys. Southern Mississippi over UTEP. James Henry – two punt returns for touchdowns.”
“Independence Bowl?” Whitey says, and you know this isn’t going to be good. “Southern Mississippi? UTEP? Punt returns? And this is a bowl game? How lame can you get? Geez, Baumer, if you’re gonna win money in one of these stupid pools, wouldcha at least earn it? You won couple hundred bucks on nothing, absolutely nothing at all – not only nothing you had control over, but nothing that meant anything. The flukiest way of scoring touchdowns in the worst bowl game of the year won you four hundred bucks – and you’re over here bragging about it? If I had Nebraska or Michigan I’d be wanting your scalp right about now. Go shake down your guys for the money and brag about it to them – see what they say. Bet they’ll just rush over to shake your hand, too.”
Whitey could probably take Baumer and Baumer knows it, so he kind of does a half-high-and-mighty strut back to his end of the building, and Whitey shuffles back to his terminal along the back wall way he always does.
“What’s the matter, Whitey?” O’Strowsky says. “You have the Peach Bowl?”
“You’re as bad as he is,” Whitey snaps back, hammers the keys of his terminal and grunts, “Independence Bowl. Southern Mississippi,” like we didn’t get it the first time.
Getting back to work day after New Year’s is tough enough without Baumer coming around talking about couple hundred bucks he won playing some kind of goofy bowl-game football thing with a big advertiser and some of his buddies. Nobody minds that Baumer won money off these guys, since they can afford it first and second, better that a local jerk like Baumer wins it than a jerk from out-of-town which is most guys that advertise and like Baumer enough to include him in their private little football game. But it’s just the way things are that Baumer’s the guy wins these jackpots and not anyone else around the company. Anyone else would be better than Baumer but it’s always Baumer. One of those things confirms there’s an unseen hand guiding things, but the hand don’t always have a brain attached.
Doesn’t take long, maybe five minutes after the coffee, for Baumer to establish with the sports department that he hit the jackpot. “Way it works,” he says, with the air of someone who just won four hundred easy money, “is that you put in your fifty bucks – assuming you guys could scrape together that much -- and for that fifty bucks you get a bowl game and a team. Can’t choose the bowl game, can’t choose the team. Done for you, drawn out of a hat. Then there’s a scale of what players on your team do for you in that game and what the game is and everything that determines how many points you score. Team with the highest scores after the New Year’s Day bowl games wins the pot. And guys, start spreading the news, I am the pot winner.”
“Never would have guessed,” Mort says from behind his terminal.
“What bowl did it for you?” Homer says, acting interested the way he does with everything, lunch to grass to spots on his shirt.
“Independence Bowl, guys. Southern Mississippi over UTEP. James Henry – two punt returns for touchdowns.”
“Independence Bowl?” Whitey says, and you know this isn’t going to be good. “Southern Mississippi? UTEP? Punt returns? And this is a bowl game? How lame can you get? Geez, Baumer, if you’re gonna win money in one of these stupid pools, wouldcha at least earn it? You won couple hundred bucks on nothing, absolutely nothing at all – not only nothing you had control over, but nothing that meant anything. The flukiest way of scoring touchdowns in the worst bowl game of the year won you four hundred bucks – and you’re over here bragging about it? If I had Nebraska or Michigan I’d be wanting your scalp right about now. Go shake down your guys for the money and brag about it to them – see what they say. Bet they’ll just rush over to shake your hand, too.”
Whitey could probably take Baumer and Baumer knows it, so he kind of does a half-high-and-mighty strut back to his end of the building, and Whitey shuffles back to his terminal along the back wall way he always does.
“What’s the matter, Whitey?” O’Strowsky says. “You have the Peach Bowl?”
“You’re as bad as he is,” Whitey snaps back, hammers the keys of his terminal and grunts, “Independence Bowl. Southern Mississippi,” like we didn’t get it the first time.
posted by Kit Kiefer | 7:56 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home