There was everything to say, and nothing. Both tried to be jovial. Easier for Gavin, of course, before whom lay not just the rest of all our world, but the ever-rolling vastness of space. They chatted, sipped beer, gazed around. Scott, the genial pedant, had purchased two scorecards, one of them used to teach Gavin the sport’s rudiments. “And here. A blank one. Take it with you, and tune us in. You can jot a down-to-earth record in the heavens.” Above, below, all around their box, shimmered a veritable sea of Cardinal red, patched here and there with pockets of Cub-blue, colors that reflected a century’s loving rivalry. Scott’s sad mind could still spew metaphors: azure flecks in an incarnadine sea; a Monet cathedral at mid-morning.
Gavin, with his usual novice’s vital eagerness, would in
