Tickets and deer . . .


I hadn't seen Dogboy for quite a while, but I knew he'd turn up eventually, and with deer hunting season on tap I wasn't surprised to find him at the local watering hole the other night, mooching beer and rooting, more or less, for the Yankees.

"Just the guy I wanted to see," he said, coming over to my side of the bar about a half hour before the game. "Can I get you a beer?"

"Sure."

"OK, give me some money."

A Guinness and a half later, Dogboy came up with a proposition -- a pair of Yankee tickets for my hunting license.

"What are you going to do with my license?" I asked.

"Take your deer. You ain't gonna get one anyway."

"I might."

"You never have the time. Or the patience. And your aim ain't what it used to be. Besides, if you really wanted a deer, you'd shoot one of the ones that run through your backyard."

"You still need a license."

"Oh excuse me, I didn't realize I was talking to a law abiding citizen."

"I obey plenty of laws."

"Let's cut the bull and get to the chaser," said Dogboy, showing off his deft turn of phrase. "I'll swap you two tickets to Game Six for your license."

Before I could say anything else, a guy at the end of the bar cleared his throat real loud.

"You're talking about swapping a hunting license for tickets to a ball game?" he said.

"Who's asking?" said Dogboy.

The man pulled out his wallet and flashed what looked like a badge.

I know what you're expecting -- what I was expecting. Dogboy, and maybe your truly, were about to miss a ballgame.

Heh.

"You're a cop?" asked Dogboy. He sounded skeptical, mostly because he knows all the cops within a fifty mile radius.

"Nope."

"Conservation officer?" asked Dog.

"Might be," said the guy. "And a Yankee fan."

They went out for a smoke. Dog came back around the fourth inning, by which time the Yanks were pretty much out of it.

"You still on for that deal?" I asked.

"Too late," said Dog.

"I hate to tell you this, Dog," said the bartender. "But that guy ain't no DEC conservation officer. He's a plumber. I hope you didn't give him your tickets."

"I did," said Dogboy. He smiled. "But I got plenty more tickets where those came from."

"You related to one of the Steinbrenners?" asked the bartender. "Or are the tickets fake?"

"Neither. I just collected a whole bunch of them last year."

"The Yankees didn't make the playoffs last year, let alone the Series."

"Then the tickets must still be good, right?" said Dogboy. He slipped a twenty onto the bar. "Give me a beer. And another Guinny for my law-abiding citizen friend."

"You're paying?" I said in disbelief. "Since when?"

"Since you can get twenty-five bucks for a parking pass," said Dogboy, lifting his glass. "Last year's prices. A true bargain."