Gyro, Graveyards, and a Fire Sale?
Posted: Fri Jul 12, 2019 1:03 am
Canton; Papa Gyros off of Cleveland Ave..
“Sir.. why did you ask me to come here?”
Mr. Czosnyka sits tucked into a booth at Papa Gyros, a half eaten sampler platter in front of him and tzatziki sauce on his chin, head cocked and staring blankly at Jules.
“What? You don’t eat? You don’t like food? Sit down! Order yourself a Gyro or a Falafel.. you really need to lighten up Jules.”
“Didn’t you tell me recently how dire our situation was and how much we needed to succeed to avoid being thrown back onto the streets selling plastic banana peels?”
“What in heavens are you blathering on about? What makes you think we are in trouble? Next year we clear more than $50 million in salaries.. We are sitting pretty my boy! The world is our oyster!” Pieces of pita bread and gyro meat carelessly flying through the air as the GM pays no attention to what is in his hands or mouth.
“But.. what about this year? We were trying to continue the great progress the team has been making over the past 3-4 seasons, correct? Continue our march upwards? What about the trades you told me to seek?” Jules continues to grow more flustered by the minute.
“Winnie the Pooh, Marvin the Martian, and the Florist are all nice little pieces to fill the bench and keep us moving along, but they won’t win us a championship.. Neither will Honmama or the Mart. You really have a thing or two to learn about baseball my boy.. follow me, I will explain it all to you.”
Jules follows his GM out of the restaurant and around a quick corner. Before he knows it, he is being led straight into a cemetery..
“Can you smell it Jules? Do you recognize the scent? No.. stop being dense. I’m not talking about the smell of the fresh cut grass! The dead my boy! The decay! The dirt! That is our Longshoremen! That is our destiny! 22 years.. 22 years and this Podunk town has not been better than 3rd place. We’ve never managed to make it to the playoffs, and we don’t have the talent to get much further than 6 games over .500? That is not success. We need to have sustained success! We need to grow some… stop it. I said stop it! What are you a child? I’m not talking about weeds damnit! Stop picking at them! I am talking about talent!”
“Sorry sir, I really can’t stand graveyards. They give me the creeps. I’m trying to distract myself.”
“Listen to me.. stop dropping yourself to Marsten’s level. That bumbling old man doesn’t know the first thing about putting a team together. No, we aren’t going to magically catapult into the playoffs this year. We need to take advantage of all of this money! We need to build for the future! A future without banana peels!”
“I don’t follow sir..”
An evil grin spreads from ear to ear on the GM’s face. “A sale my boy, a liquidation. A culling of our so called talent. Yes, yes.. I know people losing their jobs makes you uncomfortable, but it has to be done. I need you to get back on the phone lines, get me some more meetings! We can’t wait, we must begin at once!”
Jules just stares as Mr. Czosnyka cackles like a mad man, then chokes on a piece of gyro that found it’s way from his chin and into his mouth. A few stumbles and a quick slap to his stomach, and the GM is back to happily cackling like he came up with an original plan.. it looks like more ‘wheeling and dealing’ as Mr. Czosnyka would say.
“Sir.. why did you ask me to come here?”
Mr. Czosnyka sits tucked into a booth at Papa Gyros, a half eaten sampler platter in front of him and tzatziki sauce on his chin, head cocked and staring blankly at Jules.
“What? You don’t eat? You don’t like food? Sit down! Order yourself a Gyro or a Falafel.. you really need to lighten up Jules.”
“Didn’t you tell me recently how dire our situation was and how much we needed to succeed to avoid being thrown back onto the streets selling plastic banana peels?”
“What in heavens are you blathering on about? What makes you think we are in trouble? Next year we clear more than $50 million in salaries.. We are sitting pretty my boy! The world is our oyster!” Pieces of pita bread and gyro meat carelessly flying through the air as the GM pays no attention to what is in his hands or mouth.
“But.. what about this year? We were trying to continue the great progress the team has been making over the past 3-4 seasons, correct? Continue our march upwards? What about the trades you told me to seek?” Jules continues to grow more flustered by the minute.
“Winnie the Pooh, Marvin the Martian, and the Florist are all nice little pieces to fill the bench and keep us moving along, but they won’t win us a championship.. Neither will Honmama or the Mart. You really have a thing or two to learn about baseball my boy.. follow me, I will explain it all to you.”
Jules follows his GM out of the restaurant and around a quick corner. Before he knows it, he is being led straight into a cemetery..
“Can you smell it Jules? Do you recognize the scent? No.. stop being dense. I’m not talking about the smell of the fresh cut grass! The dead my boy! The decay! The dirt! That is our Longshoremen! That is our destiny! 22 years.. 22 years and this Podunk town has not been better than 3rd place. We’ve never managed to make it to the playoffs, and we don’t have the talent to get much further than 6 games over .500? That is not success. We need to have sustained success! We need to grow some… stop it. I said stop it! What are you a child? I’m not talking about weeds damnit! Stop picking at them! I am talking about talent!”
“Sorry sir, I really can’t stand graveyards. They give me the creeps. I’m trying to distract myself.”
“Listen to me.. stop dropping yourself to Marsten’s level. That bumbling old man doesn’t know the first thing about putting a team together. No, we aren’t going to magically catapult into the playoffs this year. We need to take advantage of all of this money! We need to build for the future! A future without banana peels!”
“I don’t follow sir..”
An evil grin spreads from ear to ear on the GM’s face. “A sale my boy, a liquidation. A culling of our so called talent. Yes, yes.. I know people losing their jobs makes you uncomfortable, but it has to be done. I need you to get back on the phone lines, get me some more meetings! We can’t wait, we must begin at once!”
Jules just stares as Mr. Czosnyka cackles like a mad man, then chokes on a piece of gyro that found it’s way from his chin and into his mouth. A few stumbles and a quick slap to his stomach, and the GM is back to happily cackling like he came up with an original plan.. it looks like more ‘wheeling and dealing’ as Mr. Czosnyka would say.