In the morn­ing, Grayson treat­ed Mani­ac to break­fast in the base­ball-equip­ment room, shar­ing an Egg McMuf­fin and orange juice. Mani­ac play­ful­ly remind­ed Grayson that he had gone to bed with­out a sto­ry the pre­vi­ous night. Grayson dis­missed the idea, stat­ing he had no sto­ries, but when Mani­ac pressed, he revealed his past as a pitch­er in the Minor Leagues, a fact that res­onat­ed with pride. This under­stand­ing of Grayson’s past unveiled a dif­fer­ent side to the old man, one filled with unspo­ken dreams and hid­den tal­ents. When Mani­ac asked for Grayson’s first name, the old man respond­ed with reluc­tance, say­ing it was Earl, but insist­ed on being called Grayson.

When Grayson returned at noon, he brought zeps and sodas, hav­ing promised to share a sto­ry about his Minor League days. He recount­ed his rook­ie expe­ri­ence with the Blue­field Bul­lets in West Vir­ginia, which was “Class D,” the low­est lev­el in the Minor League sys­tem. Grayson described hitch­ing a ride and arriv­ing in Blue­field, only to be the vic­tim of a prac­ti­cal joke when a gas sta­tion atten­dant told him his first meal would be free at the Blue Star restau­rant for new play­ers. Instead, Grayson found him­self doing dish­es for a hefty meal he had not paid for, miss­ing his first game as a result.

Moti­vat­ed by this humor­ous tale, Mani­ac decid­ed to accom­pa­ny Grayson to work, help­ing him with tasks around the park, where Grayson intro­duced him as his vis­it­ing nephew. As they worked togeth­er, they forged a bond over sto­ries about Grayson’s exten­sive Minor League career, filled with grit­ty realities—sleazy hotels, bus­es, and stadiums—interspersed with dreams of play­ing in the Majors and sin­cere mem­o­ries of base­ball.

Grayson spun tales of var­i­ous teams and leagues, shar­ing moments that ranged from the joy­ous to the heart­break­ing, includ­ing his almost fate­ful chance with the Tole­do Mud Hens. He prayed for a good per­for­mance, but it end­ed poor­ly, lead­ing to his sub­se­quent descent in the base­ball world. Despite hang­ing on for thir­teen more years, he ulti­mate­ly found him­self out of base­ball and life, reduced to shar­ing mem­o­ries with a home­less boy—Maniac. Grayson’s nar­ra­tives were a rich tapes­try of dreams long fad­ed, reveal­ing a life­time of pas­sion for the game that had ulti­mate­ly left him adrift.