**OnlineHost** Welcome to Mansion of Heaven Chat!

TheBird: /reads ticket

Concourse T, section 9...

TheBird: It's all concrete.

TheBird: /attempts to manicure ground with cleats

TheBird: ...

It's all concrete.

**OnlineHost** Nick Adenhart has entered the chatroom.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Of course it's all concrete. It's Heaven. They built Heaven out of some pretty strong stuff.

TheBird: I guess I'm just used to dirt. I like to pound the heel of my cleat into it, you know? It's kind of a religious experience.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: So you had a religious experience on Earth?

TheBird: Yeah.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: ha, whatever you say

/presses elevator button

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Listen, I know this is a strange experience. You were dumped into the Deceased Pitchers terminal of Heaven. I'll get you to the Tigers Concourse, and you'll be on your way.

TheBird: Thanks.

**OnlineHost** The elevator arrives.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: After you.

TheBird: Angels can fly, right? Why would you use an elevator?

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Two parts symbolism, one part narrative. Get in.

TheBird: All right, then.

**OnlineHost** The two pitchers stare idly at the elevator's control console.

TheBird: ...

PacemakerIsAdenhart: ...

TheBird: Mind if I ask you a question?

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Sure.

TheBird: How long have you been up here?

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Five days, ten hours, eight minutes.

TheBird: What's it like, being an Angel?

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Well, see, our circumstances are a little different than those of the common soul.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Regular folk start on Earth, and then they go to Heaven or Hell.

Angels begin life in Southern California. We're surrounded by 35,000 people who beat these obnoxious plastic balloons that they call Thunder Stix. That's our Hell. Then we become free agents, or get traded, or die. That's our salvation.

TheBird: That sounds terrible.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: It is.

TheBird: ...

PacemakerIsAdenhart: ...

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Now it's my turn to ask.

How'd you go out?

TheBird: I'm not exactly sure. I was working on my dump truck, and next thing I know I'm sitting on a bench, waiting for someone to call my name.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: I remember you. You were on that Sports Illustrated character with Big Bird.

That was before I was born.

TheBird: Yeah, well, my career ended before you were born. I wouldn't expect you to remember anything else about me.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Guess not.

**OnlineHost** The elevator stops.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Maybe if I were given a little more time, I could have been you. I could have been on the index page of ESPN.com, rearing up to throw, and Spongebob Squarepants could have been behind me, mimicking my throw, and I

**OnlineHost** The elevator doors open.

TheBird: Thanks for showing me up here.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: You're welcome!

TheBird: I'm sure I'll see you around.

PacemakerIsAdenhart: Yeah, AL Central meets for drinks once a week, but I'm in the West, so I guess I'll see you once a month for poker night.

TheBird: It's a deal.

/steps off elevator

TheBird: /walks to room

hmm

TheBird: /fishes baseball out of pocket

What do you think?

Why are you asking me?

TheBird: Because I've always asked you.

I'm flattered. I'm two patches of cow hide, stitched together to form a sphere. I'm grotesque.

TheBird: Oh, don't say that.

It's true! Why would something as organic as a cow be ripped apart to form a sphere? Surely there are less bizarre ways to manufacture a ball.

TheBird: We went over this. Back in 1976. You remember?

...yeah.

TheBird: Right. And we decided that...

TheBird: ...come on....

...you're the boss, because you're throwing me.

TheBird: Right.

And now I'm asking you for advice.

I only knew Nick Adenhart briefly. He was a nice guy.

TheBird: And?

And he was young. Like you were.

TheBird: Hmm.

Thanks.

TheBird: /presses stop button on elevator

TheBird: Nick!

PacemakerIsAdenhart: ...yeah?