11 – The Rich Are Different

RUBBERY SHRUBBERY Post 11

The Rubbery Shrubbery (RS) blog, below, will tell you how the Oregon coastal haven of Yachats (YAH-hots) and its inhabitants—called Yachatians (yah-HAY-shuns) or Yahotties (yah-HOT-tees)—work to persuade a Major League Baseball team to move to Yachats and become the Smelt. To learn about Yachats, please go to this page or go to GoYachats.

Big Forbes Crossbowe is our blogger today. He will report on an exciting new near development in the Smelt world.

The Rich Are Different
by Big Forbes Crossbowe

If you are like most Americans and haven’t read a newspaper or magazine for ages, you aren’t aware of the groundswell of interest growing across this great land. And much of it is directed towards the Yachats Smelt baseball team. I mean, the news media just can’t get enough of the Smelt story.

Thus, it was inevitable that we on the Smelt board would start getting phone calls and Western Union telegrams from people in Nigeria and elsewhere anxious to learn more about the Smelt phenomenon.

Just the other day I was sitting at my mahogany desk in the Smelt office suite overlooking the Yachats skyline, studying my nails, when what to my wondering eyes should appear at the doorway but a sturdily proportioned gentleman, sulfur-flavored cigar in teeth, bedecked in a $3,500 suit, and trailed by a fleet of valets. I knew in a moment it must be Ebenezer Buckingham, rich-yet-empathetic billionaire from Houston, Palm Springs, and Greenwich, CT.

Little did I expect to get a visit from Mr. Buckingham. Taken aback, I leaped to my feet, spilling my nails. But Mr. Buckingham was hardly through the door before he got right down to business. “I’m going to buy this Smelt team of yours, son. How much do you want for it? I assume you’ll take a check.”

I was stunned and speechless. So I bought time by blowing my nose.

Consequently, Mr. Buckingham explained his situation. “You see, my doctor said I need more exercise. A lot more. He suggested I get involved in sports. So I decided to become a sportsman—I reckon that should do the trick. Maybe an award-winning sportsman. I can see myself putting a big ‘Sportsman of the Year’ trophy right next to the St. Bernard on the mantelpiece at my Alpine chalet.”

He paused a moment to envision his shiny new prize. I couldn’t help but admire it, too.

Mr. Buckingham shook himself out of his reverie and continued. “Well, the quickest way to be a sportsman is to buy a sports team, I figure. But there aren’t a lot of them available right now. I had a platoon of servants scouring the ads in magazines like Town and Empire, but they had no luck. Then one of my valets—I’ve forgotten which one—told me he saw on the news that you have a new team here in Yachats. Sounds like what I’m looking for.”

Of course, I said nothing but blew my nose again.

And Mr. Buckingham replied, “Nasty cold you have there, son. Either that or you’re worried about my credit rating, right? Well, shucks, I have fortunes stashed away in all of Europe and most of Greenland. Why, with what I have in Austria I could buy Hungary. I even have fortunes stashed away here in the states.”

Quick as a wink I realized what was going on. “Now look here, Mr. Buckingham, you might think you can have your way with us by just waving a lot of fortunes under our noses, but I’ll have you know we didn’t start this team with the idea of making money. Yachats wants a baseball team just for the fun of it.”

Now it was Mr. Buckingham’s turn to be taken aback. “Umm. Baseball just for the fun of it,” he mused. “Never thought of baseball as being played for fun. Where’s the testosterone in that?”

I consolidated. “Well, people play it just for fun and people watch it just for fun. With everyone enjoying it, there isn’t a need for fortunes or hormones.”

Mr. Buckingham handed his checkbooks back to his valet (I don’t know which one) and shook his head. “I guess I’ll have to look for something else to buy—say a stable of racehorses. Or better yet a polo team in Del Mar or Palm Beach where they appreciate fortunes waved under their noses.”

As Mr. Buckingham and party streamed out the door, I tried to be helpful by suggesting, “You might try rugby!”

But in the several nights since this event my dreams have been agitated. Visions of fortunes pluck at my brain strings. I fear I will be haunted forever. Curse you, Mr. Buckingham!

[Legal disclaimer: No billionaires were harmed during the making of this blog.]

Next time: The smelt is a majestic and magnificent creature, so we’ll consider whether the Yachats baseball team can possibly live up to its nickname.

NOTE: Please go to “Leave a Reply” at the bottom of this page to communicate with the shy nerds in deep denial who write this blog. We’ll publish selected comments on the day the Yachats Smelt win the World Series. If you see your comment published before then, you’ll know you wrote an exceptionally good comment.

NOTE AGAIN: Eric Sallee and Dave Baldwin are not shy, nerdish, or in denial. Therefore, they don’t write the Rubbery Shrubbery blog. QED