Beagle League Confidential Episode 32 - Finale
September 29, 2003
Written by Dan Bogey

(Read the Previous Beagle League Confidential Episodes here)

I had to admit that the accommodations afforded by the Merryview Mental Hospital were not that bad, at least after the initial orientation. I can understand the security needs for the cavity search and the pre-admission enforced shower, however roughly administered, finally rid me of the lingering stink of Mr. Po' Boy that had clung to me for several months. The plastic shoes were uncomfortable and not very stylish, but yesterday I got my own clothes back, freshly laundered, if a bit more antiseptic smelling than springtime fresh.

Control of the dayroom TV was occasionally contentious, with a curious fascination for workout shows. Fit young women in skimpy exercise outfits bouncing around did have its undeniable appeal, but it dominated the TV until shortly after the meds were administered, at which point I could usually wrangle the remote and watch Sports Center, or even part of a game. I missed my online Beagle League fixes, but since we were down to just three teams and I had developed an encyclopedic knowledge of the roster of each contending team, I maintained a general idea of where things stood.

This was born out when Sweet Lorraine came to visit and brought a present she had liberated from Biggie-last week's standings. At first she had sheepishly tried to tell me that things were not what they had seemed at the funeral home, but her innate honesty got the better of her and she soon tearfully told me how her insecurity at my inattention over the last few months had made her easy prey for Biggie's persistent overtures. She was deeply penitent about her kinky tryst on the embalming table and swore it would never happen again. She also pledged to take a more serious interest in my fantasy baseball activities and as proof offered the standings sheet. After all this time it seemed I finally had Sweetie just where I wanted her.

A sense of Zen-like calm had descended upon me after Sweet Lorraine's visit, helped along by the calming rhythms of the hospital routine and a steady supply of powerful drugs. All I had to do was bide my time for the remainder of the observation period, coincidentally the day after the season ended, and those in charge would realize that I was merely a victim of circumstances beyond my control. Sweet Lorraine had convinced Biggie to drop the assault charges, despite the nine stitches in his head, so I faced no legal ramifications.

I kept up with baseball as best I could in the season's waning days, but could get no definite sense that any one of the three top teams had made a significant move in one direction or another. It looked as if it were going to be minute changes in teams lower in the standings that would determine the champion.

The Monday after the season I was surprised to see Bill Durks enter the dayroom. He handed me an envelope he had received from Sweet Lorraine. My immediate thought was Sweet Lorraine had changed her mind and I frantically scanned the return address on the envelope for a divorce lawyer's address, but it was the O'Hara Funeral Home. I opened it to behold the final standings. To my amazement, I was in first place, by half a point, and my winnings were close to $2,000. All those move fees evidently add up. It was enough to pay for the air conditioner Sweet Lorraine bought from the rent-to-own place, enough to fumigate my car, and even enough to get a new job-hunting wardrobe that didn't stink of decomposing Chihuahua. I was in a buoyant mood for my exit meeting with the review committee of the Merryview Mental Hospital.

The panel of three doctors seemed friendly enough and acknowledged that my problems stemmed from the stress involved in losing my job and a floundering marriage. They concluded that I was no immediate threat to others or myself. Then the head headdoc wrinkled up his kindly eyebrows and spoke.

"We are, however, very concerned about the classic paranoid projection of the causes of your troubles on to this 'Biggie.' And the notion that you are the owner of a baseball team is a textbook case of delusions of grandeur. Therefore, we're recommending that you take some time to work out these issues here at Merryview."

I may have been a bit more animated in my explanation of my recently established tranquility than was prudent given my situation and my attempts to relay my newfound serenity probably lost a little something when I charged the table, a fact I realized only as I felt the by now familiar butt prick being administered somewhere to my rear. I came to in a new room, one locked from the outside.

I don't know how much time had passed, but Durks eventually came by and talked to me through a slot in the door, assuring me it would most likely only be a week or two. He also mentioned another patient who was being released this week and said, if I were interested, there was a spot open in his fantasy football league.

Later