The first thing I saw back in my office was the Signing video. "Too late for that," I said. I couldn't recollect any of the spirit's sign language gestures.

My head was swimming with events to come. Albert Blaze in Chicago. The casino. I started a things-to-do list. Exactly what any self-respecting greedy owner would do: taking advantage of inside information.

It kept me busy.

The game that night bored me silly. We fell behind early, and I kept my mouth shut. The other guys were sweating bullets over every pitch, but I wasn't interested. I knew we were going to win, and it didn't matter to me how we did it. I was thinking ahead to what I'd have them do.

Pete would have to help me devise a plan to twist some arms at City Hall. The casino impact study— that would be Goldie's top priority.

Forecasting is at the heart of capitalist enterprise. The person at the top— me— asks if we're going to make our goals, and the people beneath me give readings and measurements and predictions: attendance is x, expenses are y, and revenues are z, and if we project these trends, we'll wind up with this many $$$$$.

It's a process of counting your money beforehand, and I've always been good at it. Mainly because I hire the best people available, guys like Pete and Goldie. I looked forward to the casino battle because I knew that Goldenberg would take everything into account: If this occurs, or if that occurs our numbers will look like this, will look like that. If the casino is built in Central City we can project a decrease in attendance resulting in a total loss of revenue as follows: $___________.

He would build a most convincing case.

We tied it in the fifth, went ahead for good in the sixth, then brought home a 5-2 victory, the lead protected by our bruised and battered bullpen, who fought back two late-inning Atlanta challenges.

"I think we can take these guys," said Pete.

"We turned it around tonight," said Goldie.

"You better believe it," said Mike. He gave me a thumbs-up sign. "Our psychics. Are better. Than their psychics."

He looked to me to add something appropriate, but my mind was on the politicians, their casino plans, our response.

Poor Mike. This was stuff that was beyond him. He may understand how to make the fans yell Trust me but he has no idea how to play hardball with the likes of Twiggs and Grevey.

The next morning in my office, I gave in to impulse and telephoned Deborah to thank her for the signing video. I apologized for my tardiness, admitted that I hadn't watched it yet. "But I still intend to," I said. "It will be a good off-season project for me."

She congratulated me on our victory, and said the Champs had made Jordan the happiest boy in Dempseys Grove. "He's been saying all along that we'll win, and those games in Atlanta really shook his confidence."

"I'm glad for him," I said. "He's a good fan."

"The best," said my daughter-in-law. "He gets so angry at those TV announcers who write us off."

"So do I," I said.

"Every time they say we don't have a chance, he talks back to them, tells them we're going to win."

Kind of like his grandpa. "He talks back to the TV?"

"No matter how bleak it is, he insists that we'll win."

"And I appreciate it," I said. "And I want him there when we win it."

"You do?" she asked. "But that would be in Atlanta."

She started to protest, and I said "I want all of you there," I said. "You and the girls too. The final game of a World Series is special. Unique."

"If your team wins," she said.

"When we win," I said. "Not if."

Then I did a funny thing. I started to watch the signing video, right there in my office, while I was still on the phone with Deborah.

I was pumped up about bringing her and the kids to Atlanta. I had a feeling she didn't like this Uncle John business any more than I did.

She said she'd have to think about Atlanta, talk it over with Mike.

Fair enough. By the time Mike called me from Box Office, I was ten minutes into the video without having absorbed a single fact about American Sign Language. He said Deborah had called him. "What's the deal?" he asked. "You know I can't afford to take my family down to Atlanta."

"It's nothing," I said. "Peanuts. The Big Infant's salary was $30,000 a day." I paused the video even though I wasn't paying attention to it. "Money we're no longer paying."

"The club's taking care of it?" he asked.

A TV image of the right thumb touching the temple. "A reward," I said. "For your project work. For Renee."

Mike said he'd have to think about it. Talk it over with Deborah.

That's what married people do. They say they've got to talk it over with their spouse. Right hand in a fist, thumb to temple. Must be an important vocabulary word.

Mike said they were really busy in Box Office and he'd let me know, and I unpaused the video, thinking Well I ain't gonna beg you and feeling such an emotional surge that I did not learn what the sign meant.

A quick change of subject, and I said that if there was any way he and Millie could come up with a few tickets for our neighbors I'd appreciate it.

"Our neighbors?" he asked. The signing video played on.

"The Pastor," I said. "James Candle. It might be nice if we sent a dozen tickets over to him for tonight's game. Or tomorrow's."

"I'll run the idea past Millie," he said. "But I can't promise anything."

I turned off the video, having absorbed nothing about ASL. "Just see what you can do." If I watch it every day, eventually it will make sense to me.

He started to explain a problem with scalpers, and I cut him off. "I'd really like the kids to get the chance to see us win in Atlanta. Okay?"

When something as big as a World Series happens you should have your family around. Even if they call you "Uncle John" and are no more than a quasi-family, you ought to have them there.