I still didn't know we were in Dempseys Grove, didn't know that Jordan was playing second base over on Diamond #4, and that Mike and his family were nearby.

I sat in the golf cart at Diamond #2, watching Dave instead of the game. There were two sets of bleachers, and he worked his way around both, moving from the parents in the first row all the way up to those at the very top and then back down again, switching from corporeal to incorporeal mode as it suited him.

He knew I was watching him-- looked over and gave me a big wave from time to time-- and I was able to see him even when he was invisible to the people in the stands. He only signalled me when the others couldn't see him, and then he would ham it up for me, cup his hand and put it to his ear, to emphasize that he was eavesdropping.

He was on a quest to unlock the secrets of Baseball Present, and when he was visible, he talked, listened, conversed, engaged them in discourse. He interacted with moms and dads who talked about kids and managers and organized baseball in Dempseys Grove.

As for the game itself, there was no scoreboard, and I couldn't tell who was winning. Each team had its own scorekeeper-- a woman with a scorebook sitting in a lawn chair-- and they often compared notes with one another. So they knew the score, but I don't think anyone else did. I certainly didn't.

Not that I cared. The teams seemed evenly matched. One manager was louder than the other, and did more yelling at his players. That was the chief difference I could detect between them.

A few kids caught my eye-- one of the right fielders wore his glove on his head. Just bored. Just acting silly. He was a tiny little guy, even smaller than the others. When Dave returned to the cart, I pointed him out.

"That's Victor Van Dorn," he said. "Vernon's little brother. He's really too young for baseball, but he wanted to be in Little League. So here he is. And he's definitely too small for this team. He should be in the lower minors, but the Two Brothers rule takes effect here."

"The Two Brothers rule?"

"Yeah," said Dave. "They play by the Two Brothers rule in this league. If there's two brothers, they must play on the same team." "Why do they have to play on the same team?"

"Figure it out, John. You're an owner." He knew I couldn't.

Nothing came to mind, and I held my hands out. "I have no idea."

"For the parents, John, the fans! What is their mom supposed to do if they're on different teams? How can she see both kids if Victor's at this diamond, but Vernon's at a different one?"

I caught on. "She can't."

"Exactly. But with the Two Brothers Rule in effect, she can."

He told me they had lots of rules that would interest me. Especially the financial ones.

"These games are free," I said.

"Not for the players!"

"Oh," I said.

"I got this from Victor's mom," he said. "Did you see me talking to her? She told me that Victor looks up to his big brother. Vernon's in Little League so Victor wants to be in Little League."

"Victor's too young," I said. "Kids his size shouldn't play with a league ball until they're older."

"Nobody asked you," said Dave. "So that's not the point. You know why Victor wanted to be in Little League?"

He waited for me to say no, and I did.

"Because he wanted to sell the candy!"

I was totally baffled.

"He wanted to go door to door with his big brother, taking that big carton of candy bars and selling them to the neighbors and--" "I'm sorry, Dave. You lost me."

"That's how they raise money!" said Dave. "Candy! They sell candy! And that's what Little League is to Victor-- it's the chance to sell candy. Just like the big kids."

Something jogged in my memory, something about Little League candy.

"But he wasn't any good at it! The other kids hit the neighborhood first. By the time Victor started selling it was too late. Every house he went to they'd say 'No thanks, a million kids have already been here.'

"So now he's stuck here on the team and his dad won't let him quit. And the dad thinks Victor will start liking the game if he sticks with it. But the mom doesn't think so because he's too small, and his manager doesn't even want him on the team."

"Yeah," I said. "Because he wears his glove on his head."

"No, that's not it," said Dave. "The manager's a dufus. Blainey. I could tell you a few things about Blainey, I heard plenty, let me tell you."

"But he's wearing a glove on his head!" I exclaimed. "Why is Victor in the game at all?"

"The Everybody Must Play rule. Every kid must get in the game. That's a rule. That's what the scorekeepers do. They make sure every kid gets in the game. That's why they're always comparing notes."

"Peeler Fitch would never put that kid in a game," I said.

"Rest assured that if it was up to Blainey he wouldn't play Victor either. You think he wants to play a kid who wears a glove on his head?"

"Is Blainey the manager who yells all the time?" I asked.

Dave gave me a Who-do-you-think-I-meant look.

"I should have known," I said.

"Victor hasn't started a single game all season," said Dave. " He only gets in the game when the scorekeepers tell Blainey he has to go in."

I didn't find this information very surprising.

"You want to know why the kid wears a glove on his head? He only gets to play when the game is just about over! You think that's fair, John?"

Blainey was yelling at one of his players again. You could see that he was a jerk just from looking at him.

Then I remembered. Mike had given me a couple of Little League candy bars back in the spring. But I still wasn't thinking Dempseys Grove.

All of a sudden the kids on Victor and Vernon's team were running, sprinting for the outfield.

"Aw, that jerk!" said Dave.

The game was over, and parents and spectators were leaving.

"They told me he'd do that," said Dave. "I didn't believe them."

The kids were in right field and made the turn toward center.

Dave shouted at the manager. "You moron, Blainey!"

"What's going on?" I said.

"They're running laps," said Dave. "They lost the game and they have to run laps." The first kid came streaking down the left field line right by our golf cart.

"That's no way to teach them baseball," said Dave.

Victor Van Dorn brought up the rear.

"It's a power trip," said Dave. "Punishment."

The boys on the winning team were making for the concession stand as their defeated opponents started a second circuit around the field.

"If you lose you run laps," said Dave.

"I don't see anything wrong with that."

"It's supposed to be for the kids, John!"

Victor ran past the golf cart, jumped on third with both feet.

"This is about teaching them who's boss! It's not about baseball."

Victor started skipping toward home plate. "He's having a good time," I said. I enjoyed watching him. A cute little guy in a baseball uniform.

"Step it up, Victor!" shouted Blainey. "Let's see some hustle!"

The winning manager was filling a canvas bag with bats and balls, helmets and catching gear.

Victor jumped on home plate with both feet, then started running.

"They lost by three runs so they have to run three laps," said Dave.

The boys in the lead came thundering past our golf cart, and Blainey yelled at them: "Nobody goes home until the whole team is done!"

"That ain't the way to handle a kid like Victor," said Dave. "That ain't how Peeler Fitch would do it."

I looked back, saw Victor meandering across center field, too far away to even hear Blainey. "Okay," I said. "How would Peeler handle Victor?"

"Number one. He'd teach him to wear his glove on his hand and not on his head."

Another shout from Blainey: "Nobody can go home until you finish, Victor!"

"Number two. He'd teach him how to sit on the bench. How to pay attention to the game." He shook his head in disgust. "Laps! Did you ever run laps when you played on the Black Top?"

The other boys were gaining on Victor and he put on a little burst of speed to stay ahead of them.

"This isn't baseball for kids, this is baseball for grownups," said Dave.

The first runner passed Victor.

"And you know what the first rule of Baseball for Grownups is?"

Two or three more overtook him.

"I'm the Grownup and I'm in charge. That is Principle Numero Uno."

The winning manager was dragging his equipment bag, heading toward the parking lot. His scorekeeper walked beside him, carrying her lawn chair. Neither of them spoke to Blainey when they left.

"What else would Peeler teach Victor?"

"Do I really need to tell you?" he asked.

All the other boys had lapped Victor and each completed his third and final lap as Victor moseyed in from the outfield.

"Victor-- this is how you hold a bat. This is how you swing. This is how you catch the ball. This is how you throw. This is how you run."

The little guy passed the golf cart again and headed for home plate. Where teammates and manager were waiting.

"That's how you manage at this level," said Dave. "You teach them the game."

Blainey was predictable. "You're holding up your teammates!" he shouted. "How do you like that, Victor?"

To his credit, Victor seemed to like that very much. He started walking again.

Some of the other boys yelled at him to hurry it up, and Blainey yelled something for good measure, and I tried to picture Peeler showing Victor how to wear his glove, how to sit on the bench, and how to play the game. I liked the idea. Peeler and Victor. An instructional video.

"Laps are a grownup invention," said Dave. "A perversion of the game."

Everyone had now left except Blainey and the kids. And us.

Victor had increased his pace to a slow jog.

"I'll wait all night if I have to!" shouted Blainey.

"But we won't!" shouted Dave. "We don't have to, you moron!" He set the golf cart in motion again, and we headed toward Diamond #3.

"In the whole history of baseball, nobody ever signed up to play the game for the chance to run laps, John. Nobody."