New Project Backwards story # 6

Another Steve Weaver adventure!

     Now where has fate and the time machine brought me?  Steve wondered.  The room that slowly came into view around him appeared to be a tavern of some sort.  Cigar smoke billowed in noxious clouds; on the table before him looked to be food for about 4 people.  He wondered what group was eating here.  Steaks, potatoes smothered in butter, enough garlic bread to keep a breath mint company in business for the next 5 years, and several pitchers of beer adorned the table.  Just then, a big rather slovenly man approached the table, sliding into the chair right across from Steve.  He was instantly recognizable, the Sultan of Swat, Babe Ruth! 

 

     "Hey, Stevo, boy, I really had to drain the old main vein, huh?  Woo, do I feel about 10 pounds lighter," and he winked at Steve.

 

     "Who are we waiting for?" Steve asked.

 

     "What could you possibly talking about?"

 

     "All this food; I'm wondering who we're waiting for?"

 

     "Ah, that's my friend Stevo; always kidding around."

 

     "I'm sorry?"

 

     "Oh, I see, you're hungry too, and are hinting around that you'd like some too.  Well, I suppose I can call the bartender over here and get you a menu.  I'll spring for it; sort of a celebration for my signing that new contract.  $80,000, almost $100,000; imagine, I made more than the  president."

 

     "I remember, you said 'Well, I had a better year than Hoover'."

 

     "Hey, that's not bad; I'll have to remember that., maybe I can use it on some sports reporter today at the game."

 

     Whoops, thought Steve, "Are you sure you want to eat all of this?  You'd think you would want to take as good of care of yourself as possible,"

 

     "Ah, look at this," he said, patting his beer belly, "people call Yankee Stadium 'The House that Ruth Built', but this  is what I built; eh ,ha, ha!  I've done alright, haven't I?"

 

     "Yeah, there's no doubt, but just think how much better you would have done if you'd have just taken a little better care of yourself; I mean, you were one of the greatest natural athletes to ever play the game."

 

     "Oh, why are you saying 'were'?"

 

     Oh, no!   "Eh, someday, I mean."

 

     "Oh, well, I'm having too much fun taking advantage of this to worry much about taking better care of myself; I mean, where's the fun in that?"

 

     Oh, if Steve could only change his mind about that, maybe get him to lift a few weights, there's no telling how good he might become.  Just then, their table was approached by a leering drunk guy, who spouted,

 

     "So, you're  the great Babe Ruth, huh?  How about signing an autograph for my kid?"

 

     Ruth stared at the man, and obviously well-used to dealing with interruptions, answered, "I'm sorry, Ill be more than happy to sign an autograph after I eat, but this food is getting cold as it is, and I'd like to eat in peace; I'm sure you understand."

 

     "Oh, I understands all right; I understand you're a dick!" slurred the man, obviously intoxicated.

 

     Ruth kicked away his chair, and squared off with the guy.  Steve, desperate to prevent Ruth from doing something less-than-smart, interrupted,

 

     "Come on Babe, let's get out of here.  Babe's reply was lost, as everything went black.