Already the White Sox have been hearing complaints. Not enough parking. A ballpark in one of the bleakest parts of town, where tank farms and body shops meet the high chaparral. There's no mistaking the sound of an angry rattlesnake. From beneath a palo verde, its satanic hiss pierces the air.
Hearts skip and bodies freeze in their tracks.
The wise locate the source of the sound, then flee in the opposite direction. Only the thirsty ignore the slit-eyed serpent coiled 20 feet away. They hold their ground, unwilling to forfeit a place in the beverage line. It's the dreaded Cataract Creek Gang, a grisly looking bunch released from jail only this morning. Oh, they said this would happen.