Where am I?

The accordians and ballpark organs played polka music while the runners called out, "Ice cold beer here!" A lilac hue in Pittsburgh's September sky announced dusk and the beginning of the baseball game. Today was Polish Day at Three Rivers Stadium. The Pirates were meeting the Orioles. Pittsburghers viewed Baltimorians with skepticism. Just like Norman Thayer, Jr. always said, Baltimore's a sneaky town. Ten minutes later the ballplayers flew out of the dugout onto the field.

"Great asses," Whoopi said. I always enjoyed going to the baseball game with Whoopi Goldberg. Whoopi came to town three times a year because (she told me) Pittsburgh rocked. Today's game involved a special treat. We'd brought my friends Lou and Truvy with her. Lou was five foot five, as round as the blueberry from Willy Wonka, brown-gray chest hair sticking out of his t-shirt, owned a diner on the South Side. Truvy was tiny, had big blonde hair, a pair of great big naturals, and ran a hair salon in Shadyside. Truvy cheered on Whoopi's great Pittsburgh asses while Lou guzzled beer. I didn't know how far I was going with Lou next to me. I wanted us to get laid. I liked fuzzy cuddle bears, but I'm not sure he liked tall Polish guys with hairy chests, bubble butts, and wide jaws. I'd never had any problem finding guys, but Lou was proving a hard nut to crack.

"Sure," I said, thinking about Lou's hairy chest, "now there's one I'd love to see grazing Lou's tits. Care for any breakfast, Lou ... or a pearl necklace?"

He blushed, waved a hand, laughed, a guzzled more beer. And then he burped. We all laughed, Whoopi's dreadlocks bouncing. God, she was fun. You could always count on the Whoopster to help you out. Ever since I'd been Grip No. 1 when "The Color Purple" was filming down in North Carolina, she'd been my mentor, stewarding me from guy to guy, job to job. I'd only figured it out when I came back to Pittsburgh and the Gaisorowskis on Polish Hill. Loved being back home. Now she was helping me with Lou, even if it meant a thousand gawking fans asking for her autograph. She took it all in good stride.

Then Whoopi went out to the field, grabbed her crotch, spit on the ground, and threw the first pitch. Home run! She came back, took her seat, then Kent Tekulve (why him? he'd stopped playing in the early '80s) threw the second pitch ... and here it comes, right at me ...

... and I opened my eyes. Mike was lying right beside me, snoring away, but I nudged him awake. "Honey, where am I? I just had the weirdest dream. Whoopi Goldberg was in it. So was Dolly Parton from 'Steel Magnolias.' And I was lusting after Lou Grant."