A buddy of mine was shooting pool in the bar/restaruant attatched to a hotel in Minneapolis one summer day a few years back. All of a sudden, like a storm front moving in, a horde of whores started drifting into the bar and taking up residence along the walls and barstools.
Curious as he was, he kept playing and ultimately struck up a convo with a guy and realizes that he's Ray Durham, then of the White Sox.
Apparently, there must be some nationwide barfly league, or society, compulsively drawn to athletes like moths to a flame if they all come out for a sub .500 White Sox team in August, in Minnesota.
Batting practice kids, yank your arms through the zone.