Free Mickey & Me by Dan Gutman

declared enthusiastically, and the guy named Tommy passed out gum all around.
    â€œI have some exciting news, girls!” Wrigley announced. “I just signed a contract with the Milwaukee Symphony! They’re going to entertain the fans before each game in the second half of the season! In tuxedos! Isn’t that great?”
    Why, I asked myself, would baseball fans want to listen to classical music before a game? Looking around the room at the blank faces, it appeared that the players were asking themselves the same question.
    â€œThat’s fabulous, Mr. Wrigley,” Mickey said, not very convincingly.
    â€œYeah, maybe we’ll be inspired to play better after hearing some Beethoven and Mozart and stuff,” Tiby cracked, hiding a smirk.
    I’m not sure if Wrigley caught the sarcasm, but his mood seemed to change after Tiby’s remark.
    â€œSit down, girls,” he said quietly. He didn’t continue until everyone was seated. “I started this league a year ago to help take people’s minds off the war for a few hours every day. That’s our main job. Those people in the stands, their sons and husbandsand boyfriends are living in foxholes; they’re getting shot at, bombed, injured, and killed. We want them to forget about that for just a little while.”
    â€œWe’re doing our best, Mr. Wrigley,” Ziggy said.
    â€œI know,” Wrigley went on. “But we’ve got to do better. I don’t need to tell you there are a lot of empty seats out there every game. You see them. We need to put fannies in those bleachers if this team and this league are going to be successful.”
    â€œWhat are you planning to do, Mr. Wrigley?” Mickey asked, almost meekly.
    â€œTommy and I have batted around a bunch of ideas,” Wrigley said, gesturing to his assistant. “I have an important meeting to get to, so I’m going to let Tommy go over the details with you.”
    Tommy the geek went to the center of the locker room while Wrigley made his way toward the door.
    â€œOh, one last thing,” Wrigley said before leaving, “I love the new chicken.”
    Everybody smiled at me as Tommy the geek took off his suit jacket and hat, pulled a notebook out of his briefcase, and cleared his throat. With his boss out of the room, Tommy seemed to enjoy being in charge.
    â€œGirls, I’m going to give you the straight skinny,” Tommy announced. “Mr. Wrigley didn’t like what he saw out there tonight. Arguments with the umpire. Yelling at the fans. Being called back to the dugout to put on your lipstick. Potatoes being thrown on the field! You girls have to shapeup. It’s just not ladylike.”
    â€œBaseball isn’t ladylike,” Ziggy muttered, loud enough to be heard by everyone.
    â€œLook,” Tommy said, putting down his notebook, “nobody wants to see tomboys play baseball. The attraction is that you are girls. That is what is entertaining. To attract fans—especially male fans—you’ve got to look and act more like girls.”
    â€œAnd what, exactly, do girls look and act like?” Mickey asked, her hands on her hips.
    â€œGirls are feminine,” Tommy stated firmly. “That means lipstick, nail polish, and makeup on at all times. Hair stylishly groomed. Courteous and polite language. You should walk, talk, and behave like ladies.”
    â€œSo in other words,” Connie Wisniewski said, “you want us to play like men, but look like girls.”
    â€œExactly!” Tommy exclaimed. “You see, men don’t want to come out to the ballpark and see women who look like men.”
    â€œAre you saying we look like men?” Mickey said, taking one step toward Tommy.
    â€œI didn’t say that,” Tommy replied, shrinking backward and holding his briefcase over his chest.
    â€œSure you did.”
    â€œWhat difference does it make what we look like?” Ziggy asked. “I