Tim Sullivan came over to my seats in an empty Petco as it was still 10 minutes or so to game time. I see you are reading TJ Simers. Have you given up on the UT? Are you still working there? Tim smirked and changed the subject. Is Posner invited? Sure, he is always welcome. He doesn’t like me, either. That’s because you are always attacking him. I smiled. Tim figured that was reason to continue. Anyway, Posner probably won’t show. He is on vacation. I stopped smiling. Posner has been telling everyone he is on vacation since 2004. How long are your vacations there? Sullivan ignored me. You find that TJ guy amusing? Actually, I do and he doesn’t bug me about semantics or grammar like you do. That’s important, Sully snapped. For an English professor, maybe. Not a sportswriter. There you go again, Sully observed. I went back to smiling and checked my cell phone. It was 3:30 and my brain trust was gathering around me. Down on the field, Padres were getting ready to take on Brewers. Don’t wait on us, I yelled to my new best friend, Buddy Black, who was cupping a hand to his ear as if he could actually hear me. Buddy was the manager of the Padres, which was meant to say that he was the Captain of the Titanic. The iceberg was coming, but Buddy was not what you would call a visionary. I greeted my guests and Sully went back to where he came from, probably the Press Box, but I couldn’t say for sure. I shouted after him. You could learn something from TJ, Sully. If he heard me, he showed no indication. I went back to my Think Tank. My son, Scott, asked me if I once made the Press Box my home away from home. Until 1998. Hall of Famer Phil Collier, the man I called born with a talent to write and no other values, banished me forever for clapping after a Gwynn hit. Now, I was with my real friends. Especially if they were buying.