The Lobby was open every day from 6AM-1AM; blankets were left in a large container outside for anyone showing up too early or too late, though Blue Shirts often patrolled the area, providing refreshments and pillows or just a friendly nice-to-finally-meet-someone from-fill in the city chat. Inside, a liberal amount of free food and drinks were stacked against a wall, purple lounge chairs scattered neglectfully in the laconically casual manner of a hastily arranged, endless town hall meeting.
Some couples had their wedding receptions there, strident arguments about trusting Canada blending into a wedding dance; many an innocent sibling has caught the bouquet. There could be a funeral service tucked behind a demonstration of the latest SC broccoli casserole stil steaming from Schenectady, an impromptu speech about the need for legislation to govern sidewalk repair or even the occasional fist fight, almost always an attack on a Cousin, at which point visitors would step aside to give them room.
When the Living Rooms first opened in 2066, siblings started taking Cousins directly into their homes to discuss the conduct of the war, the propriety of different haircuts (multi-colored dreads and bleached crew-cuts were hot then), recliner chairs versus love seats, pretty much everything and anything. Helpless about denying someone time, Cousins found themselves eating eight, nine, ten meals a day, wandering around in mismatched clothing gifts, a scarf over a t-shirt, three pairs of socks, sleeping very little.
Grandma put a stop to that during a Sleep Well My Darlings talk. Using dolls (actors were forbidden for anything that might confuse reality with fiction), Grandma patiently explained that everyone had a role in The Family, but your job couldn’t prevent someone from doing theirs. In what became the famous “If Grandpa snores, how can I think?” vidcast, Grandma demonstrated that even though Grandpa was noisy, that was no excuse for Jeddidiah not to study. She had to learn. Grandpa needed his rest. If Jeddidiah woke Grandpa, then he wouldn’t be able to think because he was too tired. Yes, an extra bedroom for Grandpa would be wonderful, but the only way to get a larger apartment would be through better jobs and better jobs only came through hard work and if you were too tired to work…
That saved Cousins from obesity and finding forty hours in a day to do their jobs, but nothing about the crowds; Puppy waited nearly twenty minutes to get past the siblings who’d surrounded a lanky Third Cousin admitting there was consideration to adding another rain shower in the middle of the night pending research on the effects of disrupting children’s sleep. The issue of better railways came from a couple who said they’d spent two days traveling from Ohio for a glimpse of Grandma and well, the facilities weren’t up to their barn. Third Cousin Bunyasarna found that unacceptable without blaming anyone for the inconvenience, except referencing the Allahs, as if they still lurked by train tracks, planting C-4 explosives.
Finally Puppy squeezed up the steps to the Third Cousins rooms, dropping in on a few more conversations between Cousins and siblings on the lack of good painting supplies in Wisconsin, a suspected illegal rodeo in Wichita and an elderly woman who insisted she had proof that Allahs were really Martians; a Cousin patiently read her fifty-three page report with considerable gravity.
Puppy shyly entered the ten-by-twelve foot office dominated by a basketball backboard. A miniaturized football field ran wall to wall lengthwise; footballs and helmets sprouted like cacti on the modest purple rug.
Sport Commissioner Elias Kenuda, well over six foot, broad with a massive head, fired a jump shot into the basket. Hazel sat on the sole chair, legs crossed at the ankles, shaking his head.
“Never touched net,” Kenuda insisted, his long dark hand swallowing up the ball.
“I heard some.”
“You heard voices. Not net.” Kenuda frowned at Puppy. “Did you hear the ball graze the net?”
“I can’t say, Third Cousin.”
Kenuda sighed and concentrated on dribbling behind his back. Hazel watched Puppy with a curious smile.
“I think he’s your next appointment.” Hazel winked at Puppy, as if a Cousin would dare schedule a real appointment with a sibling.
Elias loosened his tie with his left hand and hooked a clean shot with his right. “Grandma’s earrings, that was silent. I don’t want to hear disagreement from either of you.”
Puppy joined Hazel in an enthusiastic nod.
“Good.” Kenuda sat on the edge of the desk, smothered with sports equipment. He fiddled with a football. “What can I do for you?”
Puppy shifted nervously.
“Relax. He’s not nearly as imposing as he wants you to think,” Hazel said.
Kenuda glared in mock severity. “Actually, I’m worse.”
“I’m Puppy Nedick, the baseball historian.”
Kenuda frowned very deeply.
“He works for you, Elias,” Hazel helped out.
“Many people do. I try to know everyone. When have we met?”
“Never, sir.”
Kenuda took this as Puppy’s fault. “Why?”
He shrugged, looking at Hazel for help.
“Because he’s the baseball historian.” Hazel laughed. “Why would you need to meet him?”
Kenuda nodded gratefully. “But now you’re here, Mr. Nedick.”
Hazel gestured for Puppy to talk or be gone.
“I’d like authorization to use real people in this baseball season.”
Elias frowned and looked at Hazel. “What does he mean, John?”
“I think, and correct me if I’m wrong, Puppy, but you want to have more people as players.”
Puppy hesitated to correct his new ally. “Close, Mr. Hazel.”
John beamed at being recognized without an introduction.
“I want to use all human baseball players. No HGs. The players hit, run and catch.”
Kenuda burst out laughing; Hazel eyed Puppy carefully.
“Like real athletes?” the Commissioner asked.
“They are.”
Kenuda’s smile faded. “You’re comparing a baseball player to a football player? Basketball player? Boxer…”
“What he’s saying…” Hazel jumped in.
“Let him say what he’s saying. If he can.”
Puppy glanced at the football helmets
