Thu 20 Aug 2009
Portrait of the Terrible G.M. as a Young Man
Posted by Gourmet Spud under Gourmet Spud's reflections 
(1967. Worcester, Massachusetts. An eight-year-old J.P. Ricciardi operates a lemonade stand in front of his house)
L’il J.P.: Lemonade! Get your world class lemonade here! Best in the neighbourhood! What, you don’t want some?
(Man in a suit carrying a briefcase walks by)
Man: (smiling warmly) Well, hello there, little fella. Say, it sure is hot today. Tell you what - I’ll take one glass of your nice, cool lemonade.
L’il J.P.: Thirty-four dollars.
Man: Now, here’s 25 cents, but you can keep the…excuse me - did you just say “thirty-four dollars”?
L’il J.P.: Cash only. Next!
Man: You…you can’t seriously expect me to pay you thirty-four dollars for a glass of lemonade.
L’il J.P.: Alright. Let’s do business then. Make me a counter-offer.
Man: (aghast) Well, twenty-five cents!
L’il J.P.: (rolls eyes) Get the fuck out of here. Next!
Man: Excuse me? I have half a mind to tell your father about the language you’re using, young man!
L’il J.P.: Yeah? And I have a full mind to tell your father that his son is a skinflint who doesn’t recognize great value when he sees it!
Man: Look, there is no way that lemonade is worth more than 10 cents. Lemons alone don’t cost more than [draft note: research price of lemons in 1967; insert].
L’il J.P.: Have you ever tasted this lemonade before?
Man: Of course not.
L’il J.P.: (pours an ounce into a paper cup) Here.
Man: (takes sip) Well…it is good.
L’il J.P.: Damn right it is. That’s my best product that I save only for the hottest afternoons. It’s called my “Hell-a-day” mix.
Man: (finishing cup) Mmm. Is that a hint of nutmeg I taste?
L’il J.P.: It’s a secret ingredient. So, what now?
Man: It’s still not worth anything near what you’re asking.
L’il J.P.: Are you crazy? Where are you going to find another cup like that in this neighbourhood? At Normy Maguire’s stand? Let me tell you, that kid’s hands haven’t been washed since baptism.
Man: Look, I’m not saying it’s not good lemonade. But I think you are grossly over-estimating your bargaining position.
L’il J.P.: What? Who else is there? Robbie Pentall? Puh-leeze. Those coloured twins? That cootied tease Sally Rooter with the pig tails? Listen, she may say it’s sugar, but her stuff is all sweetener…(winks)…if you follow me.
Man: I don’t. And you, my foul-mouthed little friend, have just cost yourself a sale. Good day to you. (walks away)
L’il J.P.: Go on - hit the bricks, pal! Go buy a can of that frozen, “from concentrate” garbage! [draft note 2: was canned lemonade around in 1967? Ask grandfather] He’ll be back.
(A slightly older, heavyset child with a thick Bronx accent approaches the lemonade stand)
L’il J.P.: Hank, my man! Whadda you say? Can I get you a glass of lemonade? You must be thirsty from walking that whole block over here.
Hank: Very funny. I wanna buy your lemons.
L’il J.P.: All of ‘em?
Hank: Yup. My stand is running low.
L’il J.P.: Alright - $700 dollars. And I’m going to need you to throw in two bags of lemonades that aren’t quite ripe yet.
Hank: I’ll give you twenty-five cents.
L’il J.P.: Are you crazy?
Hank: I’ll give you twenty-five cents.
L’il J.P.: Get the fuck outta here, Hank.
(Hank picks J.P. up by his ankles, holds him upside down and shakes him repeatedly)
Hank: Do we have a deal?
L’il J.P.: Go to hell!
Hank: Wrong answer.
(Hank takes J.P. over to a nearby tree, and ties him to a branch upside down by his shoelaces)
L’il J.P.: You’re supposed to make a counter-offer!
Hank: (filling his backpack with lemons) Where do you keep the cinnamon?
L’il J.P.: I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Hank: Yes you do. Your “secret ingredient”?
L’il J.P.: How do you know about that?
Hank: You kidding me? Everyone knows. You won’t stop blabbing about it to the entire east end.
L’il J.P.: (sighs) Underneath the stand.
(Hank lifts the lemonade stand, and picks up a large jar of cinnamon)
L’il J.P.: Actually, I forgot the cinnamon inside. That’s rat poison.
Hank: (slaps a quarter down on the stand) Pleasure doing business with you. (walks away with lemons and cinnamon)
L’il J.P.: (yelling after him) You think you’re so big and tough, ever since your dad bought that fancy colour television network!
(A tiny child suddenly leaps out of the bushes, grabs J.P.’s plastic cups, and scurries off giggling)
L’il J.P.: Oh, son of a bitch. (yelling after him) You’ll pay for that, Epstein, you precocious little bastard!
August 21st, 2009 at 8:39 am
Is this the same L’il J.P. that…
-Got rid of a good young lemon tree for nothing because it was sick one year. Despite the fact that it was know this tree could come back and throw out some wonderful crops.
-Or buy a big ole lemon tree that was near death and just put the last of its life into the lemon crop from the previous year. Even though everyone but him knew it was dying.
-Or buy a lemon tree that he hoped could be the anchor for the farm for the next 5 years, despite the fact that the trees limps were all over the place and looked like it would work its self to death because it was properly trimmed.
-Or get some good young Canadian lemon tree seedlings but decided not to plant them because it wasn’t worth the effort and cost.
August 21st, 2009 at 8:56 am
The very same!
August 21st, 2009 at 9:47 am
Wrong.
August 21st, 2009 at 9:59 am
Hey, save it for Posnanski, pal.
August 21st, 2009 at 11:00 am
Don’t forget about the lemon tree who he refused to let play, even though the lemon tree was the greatest fielding shortstop in the history of the ballclub, all just because the lemon tree couldn’t hit over .200.
August 21st, 2009 at 11:04 am
@Blue: Yet they use that lemon tree as a pinch runner even though the tree just has average base running skills.
August 21st, 2009 at 11:05 am
Sorry. It’s a sensitive subject.
August 21st, 2009 at 11:06 am
If you’re a lemon tree in the bigs, you have to be able to hit at least .230. I don’t care how well said lemon tree fields.
Release the lemon tree.
August 21st, 2009 at 11:48 am
And with a mighty cheer, Lil’ JP had banished the awful lemon tree… because it was haunted! Now let’s all gather round and enjoy an Encarnacion throwing error…
August 21st, 2009 at 12:00 pm
So this is what it feels like…when doves cry.
August 21st, 2009 at 12:09 pm
So the lemons are supposed to be the Jews, right? And L’il J.P. is supposed to be the media? Or something?
August 21st, 2009 at 12:20 pm
Squeeze my lemon…. till the juice runs down my leg
God, Zepplin is sweet.
August 21st, 2009 at 12:34 pm
Tough to say, Fred. Most of it was cut and pasted from a Little Rascals script I found on-line.
August 21st, 2009 at 1:14 pm
…and given that it is a Little Rascals script, the lemons are supposed to be black people. Otay?
August 21st, 2009 at 6:49 pm
Jews?
Not on my watch!
/Takes swig of Canadian Club
August 21st, 2009 at 7:11 pm
It’s too bad that poor Lil’ J.P insisted on showing everyone how smart he was by only getting his lemons from the compost heap and not at the market like everyone else.
August 26th, 2009 at 6:06 am
[…] You should already have FCL bookmarked. It’s most probably my favorite blog in the northern hemisphere. What? That Australian blog Sharks and Shit is world class. Here, Spud provides a glimpse into the life of a young J.P. Ricciardi. Enjoy. [FCL] […]