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Mr. Clean

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Between these sessions with his fans, Wright continues to bowl. Strike after strike after strike. He easily wins the first game, calling into question his earlier proclamation about being a mediocre player. “Yeah, this is pretty much how it goes,” says Hietpas of the drubbing. After a second loss, Maine and Hietpas lose interest and drift over to the arcade, where they start feeding bills into a free-throw basketball machine. Wright keeps an eye on his watch, making sure it doesn’t get too late. The team is playing the Red Sox tomorrow, and the guys have to be up at 5:30 a.m. At ten, Wright decides it’s time to call it a night. “Let me go round up these idiots,” he says, making his way toward the arcade’s blinking lights, where he soon becomes distracted by the prospect of a new competition. “Let me get one shot in,” he says, a grin coming over his face. “Actually, I think we’ve got time for a quick game.”


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