It was among Rock's favorite kind of places, a crowded old southern American diner full of banter and the smell of fried food. He sat at a booth table with three of his minor league baseball teammates, one of whom had become a concern. They had all drunk several longneck bottles of Budweiser as they waited for their orders, but a scrawny seventy-year-old African American player Rock barely knew was apparently drunk before they walked in and seemed angered by something.
Rock watched as the older player stood, by then clearly enraged, and threw a beer bottle across the restaurant. The bottle ricocheted off a window frame and into a bucket of beer and ice at the table of several large African American men. One of them reached for Rock, grabbed him by an arm and pulled him up from the table.
"I'm gonna kick your ass," he said.
Rock had no doubt he intended to.
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