Morris dumps his sister’s memo atop the littered floor of the will call office of the Graphite County Opera House. Morris is steamed. Who does Noreen think she is, questioning if he receives and reads faxes? What kind of a backwater manager does she think he is? He’s further hacked off because he’s on the verge of pitching one of the most important shows ever to his sister. It involves repurposing commercials and the concept is destined to raise audience levels and revenue projections to an all-time high. Before Morris gets a good head of steam, he realizes there’s one aspect he should research before calling Noreen that may make the concept null and void. But he ignores these doubts and calls her anyway . . .

It’s a sunny day in coal country. Morris is on his way to Blasting Cap to purchase toilet paper, dishwashing liquid, powdered free-range coffee creamer and all the essentials for the station. He has a small amount of petty cash, and a list from Verona Kendermants. While he’s driving on the rutted road, he sees the monumental skyline of The Very B.I.G. Allentown in the distance. Someday, Morris will drive there and visit this sprawling city that is larger than Little Manhattan, LA-LA-Burb and Chicago COMBINED! Morris reaches for his flip phone. It’s time for another pitch. He is nervous, filled with trepidation. This is a nuanced pitch, and he hopes he catches his sister Noreen at the right moment, when she’s able to concentrate. Otherwise, this is going to be one more worthy pitch completely discarded and thrown into the trash receptacle of failure . . .

Morris Crimpanfortis is oblivious to the fact that his own family wants to put him in harm’s way atop an elaborate billboard high above the New Jersey Turnpike. He continues pitching his sister Noreen on TV shows. His current pitch is entitled “Bowling for Stock Options,” and he’s certain this is the one that will catapult him from coal country back into the limelight of Burbank.  Morris tries pitching Noreen while she rides in back of the limo to a breakfast meeting with an investment banker in Belmont Harbor. Morris falls all over himself trying to explain the pitch to her. She loses patience hearing about rank amateurs competing for stock portfolios. Noreen isn’t feeling this. She doesn’t give a rip about a bunch of hacks who don’t know how to bowl – she despises bowling to begin with. She holds off telling Morris about the rumored job Father has for him on the sod bridge above the Jersey Turnpike. She wonders what kind of a free-falling grass blade he will make . . .

Morris dodges sizzling snowballs that splatter so hard against the side of the Graphite County Opera House that granite chips. He crawls on his belly up the curvature of the sweeping marble staircase. Sopping wet, he stumbles into the warmth of the cheery office. Verona looks up from her manual typewriter as she prepares the station log for this evening’s midnight news report. She congratulates him on not getting killed. Morris wades through a crumpled sea of unopened mail, magazines and trade journals littering the hardwood floor.  The thought suddenly hits him: what do the Downtown Contingent and the national capital have in common? Answer: they both have the abbreviation “DC.” Morris screams inexplicably at the high ceiling, “Let the politicians have the last word . . . AGAIN!” Slipping and sliding on discarded mail, Morris realizes it’s time for another pitch. He is so focused that he doesn’t even whiff Verona Kendermants’ newest flavor of exotic patchouli soap . . .

Morris falls flat on his face with his first pitch to Noreen in over a year. Venting his frustration, he shovels snow like a banshee in front of the opera house. He pauses long enough to pull a block of Verona’s exotic soap from the pocket of his damp overcoat. As he takes a deep and satisfying whiff of the peanut butter and garlic essence, he gets rejuvenated, and becomes like a racehorse chomping at the bit. He’s got to pitch a fit, and nothing is going to hold him back. Dripping snow, he hustles back inside and dials up Noreen in Chi-town, ready for Round Two. Will this pitch be the one to send him back to Burbank? Or does Noreen have something sinister up her slick, Chicago sleeve?

Morris psyches himself up for his first pitch in over a year. Taking a deep breath, fighting back anxiety, he takes the plunge and punches up Noreen’s number. But no matter what level of self-motivation, the results stay largely the same. Nearly getting his head bit off the moment his sister picks up – what else is new? – Morris continues to distinguish himself in less-than-glowing terms. He haltingly pitches the lamest thing that Noreen has heard since probably the last time he pitched her. Just like all the other times in the past, she gives him a rude pass. But not all is lost. Verona Kendermants enters the Pitch Palace with a new blend of soap – peanut butter, grape jelly, garlic and patchouli oil Suddenly, all is well in Pitch Paradise – so much so that Morris wants to hop back on his Pitch Palomino and go another round . . .