...but you don't have the money to bring the mortgage up to date.

So, you're still going to have to sell.

I'm sorry, Ray. We got no choice.

People will come, Ray.

They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom.

They'll turn up your driveway, not knowing for sure why they're doing it.

They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children...

...longing for the past.

"Of course, we won't mind if you look around," you'll say.

"It's only $20 per person."

They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it.

For it is money they have and peace they like.

Ray! Just sign the papers.

Then they'll walk off to the bleachers...

...and sit in their shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon.

They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines...

...where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes...

...and they'll watch the game...

...and it will be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters.

The memories will be so thick...

...they'll have to brush them away from their faces.

When the bank opens in the morning, they'll foreclose.

People will come, Ray.

You're broke, Ray. You sell now, or you lose everything.

The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball.

America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers.

It's been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again.

But baseball has marked the time.

This field, this game.

It's a part of our past, Ray.

It reminds us of all that once was good...

...and it could be again.

People will come, Ray.

People will most definitely come.

Ray, you will lose everything.

You will be evicted.

Come on, Ray.

I'm not signing.