He played so well, in fact, that he was invited into a secret back room, the pingpong underground. "You have to be of a certain caliber," he said, looking down at me. "And, I'm afraid you weren't invited, just to be clear." Still, I was allowed to come back and watch. Thorn and I kept talking about books while Dyer played against Harrison, Harry, and another guy who was good enough to make the cut. "This place is heaven," Dyer said . I was having a good time myself. So much so, that I missed the last MARC train and ordered another beer. Finally, as the bar was closing and Thorn prepared to drive a thoroughly sweaty and happy Dyer, floating a bit in his pingpong trance, back to his hotel, I convinced Harrison, the true hero of the evening, to drive me home for $60 (since he couldn't provide a receipt, I'm hoping this line will work for the IRS and the Baltimore Sun Media Group). All in all, it was another great night at the bar.