Her name was Kelli. She was a showgirl. She danced in a nightclub called Beaujolais. I met her just after the clock struck midnight on the first day of the 2002 Montreal Expos season. I was in Montreal on The Magazine's dime to witness the Expos as they embarked on what was likely to be their last season in Montreal, if not in existence.

People tend to say nice things when you tell them you're going to spend a few days in Montreal. Their eyes sort of light up, and they'll oh-so-slightly jerk their head back as if they just remembered an ice cream flavor they like a lot and haven't had in years. Maybe it's because part of the town is connected by charming cobblestone streets. Or maybe it's because another part of town has around 30 strip clubs packed right up against one another. And the thing about Montreal strip clubs is, well, how shall I phrase it: incidental contact is tolerated by the refs.You know the deal: Keep the game moving.

Now, the truth is, I personally am not a huge fan of strip clubs. I only like to window shop for stuff I can afford. That said, if there's one truth in the universe, besides that rule about never wasting a chance to charge an evening at a strip club to your employer, then it's the one that says if you're really interested in finding out about a city's pro athletes, go straight to where they hang out, and where they hang out is, yup, strip clubs.

Anyway, Kelli, is blonde and from northern Quebec. At about six feet tall, and naked, she seemed likely to be a veritable Montreal athlete expert. And she may very well have been. She spoke French, probably pretty well. I don't. When she began to dance for me I told her that I wasn't like those other guys she meets night after night, for I was there to interview her, for I am journalist. She smiled and asked if I would buy a vodka. I did.

"I'm here to write a story about the Montreal Expos,

"Yes," she smiled.

"Are you a fan of the team?" I asked.

"Yes," she smiled.

I knew it!

"How long have you been a baseball fan?"

"Yes," she smiled.

Obviously, there was some sort of sex thing happening.

"Look," I said. "I really just want to ask you some questions and catch some sleep. I've got to be out at Olympic Stadium tomorrow for batting practice."

She nodded.

"So do you meet many athletes here?" I asked.

"Yes. Hockey players."

"Really? Which ones?"

She named a few.

"How about Expos?"

She said something in French that sounded like "huh?"

"Local baseball players."

"Oh," she seemed to understand. "Well, I don't think they make as much ..." She began struggling for a word, then rubbed her two fingers together. I understood.

"Well, soon there might not be a baseball team here at all," I said.

"Yes," she answered.

And with that, I paid her $100 Canadian Dollars, i.e. $60 U.S., and left.

E-mail Zev Borow at zborow@g-net.tv.