The Season, Part 21

So I guess we're legal now, which is funny because I've just passed the 50,000 word count that is generally considered the border that constitutes a novel.

I realize that the updates I've been posting have been really short, and as that is going to continue today, I feel I owe you guys an explanation...but then I wouldn't be able to keep the surprise in mind that I have.

So I will leave it at: I am working on this. I promise.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.


The Season, Part 20

#30, Dylan Offers, utility infielder

What Dylan enjoys about the All Star break has nothing to do with the home run derby, or the game itself, as he knows too well he will probably never participate in either. Instead, what Dylan enjoys most is the chance to go back home.

His parents still live in the same three bedroom split-level house in Michigan, an hour’s drive from Detroit. From the outside it looks respectable enough, but on the inside, it feels old. The wood paneling is chipped and the carpets (in every room except the bathrooms and kitchen) are covered with so much dirt that their original color has been lost. The only room that looks habitable is Kyle’s.

When Kyle, the eldest child of Henry and Jane Offers, was killed in action in Afghanistan, the result wasn’t pretty. Dylan was still in high school at the time, and he remembers the moment he found out about it better than he remembers his first home run or even his first appearance in Hope City. He was sitting in his English class when the announcement came for him to head to the office.

It wasn’t that unusual, seeing as he was a bit of a troublemaker, so Dylan thought nothing of it until he saw his parents—both of them—standing next to the principle. He remembers the words coming from his father, clear as day: There was an accident. Friendly fire, they’re calling it. Kyle was in the middle of it. Henry Offers couldn’t bring himself to say ‘he’s dead’, but Dylan had always been a fast learner. Everything that came after—the wake, the funeral, Henry deciding to quit his job because he couldn’t handle the stress of losing his son—is all a blur. When Jane got laid off at her job a few weeks later and the prospect of food stamps became a reality, Dylan chose baseball over debate club. It was a release for him, more than anything else; even now he thins he’s just lucked out, making it to Hope City. He’ll never have Adrian’s talent or Terry’s personality, but he has a job and it keeps his parents in their house.

In Dylan’s absence, Jane has slowly turned Kyle’s room into a shrine. The twin bed has been made with brand new sheets and a brand new comforter, and the pillows have been fluffed almost too much. The navy carpet is plush and spotless, the desk neat and ordered, and the dresser-top polished. Kyle’s trophies—basketball and track—take up all the space there is on the dresser. It amuses Dylan, even now as he pays his customary visit to his brother’s room, that Kyle was the one branded an athlete. Kyle was the one expected to play pro hoops or win Olympic gold; Dylan was good enough, but he was supposed to make his millions after law school.

It’s an open secret that Dylan’s parents gave more attention to Kyle. It wasn’t that they saw Kyle as a favorite, but rather, they thought that Kyle was the one that needed guidance while Dylan would be all right on his own. When Dylan had made the switch to baseball, his parents thought that he was trying to be too much like his brother, which only upset them. They figured Dylan would set his expectations too high and forget where his true talents—in more intellectual pursuits—lay, but Dylan surprised everyone with his ability. His strength wasn’t, and still isn’t, hitting, but rather, solid defense, and very smart baserunning. No one, not even Dylan, expected his defense and baserunning to carry him as far as it did.

Dylan doesn’t spend too long in Kyle’s room, just long enough to take in the memory of his older brother. If he stays too long, the emotion will start to overwhelm him. He and Kyle weren’t that close, but they were brothers, and they certainly had their memories. It was Kyle, after all, that had first told him the key to being a good baseball player had less to do with pure athletic talent than it did the ability to use the brain. Sure, you needed talent, but it wouldn’t do much good if you had a bad eye or thought it’d be a good idea to steal second with a lefty on the mound. It is to Dylan’s everlasting regret that he never remembered to thank Kyle for teaching him.

Dylan’s own room is still the mess he left it when he left home for that very first Spring Training. It’s impossible to tell if the black carpet has been vacuumed, but as the sheets on his bed look as though they haven’t been changed in about a year, Dylan guesses that no one’s run the vacuum in ages. He doesn’t have the athletic trophies that dot Kyle’s room, but he’s got a few debate and decathlon ribbons. Dylan doesn’t spend too long in his own room, either. His room reminds him of his childhood, and his childhood reminds him of Kyle. His feelings won’t overwhelm him just yet; he won’t let them.

There’s still too much baseball to play.

The Season, Part 20

Right, if you read these updates with any sort of regularity I need you to do me a favor and post in a comment which character or characters most intrigue you or which you think are most important to the story. I have a reason for this, but it's secret.

Also, if you plan on going to Yankee Stadium on opening day, or just plan on watching the game on TV, feel free to RVSP "Attending" here!


I can't believe this is two decades old already...

Short update again this week; Friday's my normal writing day but I was stuck working on my thesis for nearly all of it and I spent a large part of day doing work for a group project for one of my political science classes.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.


The Season, Part 20

JULY

#16, Adrian Martinez, third baseman

The All Star game always has a little something extra to it; it’s not the lazy spring-training affair, nor is it the intense competition of October, but it’s fun. This year, with the game in Denver, the game starts early enough that he’ll also be able to enjoy the evening afterwards. It’s his third all-star appearance in the five years he’s played for the Spartans, but that doesn’t take away from the experience, at all. It’s not just the game, but it’s the Home Run Derby the day before, the rookie game the day of and the atmosphere of being encouraged to show off for the fans.

It’s a cool, but not cold and clear night. Adrian’s in his favorite place of the evening—the dugout—immersed in conversation with Jeff Pullman from New York. It’s the only time of the season he’s got a real chance to talk to him; on any other night he would be branded as a traitor by the Hope City press. They both share a deep love for breakfast foods, though Adrian prefers waffles and Jeff pancakes.

“My family’s from this area,” Jeff says, ignoring the TV station filming the East’s manager next to him, “and I guarantee that there is no place better for breakfast than Racine’s.”

“How are the waffles? It’s all I care about,” Adrian laughs. “Can I get them with hot butter and whipped cream?”

“Any way you like. They’re thick and fluffy, like the pancakes, and loaded with powdered sugar.”

“Powdered sugar? All right, now, I’m hungry.”

“Go after the game!”

“Nah, I can’t, already going to eat with Cory and Willy.” Cory Daniels and William Tully are the other Spartans to make the All Star team; it’s Cory’s second appearance and William’s first. William and Cory are both in the bullpen, having not had a chance to pitch yet, but Adrian knows even if Cory was in the dugout, he wouldn’t be caught dead talking to Jeff Pullman. For Cory, the New York-Hope City rivalry holds true year-round.

“No reason you can’t eat at Racine’s.”

“It’s a family place?” Both Cory and William have brought family members with them, and William, being a pastor’s son, has fit the stereotype quite nicely.

“Yeah. In fact, might be too many kids there.” Jeff laughs, and Adrian manages to smile. It sounds like a far cry from the nightclubs that he and Leo often frequent.

“Cheap?”

“You’ll get people wondering just how poor Charlie Haus is.”

“Ah.” Adrian has one of the highest salaries, by far, on the Spartans, and
while he’s not shy about the talent he has, it puts him in an uncomfortable position. While defending his paycheck on the field is no issue, off the field can be an occasional adventure.

“Speaking of Mr. Haus,” Jeff muses, “how is he doing?”

“Fine, I think.” The question catches Adrian off guard. Like the rest of the Spartans he speaks to Charlie Haus on occasion, before or after a home game, just to say hello. Charlie Haus has a reputation as being a very good owner, but at the same time, being a mostly hands-off owner as well. It’s the only reason Pete Towers has survived in his job for twenty years without a Championship, and even this year, the ultimatum was made to Pete only after considerable pressure from the season ticket holders.

“You sure about that?” Jeff’s demeanor loses the relaxed poise it had a moment ago. Instead, it’s replaced with a concern that Adrian can’t quite read.

“Uh, yeah…I mean, we’re not best friends or anything, but as far as I know, he’s fine.”

“What, do you and Richie never talk or something?” There is astonishment on Jeff’s face.

“We’re teammates, not lovers.” The comment would have been humorous in another setting, but Jeff’s changed demeanor has Adrian on edge. In truth, he tries not to talk to Richie much more than he has to—Richie is no pariah; he comes to play every day and that’s the most that can be asked of him, but his position as the son of Charlie Haus makes it awkward for most of the Spartans to try to cultivate a friendship with him. The only one that can get away with it is Terry, as his career only started when Brendan Haus spotted him at a high school game.

“He doesn’t tell you anything?”

“You mean about his life? We don’t ask, he doesn’t offer. It’d be uncomfortable, anyway.”

“I see. Well, when we were up to play you last month, you know how I hurt my knee?”

“Yeah, you nearly spiked me.” Jeff had twisted his knee while trying to steal third; it hadn’t been serious but if Adrian hadn’t been paying attention, Jeff’s spikes would have probably caught the back of Adrian’s calf.

“Yeah well, trainer wanted me to get an MRI, so I went to that hospital by you, what is it, Bellvue? Anyway, while I’m in the lobby figuring out which floor the MRI’s on, I run into Richie. So I ask him what he’s doing there and he says it’s his father.”

“Oh?” Adrian is not quick to jump to any conclusions; as far as he knows Charlie Haus might have just cut his thumb with a bagel slicer and needed a few stitches. “He didn’t say why?”

“No, and I didn’t ask, but the look on his face…there was something going on.”

“I’m sure if it was serious enough we would know about it,” Adrian says, though he’s not really sure if this is true.

“I hope it’s nothing. Really, I do. You guys have been through enough this season already, what with Micah and all.”

“Hah, if you wanted to help us, you and the rest of New York could roll over and play dead.” Adrian chuckles, but it is forced and sounds odd.

“It’s not us you have to worry about,” Jeff says, serious but not heavy, “not as long as New England’s got something going.”

“They never last past August.”

“Hope you’re right, but somehow, this year, I doubt it.” Jeff shrugs. The current batter, Cleveland’s catcher Toby Brady, strikes out for the third out. Adrian grabs his glove and goes to take the field, but his mind is no longer on the moment.

The Season, Part 19

First of all, we've passed 25.000 views. Five months, 25.000 views. I'm impressed.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.


The Season, Part 19


Newspaper Articles by beat writer Dick Holt of Note:

Trade Bait, but No One’s Biting (12 June)

Rumors swirling around an impending trade involving center fielder Bran Stromer came to a head yesterday as an official with the California Diablos stated that the team would not be interested in Stromer without the addition of utility infielder Kent Andrews to the deal. The Sparatans had been hoping in a package that would have centered around Diablos’ relief pitcher Josè Morenas; the deal had been considered one of the most likely to occur as the trade deadline approaches at the end of this month.

The Spartans’ need for a long man in the bullpen is well known. The Haus brothers, who own and general manage the Spartans, are willing to trade with a center fielder that many believe to be a future all-star in order to get Jeff Martin, Eduardo Gomez and Cory Daniels some much needed rest. Though Monty Allison’s starts have been better than most—including Spartans’ manager Pete Towers—expected, the chasm left by his absence in the bullpen has yet to be filled.

However, Stromer’s performance the last month has been lacking. When asked about his recent slump, Stromer did admit that a combination of factors including the trade rumors and the expecting of his first child with his wife, have become a distraction.

“It’s not right,” he told reporters, speaking after yesterday’s win over Florida, “I know I need to focus more. Everyone goes through slumps, but it’s up to me to get myself out of it.” When asked about this being a move to stonewall a trade, Stromer responded in the negative. “No, man, I wouldn’t do anything like that. I don’t want to be traded, of course, but if they send me somewhere, they send me somewhere.”

Despite the rumors and the slump, however, Stromer is still having a strong showing in all-star voting. He is currently in sixth place in voting for the outfield positions, out of 24 outfield spots for the Eastern team, which takes players from the East division as well as Memphis, Cleveland and Detroit.


New York, New York (June 15)


The Spartans lost a heartbreaker to the New York Knights yesterday, four to three, after giving up a two run home run from Jeff Pullman in the top of the ninth. Cory Daniels, who had only one blown save the entire season prior to yesterday, took the loss. He had not given up an earned run since the end of May.

The loss is especially heartbreaking as it means that New York can sweep the Spartans’ home series with a win tomorrow, putting them in a solid second place in the division. Both Hope City and New York currently trail New England, who is having a much better season than most expected. The Spartans have not taken a road series in New York since last June, and they have not taken a home series yet this year.

“It happens,” Daniels said after the game. “You win some, you lose some, but games like this hurt the most, because we’re the home team and we should win these games, especially given how close the standings are.”

Daniels attempted to take the blame for the loss after the game, but manager Pete Towers was quick to cut in saying that it was a hard loss to take, and Daniels had a pitch get away from him. Daniels, known for being ultra-competitive, however, refused to speak to the media after that, but instead was seen talking to pitching coach Steven King. Given King’s recent excommunication by much of the team, that the conversation happened at all is telling.

Daniels, however, is not the only one that should be at fault for the Spartans’ loss. Richie Haus struck out twice, once with two men on and only one out, and Adrian Martinez, who currently leads all-star vote getters, had bobbled a line drive in the third that lead to the Knights’ first run.

Despite Willy’s overall strong start, the Spartans were not able to muster much in terms of offense, though it is of note that Bran Stromer did have two hits and a walk, a sign, perhaps, that he is about to break out of his recent slump.

The game was briefly delayed in the fifth inning when a fan ran onto the field. He was quickly apprehended by security personnel and escorted off; he had been wearing a Spartans’ home jersey, with Leo Castiglione’s name and number on the reverse.


Pete Towers in Trouble over Adultery Scandal (June 18)


Tabloid reports of long-time Spartans’ manager Pete Towers’ rumored affair with the model Lily May were confirmed yesterday by Towers himself. Towers, who has been married to childhood sweetheart and grade school teacher Anne Towers (nee Gibbons) for twenty three years, admitted the affair when speaking to the media yesterday. In true Pete Towers form, he did not elaborate on the situation, but rather simply answered the question as it was asked

The question—is there any truth to the rumors concerning Lilly May—was answered with a simple “Yes, next question.” Towers refused to discuss anything else concerning the rumors, instead preferring to take questions on the Spartans’ prospects for the second half of the season. After he was done taking questions, he retreated into his office and did not leave until long after the media had been asked to leave the premises.

The admission comes as a shock to Spartan players and officials, but most of all to the fans, who have long prided Towers as a bastion of integrity. Indeed, local religious groups have often hired Towers in the off-season as a speaker at dinners and conferences for a considerable price tag. That reputation now is gone, and leaves Towers in a limbo that can likely only be remedied with a Championship win.

Anne Towers could not be reached for comment, though it is rumored she has retained Courtney Sellack, a premiere divorce attorney based out of New York.

The Season, Part 18

Some of you know that I got some amazing news on Friday relating to The Season.

Let's just say, I'm keeping my fingers crossed, and there's a dent in the wood from how many times I've been knocking on it.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.


The Season, Part 18


#1, Dennis Howard, bench coach


Like TJ, Dennis is so distracted by the news about Pete that he almost loses his capacity to process what should be important, albeit disturbing, information. He doesn’t chide any of the Spartans for sloppy play since he knows that he himself is guilty of sloppy coaching. Pete’s not much of one to talk about his personal life, so it’s not even like Dennis can talk to Pete about it, either.

When Kent comes to him, with Eliot in tow, and they remark on the conversation that Eliot heard the night before, Dennis’s first instinct is to ignore it, and wonder why Kent or Eliot would care at all about what TJ and Damien were doing. The four get on well enough on the field and in the clubhouse, but Dennis doubts the four have ever socialized together over the winter. Why Kent would come to him at all makes no sense; these aren’t middle school boys, they should be past the tattling and petty arguments. He tells Kent he’ll take care of it, goes back to eating his oatmeal, and then promptly forgets what it is.

It’s later, when he’s sitting in the dugout, bottom of the fifth inning, sun slowly roasting his arms, that he notices something. Florida’s got a man on first, with their second baseman up at bat. Graeme pitches a fastball that’s a little low outside of the strike zone, but the batter swings anyway, driving the ball into the ground, straight to Damien. It’s an easy double play ball; any high school shortstop would be capable of the soft underhand toss from short to the force out at second. However, instead of a gentle underhand, Damien tosses a bullet to TJ, and it catches TJ off guard. TJ has to take a step back just to keep his balance; the runner on first is still out easily, but TJ is obviously too surprised to make the throw to first.

Eliot sees it too. He gives Dennis a sharp stare and, like an anvil, Dennis realizes why Kent and Eliot told him what they did. It’s not tattling if not doing so hurts the team. They might have no proof as to whether or not Damien is using again, but that toss is all Dennis needs to see that there is definitely something bad between him and TJ at the moment. Dennis, who has been sitting next to Pete, on the far end of the bench in the dugout, gets up and walks over towards Eliot.

“Got any seeds?” Dennis isn’t really a sunflower seeds fan, but it’s an easy way to start a conversation with anyone on the bench. Eliot nudges Dan, who’s seated next to him, for the bag. Dylan, who’s usually seated with them, is by the water cooler, getting himself something to drink and talking to Terry, who is still recovering from his hamstring injury. Dan glares for half a second before he sees Dennis and hands the bag directly to him.

“What brings you down to this neck of the woods?” Dan laughs, emphasizing his faint southern accent.

“Just a quick word with Eliot.” Dennis pauses, knowing he has to come up with something to deflate Dan’s curiosity. “About his baserunning.”

“Ah, sure, no problem.” It’s no secret that Eliot’s baserunning is his biggest weakness, and Dan’s curiosity is easily satiated. He goes over towards Dylan and Terry to join in their conversation.

“My baserunning?” Eliot arches his eyebrows a bit, but doesn’t make much of a scene. Dennis doesn’t waste any time trying to keep up the charade.

“What you and Kent told me, earlier today…”

“You saw the throw?”

“Yes. Listen, I think there’s something going on, if he’s throwing like that to his best friend, but I have to tell you, don’t tell Pete.” It comes out before
Dennis even knows what he’s saying, but when it does, he knows he means it, and why.

“You mean he’s got enough on his mind? Or something else?”

“You weren’t around last time, but you know what happened.”

“I do.”

“Well, if Pete finds out, it’ll be the same thing, all over again, and probably worse.” Dennis doesn’t add because our bench is depleted enough as is and we can’t afford the negative publicity attached to Damien going into rehab, again. He doesn’t have to.

“Someone’s got to talk to him, though.” Eliot surprises Dennis with his unrelenting concern; if it was Kent they were talking about, it’d be far less surprising, but it’s not.

“TJ’s been doing that, hasn’t he? From what you told me, anyway? I’ll talk to TJ.”

“He doesn’t know I heard him, though.”

“I know. Listen, we’ll figure it out, and I’ll have a talk with Damien about that throw of his.” Dennis grabs a few more sunflower seeds from the bag he’s been holding, and places the bag back down on the bench.

“Hey, dude, speaking of my baserunning,” Eliot starts, “how am I supposed to get any better at it if I don’t get a chance to practice?” It’s almost, but not quite, a joke.

“You want practice? All right, if Leo or Richie gets on next inning, you run.” It’s an easy solution, though it relies on one of them actually reaching base.

It might, Dennis muses, be an easier task to keep Damien clean.



#57, Eduardo Gomez, relief pitcher


Eduardo hurts.

It’s not any obvious injury, and for that reason, Eduardo won’t complain, but that doesn’t change the basic truth. He hurts.

It’s been over a month now since the Accident, but the Haus brothers have not been able to manage anything to replenish the depleted bullpen. All potential trade talks have centered around Bran, and, with his recent slump, other teams have demanded more than just Bran, but Kent, who has taken nicely to the everyday role, as well. It’s too much for the Haus brothers, and thus the trade remains uncompleted and the bullpen overstretched and overworked.

Eduardo’s not thrown as many innings as Jeff or Cory, but he’s appeared in more games, and warming up nearly every day takes its toll. His arm is so sore that he’s taken to wearing a sling when he’s not throwing; it doesn’t do anything for the pain in his shoulder, so he alters his delivery to make it bearable. Not comfortable, just bearable. He goes to Liam after every game, but there’s only so much Liam can do before the few pain killers Eduardo can take lose their effect. So he hurts.

He doesn’t complain, but he does tell Steven that if it can be avoided, he’d rather not pitch today. It’s a tall order, though—Monty’s pitching, the Spartans are on the road, and they are at New York. If the Spartans can win in a blowout, Eduardo might get a reprieve, but it’s more than unlikely. While Monty’s been up to the task so far, New York’s hitters are simply too good to make a blow out a reasonable possibility.

It’s a hot night, with a stale breeze full of city fumes and the stars obscured by the city lights. Eduardo spends the early innings of the game in the bullpen, trying not to make his soreness obvious to Jeff or Cory, but it’s a lost cause. They’re just as sore as he is, and they envy his acting ability. They start they game as they do every game, watching it, taking every detail and then trying to estimate when one of them will be called to enter it, but they soon lose interest and the conversation turns to the one topic they haven’t been able to avoid for the past week: Pete.

It’s Jeff who starts it with a comment made all the more uncomfortable given his own turbulent situation: “I saw Anne earlier.”

“Really?” Cory’s not really interested in hearing about Pete’s wife, but he can’t think of anything better. “What’s she doing here?”

“Yeah. She’s got a ticket to the game, I guess, I saw her talking to Pete during warm ups.”

“I didn’t see her.”

“You were still in the locker room.” It’s believable—Jeff is usually one of the first out onto the field. Eduardo finds himself genuinely curious; he’s impressed the two are even speaking to each other.

“What were they talking about?”

“Dunno, I kept my distance. Don’t know about you, but if I was Pete right now, I’d probably try to stay clear of her. Did see one thing, though, she gave him an envelope. Don’t know what was in it.”

“An envelope?” This grabs Cory’s attention, and magnifies Eduardo’s curiosity tenfold. “How big?”

“One of those package ones…it was pretty full. Why?” Eduardo senses where Cory is going with this, and Cory answers exactly how he imagines he would.

“Anne’s lawyer is based in New York.”

“How do you know?”

“We use the same firm, I’ve seen her there before.”

“You have a lawyer?”

“My split from my first wife was pretty nasty.”

“Wait…you’re talking about a divorce lawyer?”

“Yeah,” Cory states, as if there is nothing in the world more obvious.

“And you think—“

“Yeah.”

“Damn. I feel bad for Pete.”

“I feel bad for Anne. He cheated on her, not the other way around.” Eduardo shares in Cory’s disgust that Jeff seems to forget that Pete is the one at fault here. He understands it, though—Pete is already idolized, and Jeff has fairly antiquated views about the roles of men and women in marriage and society.

“One mistake and this happens?”

“It’s probably more than one mistake. We just know about one.”

“C’mon, man, this is Pete we’re talking about…”

“I know. He’s not a saint.” There’s a long silence after this. Cory’s not lying, but it’s still hard for Eduardo to shake off the feeling of it being nearly blasphemous, and he can’t fathom what’s going through Jeff’s mind. He imagines Jeff is probably setting the ground rules for Cory’s heresy trial.

“Listen,” Eduardo says, “if it’s what you say it is, and Pete hasn’t told us, he probably doesn’t want it getting around.”

“We’re in New York,” Cory sighs, “it’s going to get around no matter what we do.”

It’s at this moment that the phone in the bullpen rings, and the signal comes for Eduardo to begin to throw. Eduardo is thrust back into the chaos of the game that had receded into the background; he has to check to scoreboard to see that they are in the seventh inning, with two out already, and up four to one, which would easily make this Monty’s best start of his career.

His arm tries to warn him not to abuse it, not to use it like a grenade launcher, by sending sharp aches to his elbow and his shoulder, but he ignores it. However bad his arm hurts, right now, it’s probably nothing compared to Pete. Or, for that matter, Anne.


STANDING AT THE END OF JUNE

EAST

New England Tribe 39-24
New York Knights 38-25
Hope City Spartans 35-28
Florida ‘Canes 27-36
Washington Sox 21-42


CENTRAL

Chicago Lakemen 37-26
St. Louis Gold 37-26
Minnesota Berserkers 35-28
Cleveland Rivermen 34-29
Memphis Jazz 32-31
Detroit Moose 23-40


WEST

California Diablos 44-19
Seattle ‘Nauts 37-26
Denver Mustang 31-32
Texas Stampede 29-34
Kansas City ‘Nadoes 23-40

The Season, Part 16

So if you're still keeping up with the reading of this, you totally rock my world.


Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14
Part 15

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.

The Season, Part 16

#28, Cory Daniels, closer

The bullpen is a much easier place to work without the tension of having to share space with Monty.

By the middle of June, most of the team has moved on from the concept of Monty as team pariah; with him pitching every fifth day in the place of the injured Micah, it does the team no good to do anything other than support him. Truth be told, Monty hasn’t even done a bad job of it—he hasn’t won every start, but he’s gone six innings in all of them. Most of the team has made peace with Monty’s newfound success—glad, at least, that he’s no longer a distraction for the team.

Cory Daniels, however, is not most of the team. Cory’s mind thinks first and foremost about the bullpen, especially now, as it is stretched to its utmost limit. There’s Jeff, and Eduardo, who are as dependable as ever, but other than that, the only option for the Spartans is for the starters to through a complete game. Good as Graeme and Willy are, however, they can’t throw complete games every time out, and Paul and Li simply don’t have the experience to be pushed much more than seven innings in a game. To their credit, Charlie and Brendan Haus have made a considerable attempt to shop Bran around for some bullpen help, but Bran’s having a bad month and the Spartans, as it stands now, are not likely to get much in return.

Still, without Monty in the bullpen, there’s not the tension that there was in the beginning of the season, and Eduardo, Jeff and Cory aren’t afraid to goof off a little bit when they’re not pitching. It’s a different feeling, when everyone in the bullpen wants to be there, it’s as if the air itself is lighter.

Today, however, the air is rather heavy. It’s not the weather—it’s a gorgeous June day, with just enough clouds to be appropriate for a postcard, and a temperature just a degree or two too cool for swimming. It’s not because the Spartans lost last night, one of Graeme’s starts, one they could ill afford to lose, either. It’s because right now the team sitting in the other dugout has the words “New York” embroidered in silver letters on the front of their powder blue jerseys.

Games against New York always have something extra added to them. It’s not just that New York always seems to treat Hope City as a lesser, minor league type city, both on the field and off, but it’s that the New York fans seem to take an unreasonable delight every time they beat Hope City, and they beat Hope City fairly often. The Knights play better against the Spartans than they do against nearly any other team, and the Spartans don’t have, some argue, the money and thus the talent, to compete on the same level. On the occasions that the Spartans do win, it’s a celebration that nearly rivals winning the championship, and a great shame for New York. It will be on the front page of the Hope City papers, but only page four or five in the New York sports sections.

The game now is close, with the Spartans nursing a one run lead, three to two, in the bottom of the eighth. There are two outs already, so Cory’s already done warming up in the bullpen. The game will end on his shoulders; it’s his responsibility to get three outs before the Knights can get one run, and Cory wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s where he thrives. When Richie makes the last out, Cory doesn’t even wait for Pete to signal him, but instead races to the mound, to the cheers of everyone in the stands. They know well enough that when Cory Daniels enters a game, the last three outs are really formality only.

Cory’s arm is getting to the point of the season where his arm takes a noticeable hit with every pitch. It’s early for this; it usually doesn’t happen until late July, but as the bullpen’s been so stretched, Cory is not surprised by it. Instead, he works through the pain. There’s still a lot of season left, so he doesn’t have a choice. New York’s two best hitters, Thomas Calvin and Jeff Pullman are leading off the inning. If Cory can get past these two, the Spartans (and their fans) will feel the air a lot lighter.

Calvin, a large, tall red-head, is well known in the league for crowding the plate, standing so close to home plate that it makes it nearly impossible to pitch him inside (his weakness) without it being called a ball. Cory’s great at locating pitches, but there is such a small area with which to pitch Calvin inside that it’s easier to try to overpower him with the best fastball Cory can throw—about 102 miles an hour. Cory’s not one to shy away from a challenge, but today it’s a tough decision, with the game so close. He waits for Ben to call the pitch, but Ben himself seems stuck, and soon enough, Ben’s on the mound, trying to talk it over with Cory.

“The fastball’s not got a whole lot on it today.” It’s usually taboo to tell a pitcher that a certain pitch isn’t working (unless you’re a coach, in which case it’s your duty), but Ben learned early on that with Cory, honesty is the only policy.

“I know. Try to get him inside, then?”

“Climb the ladder?”

“Works for me.”

It’s a simple, common concept used by relievers—make the first pitch an obvious strike, and each subsequent pitch a little higher, so that by the third or fourth pitch, the batter is swinging at a pitch way out of the strike zone. Any good reliever can do it; the best can do it on any hitter, even one as good as Calvin.

When Ben gets to the plate, he sets up slightly outside, to fool Calvin—when Cory kicks his leg, Ben will move at the last minute a full step closer to Calvin, but too late for Calvin to adjust. It’s something Ben and Cory have worked on endlessly since they’ve been on the Spartans together; Ben has to get Cory’s cadence just right so he isn’t late (and it becomes a passed ball), or early (where Calvin or whoever’s hitting figures it out and adjusts accordingly).

The first pitch Cory throws is inside, just as Cory wants when he releases it, but instead of tailing back over the plate at the last moment, it tails inside, and Cory’s put just enough speed on it that Calvin doesn’t have time to move out of the way. Calvin’s grimace makes the obvious truth hurt; the pitch has hit him square on his elbow guard. It’s a good ten minutes before Calvin manages to trudge to first base. He doesn’t even look at Cory; he knows well enough that standing inside like he does is going to get him hit, it’s just a question of when.

Cory gets no reprieve with the next batter up, Jeff Pullman, a lanky dark-haired outfielder that looks more like a boy than a man. Pullman doesn’t crowd the plate, but he has a much better eye than Calvin. If there’s even a momentary question of whether or not it’s a strike, he won’t swing. Climbing the ladder won’t work on him—Cory will be able to pull off strikes one and two, but the third, out of the strike zone, won’t get Pullman to swing. The only real way to pitch to Pullman is to fool him with off-speed pitches, but as Cory relies on two pitches (and not four like a starter), it would be near impossible to fool him. Cory’s only option is to locate just right (either high corner, but not low) and throw it hard.

When Cory’s arm is right and rested, he can break the triple digits on the speed gun, but on a day like today, he’ll be sitting on 94 or 95. It’s a dangerous game, and hitting Calvin hasn’t done anything to help. There’s no conference with Ben this time; it’s either going to be a fastball on the outside corner or the inside corner, and Cory leaves the decision (literally) in Ben’s hand. He calls for the fastball outside.

Cory puts everything he has into his legs, propelling him forward. It does no good to put all the power in his harm; it would ruin Cory’s location, but with his legs, Cory can force his body to put something extra into the pitch. It’s an effort, but it works—the pitch manages to register at 97 and Pullman swings long after the pitch is already in Ben’s mitt. It’s thrown so well that Calvin, closely watched at first, doesn’t even have time to decide whether or not he wants to steal second.

Ben calls for the same pitch again, and Cory obliges, same exact motion, same exact result, even though this time the pitch is a hair slower, at 96 on the gun. With two strikes, Calvin takes the little lead he can at first; a large lead would attract notice and the last thing he wants is to get picked off with no one out. There is a noticeable tension in the crowd with two strikes on the guy who is arguably the best hitter on the Knights, and the crowd starts to applaud in anticipation of the third strike.

For the third pitch, Ben calls for it inside, somewhat predictable but better than trying to pitch Pullman for the outside strike a third time—a hitter as good as him will have already figured out how to hit it by the third go.

Again, Cory puts all the power he has into his legs, but when he brings his arm around, there is a sharp pain—momentarily, only, but just long enough to alter Cory’s release point, and thus the trajectory of the pitch. Instead of being thrown on the high, inside corner of the strike zone, the pitch, still just over the inside of the plate, stays just low enough for Pullman to stay on it, and not underneath it.

The crack of bat on ball gives off the one sound that means that Cory doesn’t have to look at where the ball’s going; it’s obvious. Pullman’s just smashed a two run home run, and Cory’s blown a save that the Spartans needed.

It’s only the top of the ninth, though, and Cory still has three outs to get before his team gets last licks. He doesn’t have time to think about what has happened; instead his only choice is to get back to work, hoping maybe his team might bail him out, and not the other way around, for once.



#5, Steven King, pitching coach


For Steven, the first few weeks after the Accident are pure hell. There’s no other way to describe it—Pete won’t speak to him under normal circumstances, instead, he uses Dennis as the middle man to get the pitching change or to tell Steven to work with Paul on his mechanics. Of the pitching staff itself, only Monty bothers to give Steve the time of day, which is not a terribly encouraging thought, even with Monty pitching well.

What perplexes Steven most, however, is that there seems to be no blame given to Liam, and yet it’s in Liam’s job description, not Steven’s, to cater to a player’s injury. Liam is cognizant of this—he has apologized profusely time and again, on TV, in print, and every time, forgiveness is readily given. Liam is an integral part of the Spartans’ staff, Steven is not. Liam is Pete’s best friend, Steven is not.

It’s not any better at Steven’s home, either. His family maintains their distance, but worst of all are the letters and emails he receives from fans, who, just like most of the Spartans, are fiercely loyal to Pete. If Pete has an issue with a member of staff, like he’s having with Steven, then the rest of the fan base has the same issue, as well. Steven’s not sure how his addresses, both normal post and email, are public, but with the wonders of the internet, he’s not surprised that those who really wanted to have been able to find it. There’s one email, in particular that hurts Steven, which takes the hell he’s been living in and multiplies it by an unknown factor:


To: Steven.King@HCSpartans.com
From: POMHCSfan@myisp.com
Subj: How Could You Let This Happen?!?!


When we met in a Florida hotel, I think the reaction of my son, Brett, says all that need be said in terms of how honored we were that you would grace our presence.


Now, though, I’m not sure what to tell my son. You taught him how to throw better, so he doesn’t injure himself (or so you said), but now he’s asking me if what you taught him is the same that you taught Micah Garcia to cause his arm injury. I am at a loss as to what to tell him.


I don’t blame you for the car accident, but if it was just the accident at fault, there wouldn’t be an issue as to whether or not Micah will ever pitch again. This was only Micah’s third season!!


I will always be a Spartans fan, but I am disappointed in the harm that you seem to have caused a young pitcher, and I’m worried if the arms of Paul, Li Ming, and most importantly, my son, are just as damaged as well.


Patrick O’Malley
Rochester, NY



The memory of that February afternoon is crystal clear in Steven’s mind, which might be part of the reason he is so heartbroken by the email. There has never been much that has given Steven a greater thrill than teaching a fan, especially a young boy, how to pitch. A while ago Steven had decided that when he gets tired of the league, that he’d retire and see if he couldn’t coach for the nearest youth league or middle school team. Unlike with the Spartans, it wouldn’t be about being competitive, it would simply be about getting some exercise, having some fun, teaching those that wanted to learn the mechanics they’d need to make it in high school, college and beyond. Now, however, Steven’s not sure any middle school or youth league team would want to take him on staff, at least in the Hope City area.

Losing to New York yesterday was a dagger. The Spartans had a one run lead, a game that Willy had pitched well, and it should have been just a formality, giving the ball to Cory to get the final three outs. Of course, closers are human, just like any other baseball player, and they can and do err, but Willy had asked specifically to stay in, so that Cory could rest his arm a little bit. Pete didn’t want to take the chance, and said as much in the press conference afterwards, that bringing Cory in was his responsibility alone, but the state of Cory’s arm, and Cory’s inability to get enough speed on his pitches or locate well yesterday…that was Steven’s fault.

As has become fairly usual, Monty didn’t seem to hold Steven accountable for Cory’s failure, and, in a nice surprise, Cory doesn’t blame Steven, either. Cory only blames himself, which isn’t really all that encouraging either, but Steven enjoys the fact that after the game he could at least talk to Cory about it without being the subject of a cold, distant, stiff and formal attitude.

Driving to the Stadium before the game, Steven’s shortcut takes him pasty the scene of the Accident, and it takes everything he has to steel himself for it. He keeps telling himself to learn another route to the Stadium, but something keeps him from doing it, like a sense of penance, a sense of needing to atone for a sin he’s not even sure he committed. There’s no sign of the Accident, of course; the clean up crew did an excellent job of that, but sitting at the traffic light, it’s not hard for Steven to imagine how the Accident occurred. It’s harder for Steven to imagine how Micah, in his tiny sports car, could have possibly survived the onslaught of an SUV, so he gives up trying.

It’s the worst on days like today when Steven comes to the intersection and the light is yellow, so he has enough time waiting for the light to change that he can imagine the Accident in rather vivid detail. He doesn’t think about how the Accident itself wasn’t why everyone was so mad at him, but without it, Micah’s arm injury would have likely gone unnoticed until his arm was destroyed beyond repair.

It never enters Steven’s mind that Micah is probably, in some respect, at least partly responsible for the damage of his arm, likely from not stretching right before the game or not knowing how to say when he’s thrown more than his arm can handle. Steven’s born the brunt of so much of the blame that he believes it (to a point) himself. It’s his fault he didn’t catch Micah’s injury, not Liam’s, and it’s certainly not Micah’s fault that he didn’t go to Liam when his arm started to hurt him. Steven doesn’t allow himself that option as an escape.

Eventually, Pete will come around, and thus the rest of the team, but for now, there’s no end in sight. For now, he is Steven King, the world’s most hated Spartan.

The Season, Part 15

So I apologize for the shortness of this, but the first week of classes has meant I've been strapped for time, and when I *do* have it, I am utterly exhausted. I hope this is enough to hold you over till next week...


Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen
Part 14

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.

The Season, Part 15

SUMMER

JUNE

#17, Kent Andrews, utility infielder


There is a difference, Kent thinks, between the random once-a-month start to give an infielder a day off, and starting every day while Terry is on the DL with his hamstring injury. For one thing, his stats actually matter. Coming off of the bench, the average isn’t nearly as important as the ability to clutch hit and play solid defense; starting the average does matter. The big hits matter. Solid defense is supposed to be flawless defense. Most of all, people look at him. He’s not just the guy about to marry Eve Lockwood; he’s the starting first baseman for the Hope City Spartans.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it. It’s not the fame so much (though he does enjoy it) as it is the thrill of being able to play every day, introduced in the starting line up, even making a play here or there that ends up on the highlight show. It’s not easy for him to keep his average up, now that it matters, but he manages to keep it over .275—his own mark for respectable.

Then there are the conversations he has with Eve, over the phone, after every game. She asks Kent in her deep, strong voice, how the game went, asking not just whether or not the Spartans won, but how many hits Kent got and how well the team pitched. He returns the favor by asking Eve how well her movie shoot went that day, and this often elicits a response which includes wardrobe malfunctions (common in a period piece) and paparazzi annoyances. The conversations take on added meaning now that Kent is playing every day; Kent actually has an answer to give to Eve when she asks.

He’s on the phone with her now, in his Memphis hotel room. Eliot is close, across the hall, but given the odd hours at which Kent and Eve are likely to be on the phone, Eliot knows well enough to book his own room if he wants to sleep.

“You made the papers here. You’re all over the place.” Eve says, through the phone.

“I what?” It comes as pure shock to Kent. It wasn’t until Terry went injured that he received any mention in the Hope City press; never mind New York or California. He was amazed anyone in England, other than Eve and her production crew, knew he existed.

“Well, one of the papers wanted to do a story on us for their entertainment section…” Kent remembered this; he’d been interviewed on the phone about a week ago for what he thought was a small, local newspaper. He had, apparently, thought wrong.

“I remember…I thought it was a small paper though, that it was supposed to be a one time thing…”

“Amazing. I’m the American, and yet I know more about England than you who prints the Queen on his money. The Gazette is one of the largest papers in the country; the largest printed outside of London.”

“So how am I all over the place?”

“You should talk to whatshisname,” Eve says, meaning Dick Holt, “but once a paper like the Gazette covers a story, all the other papers want to do the same. There was a lot of interest in you, so a lot of the sports sections have published articles on baseball, and a bunch of them have mentioned you in particular.”

“All good, I should hope?”

“Yeah.” Though it wasn’t one of the main reasons that Kent loved her, the fact that Eve understood the press, and its ability to make or break certainly came as a plus to Kent. If he wasn’t sure about an article about the Spartans, Eve could tell him in a heartbeat if the article was meant to be good press or bad. “They’ve taken a liking to the idea that you’re the guy that’s come off the bench now, they see it as a boy-becomes-man story.”

“I thought they had enough of those over there…” Both Kent and Eve are aware the jibe is directed at the media and the royal family, but they don’t mention it.

“It’s good press.”

“Won’t last forever.”

“Even more reason to enjoy it.” Kent enjoys that Eve is direct and never condescending. She doesn’t sugar coat anything, but she’s not a cynic.

“It feels like you’ve been in England for ages.”

“I know. I was looking at a five earlier, and I thought it was incredibly odd to look at American currency.”

“That’s about how it was the first time I arrived. You know, I’m not quite sure how I would have managed without seeing you that week.”

“Have you thanked Eliot, yet?”

“Every time I see him.” It’s not quite true, but as he’s had Eliot tell him that the non-stop thank yous were beginning to annoy him, it will suffice.

“As well, you should.”

“So when are you coming back?” The question spurts out before Kent really thinks about what he’s saying…it’s not an inappropriate question, but he hates that it makes him seem needy, as opposed to patient.

Eve had returned for Easter, as promised, but Kent was unable to work out any time away from the team to see her in California, where her family resided. Originally, Eve was supposed to have been back for good, but filming had gotten behind schedule due to the unending legal troubles of her co-star. Had the troubles occurred before filming started, the project would have been postponed, but Eve’s co-star had a nasty habit of horrible timing.

“I’ve told you, we’re supposed to finish filming by the eleventh.”

“Yes, but what’s the date on the ticket?”

“Well, I haven’t told you because I won’t know until, then, really, if it’s going to change or not.”

“Just the same, when is it?”

“The fifteenth.” Without thinking, Kent glances at the calendar on the hotel room’s desk. Today is the seventh.

“Of June?”

“Of June.”

“Eight days.” Kent draws a long, measured breath and Eve says what he’s thinking:

“It’s an eternity.”

“I know.” It’s another ten minutes of chatter before the two part; when they do Kent grabs the complimentary pen in the hotel room, and even though the calendar on the desk isn’t his, he draws repeated red circles around the fifteenth.



#40, Bran Stromer, center fielder


By the middle of June the trade rumors centering around Bran have reached such a level of saturation that he is, for once, the center of all attention on the Spartans.

It’s an odd feeling. He’s always had enough talent to earn himself the starting job in center field, but he’s also been one of those guys that slips under the radar. He is the type of guy that does his job, day in and day out, and asks for nothing else in return (or so he’s told, by both Pete and Dick). The sudden attention is unnerving, distracting and his performance suffers as a result. It’s frustrating, especially when his name starts coming up every night on the Baseball Today highlight show.

Bran’s watching the midnight edition of the show from the comfort of his own home on Brighton Lane. His wife, Izzy, is long asleep—at six months with her first child, sleeping is the only thing that comes with any sort of ease—so Bran’s got the volume on the TV only a couple bars above mute. He’s sitting on a large black leather recliner in his TV room—when Izzy and Bran purchased the home, they came to the agreement that Izzy could have free design reign over the rest of the house as long as Bran had control over the TV room. To his credit, Bran didn’t make a bad job of it—two black leather recliners on a hardwood floor, understated coffee table, and a large, flat-screen TV. He’s still not entirely used to the sight of himself on TV and half the time finds that he is cringing at his accent, but he watches, every night.

The anchor of the show is a slightly overweight sportscaster by the name of Len Martin. He looks a bit like Pete might have some years ago, if Pete had ever thought about growing a goatee, but his voice contains none of Pete’s charm or wisdom. His voice is gruff; he is fairly obvious about his efforts to hide his country twang—which Bran finds insulting, among other things. However, Len Martin still knows the game of baseball well, probably better than anyone not employed by any one of the league’s sixteen teams, so Bran pays as much attention to his broadcast as he might to Pete or Charlie.

“Now, as we approach the trade deadline at the beginning of next month, the one name that keeps coming up is Bran Stromer.” Len says the bit as any newscaster might, but Bran notices that his body language is a bit reserved. This is, quite obviously, not one of Len’s favorite topics of conversation. A series of clips of some of Bran’s better at bats and defensive moments plays to the narration of Len’s voice, as if the production crew has access to Bran’s thoughts.

“The Spartan center fielder has shown flashes of all-star talent and is one of the best lead off hitters in the game today. He alone could easily get the Spartans a quality pitcher to fill the void left by Micah Garcia, and then allow Monty Allison to go back to the bullpen, and not strain the Spartan relievers. It’s not much of a secret that the Haus brothers don’t have a lot of money at their disposal; with the signing of Li Ming it is almost a certainty that they will not have the money to pay Stromer what he’d want when he is eligible for free agency. However, Stromer’s recent play has come under fire from fans in California and Seattle, the teams rumored to be most interested in a Stromer trade. One high ranking official working with the Diablos who asked not to be named stated that while he believed Stromer was in the middle of a dry spell, it would greatly lower the Spartans’ leverage should the Haus brothers choose now to make a move. The Haus brothers have yet to publicly comment on the Stromer situation.”

It’s a lot to take in all at once. Bran presses the pause button on his DVR so he can digest what he’s just heard without getting distracted. Most of it is not a surprise; even the bit about the Spartans not having enough money to pay Bran what he’d want in a contract does not provoke a reaction. Truth be told, Bran is already making more money than he ever thought he would, and unless something drastic changes in the next three years before he is eligible for free agency, he is content to play for whatever the Spartans can pay him.

What does surprise Bran is that someone working for an interested team such as California would go on record with his team’s position on the idea of a trade. From what Bran’s learned, it’s just the same as a poker player showing his cards. Bran figures that either the official for California is extremely new at his job, or, more likely, has something else up his sleeve. California is one of the better teams in the league, both in terms of management and talent, so Bran expects it’s just a ploy.

Bran remains awake a little longer to see some of the other game highlights from around the league. Most games were fairly average, though it took fourteen innings for New York to beat St. Louis and Detroit beat Texas on a walk-off home run. When he has trouble keeping his eyes open, he turns the TV off and makes for his bedroom. Bran’s used to finding his way to the large king bed that he and Izzy share in the dark; he’s just glad that, at the moment, there are no child’s toys for him to trip over and break his ankle.

He sees Izzy’s form under the bedcovers; she’s now showing noticeably, and there is something sensual and arousing about the baby bump. He stares for a moment or two after he undresses at the bump, wondering how it could be supported by Izzy’s miniscule frame, before sliding into the bed, next to her. The idea that the two of them could create a child, another human being, fascinates and excites him. It’s right now, more than any other time, that he wants her. It’s something primitive, he’s sure of it because he can’t explain it otherwise. He’s already heard enough from his mother about what the delivery room will be like a few months from now, but while blood and guts aren’t quite his thing, the idea of having a child, be it a son or daughter, is like euphoria.

Perhaps, he muses as he sinks into unconsciousness, it’s because he keeps thinking about it that he hasn’t been able to hit worth a damn in the last month.

The Season, Part 14

I know it's early, but I won't get a chance to post this tomorrow and I have to make it an early night, so here we go

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve
Part Thirteen

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.


The Season, Part Fourteen

Newspaper articles of note by Spartans' beat writer Dick Holt


All That Glitters is not Gold (May 10th)


Hope City police have revealed that they have questioned Spartans’ shortstop Damien Riley in connection to a jewelry-for-drugs ring run by Alia Blackstone and Shia Marceau, both of Hope City. HCPD chief Anderson Mayhew has stressed that Riley is not a suspect in the investigation, but that they had hoped his personal relationship with Blackstone—the two have been friends since grade school—might help police discover either the jewelry or the drug supplier.

Though Riley has a history of legal troubles, most involving a past drug addiction, he has of late attempted to make amends, completing a rehabilitation program and engaged in numerous community service activities. Blackstone and Marceau were arrested the day before the Spartans’ left for their series with Detroit; Riley complied with Mayhew’s request for questioning upon the Spartans’ return.

When asked to comment about the situation, Riley offered the following statement, through his agent, to the general public:


I am greatly grieved by the situation of Ms. Blackstone, who is a longtime friend of mine. However, I cannot and will not condone a course of action that is at best illegal and at worse dangerous, and thus I will fully cooperate with any questions the HCPD may have relating to this incident.


Spartans’ owner Charlie Haus and manager Pete Towers both spoke in support of Riley, saying that he was doing the right thing by cooperating with the HCPD, and that they hoped the situation would reach a quick resolution. The lawyers for Blackstone and Marceau were unable to be reached for comment.


Pyrrhic Victory (May 14)


The Spartans’ 3-0 victory over Seattle yesterday afternoon with a terrible cost: Terry Jones, the veteran first baseman, suffered a hamstring injury while attempting to steal third base in the fifth inning. The injury is expected to sideline Jones until the end of July.

Jones, hitting at a .280 clip thus far, is far from the team’s best hitter, but his defense on the field is still good enough to have won the Fielder’s Award for first base last year. Jones is one of the most important leaders on and off the field for the Spartans, and also a perennial fan favorite. He has injured his hamstring plenty of times over the course of his sixteen year career, but this one no doubts hurts more as Jones has previously announced that this will be his last season.

Lost in the hubbub concerning Jones’ injury is William Tully’s start: Tully went a full eight innings giving up just three hits and no runs, and is off to a 7-1 start with a remarkable 2.78 ERA. Given the rumors surrounding Graeme Johnson’s potential retirement, Micah Garcia’s poor pitching of late and the uncertainties over Paul Green and new Chinese pitcher Li Ming, Tully’s hot start has turned him into Spartans’ most reliable ace of the moment.

“It’s amazing,” Tully told reporters after the game, “it’s like everything has just fallen into place…I feel confident with all of my pitches, and it’s great to help the team every time I take the mound.” Tully next starts on the road against Kansas City.


The Full Monty (May 28)


In his first start since his rookie year, Monty Allison pitched well enough in six and two-thirds innings to help the Spartans to a 7-3 victory over St. Louis. He gave up three runs in the six innings, all earned, and seven hits, while striking out five and walking two.

Allison’s start, of course, had added emotional connotations as he took the place of Micah Garcia, who is still recovering from a serious car accident. Allison, who had before the season started vociferously declared his desire to start, was the only logical choice to fill the void. Jeff Martin has never pitched more than three innings in a league game before, and Eduardo Gomez has only two pitches—not enough to get by as a starter. As the race in the East this year looks to be a three-way fight between Hope City, New England and New York, the Spartans have to win the games they play now, and not try to make up a deficit when Terry Jones returns in July or if Garcia returns at all.

For the first time this season, Allison was not met by boos when he took the mound, a sign, perhaps of the Hope City fans beginning to forgive Allison for his preseason comments, though there is a rumor that Garcia had, from his hospital bed, asked for fans to be respectful of whatever pitcher was slated to start in his place. The fan support obviously helped; Allison pitched much better than any of his rookie starts.

“It’s an honor to be asked to start in place of Micah,” Allison told reporters, “and I’m glad that I was able to make full use of the chance I wanted. Hopefully I’ll be able to do this again.” With no other pitchers on the horizon, it seems doubtful that anyone else but Allison will be pitching for Garcia.

Garcia has no timetable for return, as Spartans’ owner Charlie Haus has said that the primary concern is for him to recover his full health. He is expected to be released from Bellvue Memorial Hospital within the next few days. The driver of the SUV which struck Garcia’s car, Jared O’Connor, has been arrested and detained on charges of driving under the influence and leaving the scene of an accident. He is expected to plead guilty.

The Season, Part 13

Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Part Eight
Part Nine
Part Ten
Part Eleven
Part Twelve

As always, (c) Rebecca Glass, all international copyright laws apply. Please protect intellectual property rights.

Kudos to you if you've made it this far!


#14, Daniel Lewis, outfielder


Daniel is in the middle of a glorious night with Alyssa when his phone rings.

“You didn’t turn your phone off?” Alyssa is aghast. She’s wearing a pink silk slip that she’s pulled up to her neck, so that the two of them are not unoccupied. They’re lying in Dan’s king-size bed, with the silk sheets Alyssa bought just for this purpose. There are lit candles on the windowsill, and incense with Alyssa’s favorite scent, sandalwood rose, burning in each corner of the room. All that’s missing to recreate their Caribbean honeymoon is the beachfront porch and ocean breeze.

Dan attempts to ignore the ringing, trying to keep it from ruining the moment, but it doesn’t work. The moment was ruined the instant the display window in the phone lit up, tingeing the room in an eerie green glow.

“Who the hell would be calling now, anyway?”

“No idea.” Dan is lying on top of Alyssa. He makes no effort to rise.

“Well, do you think maybe you could turn it off, and then we could get back to…us?” It comes out as a command.

Dan rises to obey. His phone is on the windowsill, where Dan keeps it when he sleeps out of habit. He walks over, picks up his silver phone with the intention of turning it off, and is distracted by the message that shows through the display window:


3 Missed Calls


He flips open the phone and sees the most recent number of the missed call:


Pete Towers

315-555-3892.


He knows something’s wrong right away; the number belongs to Pete Towers and Pete has never called Dan, let alone at this hour—nearly midnight. The only reason Dan even has Pete’s number is for an emergency. He doesn’t need to check the other phone numbers to know something is very, very wrong.

“Lys,” he manages, “It’s Pete trying to call me…I gotta take this.”

“What?”

“Pete…he wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important.”

“Can’t it wait till morning?” Dan feels for Alyssa. Truth is, he’s been waiting a long time for a night like tonight, and if he could put it off to morning, he would, but if it were a minor emergency, one that could wait, it would have been Dennis calling him. Not Pete.

“I don’t think so.”

“Fine,” Alyssa concedes. She pulls her slip back down to cover the rest of her exposed body. She rises from the bed. “I swear, it’d better be important.”

“It will be.” Dan finds Pete’s name in his contact list, and hits send. It rings twice before being answered.

“Pete speaking,” Dan hears Pete’s voice. It doesn’t sound like Pete, though. It shakes, like one who has smoked too many cigarettes.

“Yeah, it’s Dan. You called?”

“Yes. Dan…” There is hesitation. “There’s been an accident.”

“An accident? Who? Bad?”

“A car accident. It’s serious, you should-“

“Who? Dylan? Eliot? Dennis? Who?”

“Micah.” That name hits Dan like a punch to the gut. Of all the names, all the Spartans, Micah would have been the one furthest from his mind.

“Micah? What? How bad?”

“He’s in surgery. Doctors say he’s been in surgery for over two hours now…listen, a lot of people are down at Bellvue waiting…”

“Yeah,” Dan says, understanding that Pete is not really suggesting anything as opposed to ordering it, “I’ll be right there.”

“Good. Micah can use whatever support we can give him.” There is a click, and Dan is stunned into silence. Pete’s not talking about a fender-bender, that goes without saying, but if Pete won’t mention exactly how serious it is on the phone, it means that Micah is probably not leaving the hospital any time soon. If ever. Dan tries to ignore the last bit.

“What is it?” Alyssa jolts him back to the present. He’s wearing his emotion on his sleeve, because Alyssa’s tone is at once soothing and tender.

“Micah…he’s been in an accident.”

“Micah…Micah Garcia? The pitcher that lives five down?” Alyssa knows Micah as well as she does more or less only because he lives so close to them on Brighton Lane.

“Yeah.”

“Serious?”

“Pete wouldn’t say how serious on the phone, but said I should go down to Bellvue…he’s in surgery.”

“You should go.” Alyssa doesn’t offer to keep Daniel company, but he likes it better that way. To put it nicely, there aren’t a whole lot of guys on the Spartans that like her too well.

“Yeah. I might be a while…you going to be all right on your own?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Alyssa reverts back to her normal self as Dan throws on a pair of tattered jeans and an old t-shirt, the closest clothing within reach. If he wore clothing like this to the Stadium, Pete would be more than a little upset, but Dan assumes, correctly, that what he’s wearing right now isn’t really a concern. He could probably show up in his boxers and it wouldn’t matter.


There’s a large media contingent in front of the emergency room doors at Bellvue Memorial when Dan gets there. He sees Dick Holt, of course, but also the local Hope City newscasters, the national sports newscasters, and a host of other people he has never seen before in his life. It’s about half and half between English and Spanish speaking, but it’s Dick Holt who recognizes Dan and approaches him first.

“Dan…did they tell you anything?” It’s clear Dick doesn’t want to ask the question, but Dan knows if Dick doesn’t, the others will, and they won’t be nearly as considerate.

“Pete just said there was an accident. You probably know more than me.”

“Rumor is there was alcohol involved…”

“It wouldn’t have been Micah. He doesn’t drink on nights he pitches, before or after.” Dan is appalled at the suggestion that Micah could have driven drunk, and he senses that Dick feels the same way.

“All right, thanks.”

“Am I the last one?”

“I’m not sure. I think there were a lot of people here by the time we got here,” Dick says, referring to everyone present and not just the members of his paper, “but I did see TJ and Damien going in, and Kent came in with Eliot and Dylan.”

“Okay, thanks.” Dan enters through the large automatic doors. He doesn’t have to ask anyone where to go; a nurse recognizes him instantly from an injury he had a few years ago, and tells him that the entire Spartan team can be found in the waiting room of the fourth floor operating suite. Dan thanks the nurse and finds the elevator. It’s one of the longest elevator rides of his life.

When the elevator doors open, Dan is immediately greeted by a large room with soft light, a sea-green printed carpet, light classical music in the background, and magazines piled so high that anyone under the age of five could climb the pile and call it a feat. The near entirety of his team, even Terry, who has taken the precaution of using crutches, is already there, some standing, some sitting, some unable to make up their minds. The only one missing is Li, and Dan imagines that is because of the language barrier and that Pete, with twenty-three other names to call, thought it best left a task for Brendan or Charlie Haus. Pete isn’t in the room, but Dennis tells him as soon as he enters that Pete went outside to make a call, presumably to find out if Charlie or Brendan had managed to get in touch with Li. Dan spots Dylan with some difficulty—everyone is a shade or two paler, so Dan can’t just look for the palest face in the room.

Dylan’s sitting in one of the corner chairs, looking uncomfortable. He’s flipping through the pages of a magazine, but Dan can tell he’s not really reading it. There’s an empty seat next to him. Dan takes it.

“Hey,” Dan says, “I could probably use some seeds right about now…”

“Forget sunflower seeds, and get me a rum and cola.” Dylan smiles, but only just.

“How long you been waiting?”

“Over an hour. I thought you weren’t coming, I think Pete tried calling you-“

“Three times. I was with Alyssa.”

“With Alyssa?” Dylan picks up on Dan’s meaning without a second thought. “You didn’t turn your phone off?”

“I forgot. I tried to ignore it, but the third time it went off, Lys got pretty upset.”

“I can imagine.”

“Anyway, what have they told you?” Dan is anxious to change the topic. Even with Dylan there is not much love spared for his wife.

“Next to nothing. They say it’s serious, he’s in surgery, we’ll know more after he comes out of it.”

“Did they say what happened?”

“I missed that bit, I came in with Kent and Eliot and the doctor was just finishing explaining what had happened, but I think it was something like he was at a stoplight on Jefferson and there was a drunk driver that rammed into the side of his car or something.”

“Damn. Micah’s got that convertible, doesn’t he?” Dan hadn’t even thought about the car that Micah would have been driving; his concern wasn’t how the accident happened, it was what was going to happen to Micah. The thought overwhelms him.

“Christ, I didn’t even think of that. I think I heard that he was hit by an SUV…and an SUV and that little car…I…” Dylan can’t finish. The image is enough to make Dan feel multiple waves of nausea at once.

“How’s everyone else doing?”

“Haven’t been paying too much attention…what I did see, though…Eduardo looks horrible, worse than any of the other guys, even Pete.”

“That would make sense,” Dan sighs, “Eduardo sees Micah as his baby brother.” The two fall into a silence. There really isn’t much they can say—either they have said it, or it’s not appropriate for the moment. Light-hearted dugout banter has no place in the purgatory of a waiting room.

It’s another few hours, nearly three AM, before a doctor finally emerges into the waiting room. He is dressed in green scrubs, still wearing a surgical cap that hides a hairless scalp. He drops his surgical mask to reveal a thick white beard, reminding Dan at once of Santa Claus, though the beard is far too short. He doesn’t have to wait long to garner everyone’s attention; even Pete is quick to hang up his phone and return to the room when he sees the doctor.

“Right,” the doctor starts, his voice carrying a thick accent that sounds a little bit like Kent’s, “I’m Dr. Brian Jacobi. I can see that there’s no hiding this from any of you, but know that general Bellvue policy is for only immediate family to be made aware of a patient’s condition. Given that Mr. Garcia has no immediate family in the area, I am willing to bypass regulation.

“Mr. Garcia was brought in, as you know, after his car was, we believe, struck by a driver under the influence of alcohol. The impact was driver’s side door, and strong enough to flip Mr. Garcia’s car, thus meaning that Mr. Garcia bore the full impact of the collision. That said, Mr. Garcia is relatively lucky—he was not killed, and there is no spinal injury, which means he is not paralyzed. However, that does not mean his injuries aren’t serious. There was a splenic rupture, which, as you might imagine means that we had to remove his spleen. His left shoulder was separated, which we repaired surgically, and his left wrist was broken, which we also repaired surgically. He broke three ribs, which we cannot surgically repair. They will take six weeks to heal.

“There is something else…when giving Mr. Garcia an MRI to determine the full extent of his injuries, we noticed some severe tendon damage in the right arm, by the elbow, that’s probably a result of a pitching injury. I’m not sure how he was able to pitch with that arm…but the good news is that we caught it, and now it will have time to properly heal. Right, then, questions?”

There is a long silence. It takes a while for everyone to digest what they’ve been told, and Dan’s focus is on the words not killed, not paralyzed and the phrase that does not mean his injuries are not serious. There are so may questions going through Dan’s mind that he’s not sure any of them are worth asking, so he doesn’t. In fact, no one seems to be willing to ask anything, except for Pete, who looks…angry.

“Dr. Jacobi,” he says, “what are you saying about his right arm? That it was injured before the accident?”

“Quite. It looks like damage from being overstrained. It’s a good thing we caught it now…” Dr. Jacobi doesn’t finish the sentence, but Dan knows what he’s about to say. It’s a good thing they caught it now, because if they had waited, it’s likely Micah’s pitching career would have been destroyed before it was started.

Only, Dan thinks, right now Micah’s pitching career shouldn’t be anyone’s concern. Not even Pete’s.



#53, Monty Allison, relief pitcher


The season does not linger on May twenty-first.

It cannot.

The Accident, as it’s being called in the Spartan locker room, has an exaggerated effect for Monty. For one thing, he’s no longer the team pariah. The team largely follows Pete’s lead, making that role now the exclusive property of Steven King. Though common sense tells Monty that Liam should be more at fault for missing Micah’s pre-Accident arm injury, Pete faults Steven for having Micah throw too often and not recognizing the signs of the injury, even when he would have been aware that Micah would have never admitted his arm hurt to Liam. That Pete and Liam are friends, or at least close to it, Monty thinks, probably also plays a role; Steven has never quite been Pete’s favorite person.

The more important effect of the Accident for Monty, however, is that with Micah suddenly unable to pitch, there’s an open hole in the rotation. Monty knows better than to bring this to the immediate attention of Pete and Steven; if he was to do that he’d probably be banished from the team, even from the bullpen. Instead, Monty knows his best course of action is to wait. Wait out Paul’s start, wait out Li’s start, wait out Graeme’s start, wait out William’s start, and then when Pete and Steven realize they are short a starter, hope that they decide to give him a chance. It might be his only chance, he might ruin it, but at least he will have had one.

Pete’s not speaking much to Steven, not since he yelled at him, behind his office door, but loud enough for everyone to hear, blaming him for the Accident. When Pete does need to talk to Steven, he tries to send Dennis or Liam instead, but both of them, Liam especially, try to tell Pete he will have to make peace with Steven sometime before the season’s end, especially if they hope to play in October.

It makes the locker room a tense place. No one is quite sure what to say, when to say it or how to say it, so they keep their mouths shut. It’s not been a comfortable place for Monty the entire season, but now the entire team feels as he does. There’s no talking to Pete, no trying to calm him down; Pete will come to his senses eventually, but the only thing for the Spartans to do for the moment is to go through the motions. Get changed, play the game, hit the showers, get changed again, see you tomorrow.

The tension breaks on the day that Micah’s supposed to start, May 27, against St. Louis. It’s not so much that Pete and Steven start talking like friends again, they don’t, but it’s the first time since the Accident that someone says something that gets a laugh. Not a chuckle or lip service to the idea that it’s supposed to be funny, but instead, the raucous laughter that rattles the lockers themselves. Monty is changing, his locker between Jeff and Li, still with no word from Pete or Steven on who will start the game, when it happens.

Pete walks out of the office, and, as is usual a few hours before the start of a game, he posts the line-up card on the bulletin board on the wall. He says nothing about the line-up; it changes seldom, except on the occasions he decides to give Dylan, Kent, Dan or Eliot a rare start. The only notable difference from the normal of late is that Kent is given the start at first, but that is due to Terry’s hamstring. As usual, after posting the line-up card, Pete goes back into his office without saying a word. Bran is the first one to walk up to the bulletin board after Pete’s departed, but instead of leaving after a quick glance, Bran stands there, transfixed.

“Guys. You gotta come see this.” Even though he’s from the Ohio Valley, enough winters playing baseball in the Caribbean have left a mark on Bran’s voice. He speaks in that deep voice, sounding like he says mon when he means man. It works perfectly with his dreads and reggae music he likes to sneak into the CD player.

Monty knows Bran wouldn’t mention something if it wasn’t worth it, so he follows the throng and finds an angle at which he can see the card. Though Pete’s handwriting is messy, it’s far from illegible and Monty reads:


1. Bran Stromer CF
2. TJ Redd 2B
3. Damien Riley SS
4. Alfredo Martinez 3B


He doesn’t look at the rest of the card; he knows what Bran caught. It’s a well-known bit of clubhouse lore that Pete is a fan of Italian food, and that he often eats something akin to macaroni slathered in alfredo sauce before a game, and the slip is amusing.

“Adrian,” Bran says, “I didn’t realize you were so saucy, man.”

“Yes, well, I could be a breakfast cereal,” Adrian replies, not missing a
beat. There is a moment of silence, and then, from Leo—

“Yeah, Bran, he could be that hi-fiber laxative…”

“Aw, man, are you telling me you’d rather be creamy, white and sticky than whole grain?”

“You know,” Kent interjects, at the perfect moment, “there is an important part of my biology that I should hope is creamy, white and sticky.”

There is a half second of silence, as those in the locker room try to decide how to respond to Kent’s comment, but when Bran cracks his smile and Graeme has one of his looks, the locker room is lost in laughter. Had anyone else uttered the words, it probably would have topped out at being vaguely amusing, but Kent times it just right, and that, coupled with the cadence of his accent has even Monty out of breath.

The release that the laughter provides is overpowering and all of the tension that has been building in the small space evaporates in an instant. There is relief in knowing that they haven’t lost their sense of humor beyond all repair. There is a great release in knowing that the laughter isn’t forced or laughter for the sake of laughter, but laughter because something funny has happened. It gets loud enough for Pete to come back out of his office, looking bewildered, but at the same time relieved to see his team, at least momentarily, happy.

“What’s so funny?” He doesn’t raise his voice and says it in the same voice as if he was asking for the time, which only adds to the laughter. Bran is the only one who can come to his senses enough to answer Pete with a semi-straight face.

“Coach, you got a thing for that Italian food?”

“I like Italian food, yes, but what does that have to do with anything?”

“You made a sauce out of Adrian, creamy, white and sticky.” Again, the locker room erupts in laughter, but Pete is still slightly bewildered, so Bran points to the line-up card. As Pete approaches, the rest of the Spartans move backwards, so that by the time Pete is up close enough to the card to read it, he is alone. It takes him a moment to spot his error, but he does it fast enough to avoid a prolonged awkward silence.

“Ah. I see. Well, then, Adrian, you have my full apology, and as part of the apology, I’ll make sure to get some fettuccini alfredo in here for after the game. Sound good?” Pete sees a look of approval on nearly everyone’s face, so, satisfied, he returns to his office for last minute pre-game preparations.

The thought of warm, creamy pasta after the game is enough to occupy Monty’s mind for the rest of the time that it takes him to finish getting dressed, and, indeed, it occupies his mind so much that he nearly forgets to check the line-up card. He’s not really sure what he expects to see when he remembers to look at it, but what he does see, is his name not penciled, but penned in the number nine spot. The pitcher’s spot.



LEAGE STANDINGS THROUGH THE END OF MAY

EAST

New England Tribe 27-14
Hope City Spartans 24-17
New York Knights 24-17
Florida ‘Canes 19-22
Washington Sox 15-26

CENTRAL

Chicago Lakemen 24-17
Minnesota Berserkers 23-18
Cleveland Rivermen 23-18
St. Louis Gold 22-19
Memphis Jazz 22-19
Detroit Moose 15-26

WEST

California Diablos 29-12
Seattle ‘Nauts 25-16
Denver Mustang 20-21
Texas Stampede 19-22
Kansas City ‘Nadoes 15-26