[Pommpie]

Yes, my first post to this forum is a dynasty post. I know. I know. But, really, I crave story-writing, so I decided to be a bugger and herald things by yelling "look at meeee!" I'm very sorry.

A couple notes first of all: what you see at the beginning isn't how I intend to write the whole story. It's an entirely new team in an entirely new league in an entirely new world with entirely new players. I had to jump around a little bit to get things in as much as possible. Stuff settles down a little bit as things go on.

Chapter One: Meet the Edmonton Civics

"Batting first for the Civics, the second baseman, number eight, Mitch Daniels!"

A lukewarm spattering of applause echoed throughout the scanty crowd, coming down like raindrops atop a tin roof. As though egged on by this measley applause a figure strode into the batter's box, aluminum bat bumping off the gravel as the dragged it behind him, carving a neat swathe in the crisp white chalk line. He was one of those guys who filled out rosters for every minor league team in the continent: broad shoulders, dirty white skin, stubble that was shaved once every couple of days. The classic minor-league lifer, aiming his bat towards the Trail dugout as though sighting up manager Phill Guay for a killer headshot, hoping to knock in a few runs for the Civics before moving on to his next port of call.

From above Mitch Daniels, the rattly public address system spun off his statistics for the 1996 season; it was, after all, Opening Day in the United League, and this season's stats hadn't been written yet. Daniels mouthed the numbers as though he had put them on the script himself, smiling very slightly at the mention of his .257 batting average. In triple-A, mind. An independant league like this was nothing to an old warhorse like Mitch, and he knew it. But he also knew that he had two kids to feed, and his only education was from the school of applying maximum force to small white spheres. He plucked at the white sleeves of his jersey, loosening the fabric around the shoulders. He picked at the hot pink piping on the jersey, but that was more out of distaste, and he spent a good half a second in the batters box looking down on the worst jersey in baseball.

Stevie Starratt grinned cockily at Mitch from the hill as he went into his windup. Smile, you little prick, thought Daniels as he tensed for the pitch. You weren't playing indie ball at 26 years old if you were a stud prospect, and Mitch was looking forward to wiping that smirk right off his goddamned...

"Ball one!" shouted the umpire.

Jesus, that had really come in. Good thing it was outside, he hadn't been paying nearly enough attention. He aimed the bat at Phill Guay again, who just stared at him like he was a bloody leper. Back when the Lethbridge Lumberjack Phill Guay was batting third for the Orwell Tracers and within an ace of a major league callup, he'd given Mitch that look every time he stroked one of those ridiculously high...

"STEEERIKE!"

Daniels turned back sharply and glared at the umpire, but more through reflex than anything else. He had no bloody idea whether the ball had been inside the zone or not. Come on, buddy, get your head in the game. Another bat-point towards the Trail dugout. The pitch. Solid contact, launching a frozen rope past the diving shortstop into the outfield. Mitch held up at first, as the spectacularly unimpressed crowd of 2,444 applauded uninterestingly.

The next batter was centre fielder Denny King, another one of those beardless kids, smiling and windmilling his bat through the air like it was a sandlot. It may as well have been; the United League was known neither for generous salaries nor for turning kids into stars. To his credit, Denny saw through the bull: he was playing baseball, he was (barely) getting paid to do it, and he was second in the lineup behind a man with 187 career big-league hits. For Denny, life was good, and he played ball with the attitude of a man who knew it.

King grinned even as he whiffed on his second pitch. 1-1. A tall lanky kid, nobody would confuse him with big Craig Courtney anytime soon. But by God, he could run, and by God, he had one of the sweetest strokes ever seen on a baseball field. 177th overall in '94, one who couldn't stay healthy, one of those guys who had fifteen milkshakes in a day just to try and gain weight. Maybe a slaphappy singles hitter in the show, in a happier world. But here he was, playing with the dregs for the disinterested, and grinning.

Probably a lesson there, somewhere.

Swing. Foul ball. Foul ball. Foul ball. Mitch found himself stepping just a little off the bag, anticipating. Anticipating one of those at-bats, as the pitcher found himself just un-bloody-able to get the out. Foul ball. Another one. Then ball two. Then a swing, and a firm ground ball to second. Somebody with muscle ekes that ball through the infield, but not Denny King. Daniels was never the finest baserunner, leadoff hitter or no, and it seemed the ball was whipping past his ear over to first before he was halfway to second. The easiest of double plays, and the two Civics made their slow way back to the dugout.

---

The United League likes to advertise itself as "independant A-ball". Eight teams in Canada and the western United States, with a proud history dating all the way back to the beginning of baseball in 1975, when eccentric billionaire Philip Wilder grew tired of the lack of baseball in his native Billings, Montana and resolved to do something about it as only a billionaire could. Since then, teams have moved, thousands of players have come and gone, but the league has remained, more-or-less afloat thanks to a commissioner who opened the pursestrings until his 1989 death, and enough realism to know that they could only ever hope to achieve so much as a baseball league.

The Edmonton Civics are the most successful team in United League history. Nine league titles in the twenty-two year history of the United League, most recently in 1995, when 23-year old Ethan Little stroked 24 home runs and hit .306 to drive a mediocre squad to the title. The next year, they were out of the playoffs. Little got in a car accident that summer that ended his career. The Civics fell to second last in the United League. General manager Ty Crabtree was gone. Manager Tim Travis was gone. In a gate-driven league, particularly in an unstable market used to winning, failure had to be addressed quickly. The new manager, Kelsey Bowden, was the Civics' all-time leader in wins by a pitcher, picking up the grand total of seventy-seven between 1975 and 1979. General manager Rich Walcott, 41, hit a career .255 in stops all around the low minors.

It was, on the whole, a time of transition.

---

It was 10-2 Trail by the end of the fifth inning. Starting pitcher Carlos Silva was long gone, with six earned runs in three and two-thirds. In his debut as a Civic, Mitch Daniels went 2-for-5, including tattooing a grand slam in the bottom of the eighth, at which point the dozen or so die-hard fans remaining in a 10-2 ballgame applauded exuberantly as Daniels rounded the basepaths.

"Hell of a stroke," Rick Lewis, the starting left fielder, mumbled to Mitch in the dressing room beneath AGT Field after the game. Lewis, an unassuming sort you wouldn't pick out of a police lineup, was the sort of man to keep his voice down, but it boomed regardless in the environment. The Civics dressing room was a cavern, right down to the brick walls and tall ceiling, the dreary decor of exposed pipes and wooden lockers topped off with the occasional picture of a Civics legend. But worst of all was the quiet: when it got quiet in the room (as after a 10-6 loss on opening day), a mouse's fart would echo about as surely as if it came from a loudspeaker.

"Thanks, buddy," Mitch mumbled back from his locker, giving the left fielder a little pat on the small of his back, just above his towel-line. "Bloody shame it couldn't do a bit more." Mitch grimaced, very slightly, but he glanced just slightly towards Carlos Silva, who was already putting on one of the ridiculous sportcoats he always wore, his eyes boring into his heavily-scuffed shoes. Never a staff ace, Silva had been forced up in the rotation after Adam Wallace's back acted up again, and his eyes still retained that glassy look of a man who'd endured a baseball beating. But Mitch didn't say a word, merely watched those glassy eyes for a few seconds.

"You had a good night too... Rich?" Mitch Daniels looked back towards the left fielder, who quickly corrected him.

"Rick."

"Rick. Hit the ball pretty well."

"Thanks." Rick Lewis smiled, very slightly, and looked down to his shoes as though he were suddenly channelling a starting pitcher. "Hoping I can get things going again. You know what I hit in my last year? .233." He laughed, jitteringly, like a series of hamsters being struck by mallets, and with the precise same air of utter torment.

"In 1993. I know." Mitch smiled very thinly, a smile which only increased the rapidity of Rick's laugh-squeaking. Rick Lewis hadn't played organised baseball since the 1993 season, in the rookie league. Property of the New York Sky Warriors, it took the organisation one season to decide the left fielder wasn't going to work out. He'd been working at a gas station until the Civics had dragged him out of retirement because he could more or less swing a baseball bat and wouldn't cost a thing.

Immediately, Mitch saw the distress Rick was going through, his hand clapping onto the young outfielder's shoulder. "You keep playing like that, though, and you can play for me anytime." A little shake, a smile like he thought a Real Leader might give in that situation. Lewis laughed nervously. Less nervously, but still nervously. Mitch meant it, too: 3-for-4 was, well, 3-for-4, and Rick was a nice enough kid.

He just didn't think Rick'd keep playing like that.

---

In 1996, the Edmonton Civics admitted their worst ever paid attendance. Their payroll had been about $525,000, and they lost two hundred grand anyway. Rent at AGT Field was heinous, as though the City of Edmonton was determined to remedy by usury what they lost in letting the University of Alberta team play there for a song, and the managers, coaches, scouts, and equipment were always more expensive than you thought they'd be. The Civics were always teetering on the knife's edge of solvency, much like the rest of the United League, but with their poor conditions and their too-small stadium with a too-large budget to stay competitive, and too much baseball competition in a city that wasn't exactly baseball-mad, they were in a tough spot.

When the Civics were winning, things were great. Fans would show up in droves, solid playoff revenues would provide a boost to the pocketbook, and since the Civics were usually winning, Edmonton was one of three cities to retain a United League team throughout its entire history. But 1996 had been a catastrophe. The enigmatic Xiang-ling Xun was the best hitter in the United League, but his distant manner alienated potential fans. And the rest of the lineup was lucky to be replacement level. Worse, the City had jacked up the rent on AGT Field again and was hoarding more of the parking revenue. There was talk of a move, and not enough die-hard fans to stop it. It cannot be said that the City of Edmonton would be sad to see them go, for Edmonton billed itself as the 'City of Champions', and the United League wasn't quite championship enough for marketing purposes. Maybe some money man would get a AAA team in if a vacancy suddenly appeared.

Thus, new general manager Rich Walcott. Press releases made a big deal of him being a former ballplayer, not a "company man". They didn't mention his spending his post-baseball career working as an accountant. His job was to stop the bleeding losses, for the small gang of modestly monied owners simply lacked the financial resources to keep eating such poor results. And if he could build a winning team in that environment, great! The owners loved baseball, and they were desperately hoping to keep the Civics in town. Even if all they got was to watch the other seven United League team tee off on the Civics, that would be fine.

When Walcott hired the legendary Kelsey Bowden as manager, exuberant oldtimers declared it a sign of a renewed commitment to winning. But Kelsey Bowden had never coached, never mind managed, and had been out of baseball for a decade. His only qualification was that he worked cheap.

---

"We're sitting down with Edmonton Civics second baseman Mitch Daniels and shortstop Xiang-Ling Xun. Mitch, Xi... Xiang-Ling, welcome to the Great White Morning!"

Mitch's "great to be here" and Xiang-Ling's general grunt of greeting he reserved for such occasions collided, but the canned laughter merely laughed it off. The big second baseman shook the hand of the exuberant morning show host, her exuberant morning show sidekick, and the chef from an area restaurant brought in to make the best damned omelettes any of them had ever seen for the folks at home. He smiled at all of them, a smile as transparent as Plexiglass, a smile bereft of humanity, never mind sincerity. The Civics were 1-5. Mitch was hitting .233 and could barely get the ball out of the infield. Xiang-Ling was hitting .370 and had another three goddamned home runs, but Mitch was rapidly learning that Xiang-Ling Xun could be surly if he was slugging 4.000 on an undefeated team.

Neither the ballplayers, nor the hosts, nor the chef, nor the television audience would remember much of their appearance on that morning show. That wasn't the idea. In the front office, Rich Walcott was busy getting every player as much publicity as he possibly could, and the Team Star and the Major Off-Season Acquisition were going to be front and centre. Even as Xiang-Ling helped add just a pinch of basil with the look of a man adding just a pinch of cyanide, Kelsey Bowden was at a used car dealership in Wetaskiwin, the best pitcher in franchise history, his gut hanging over his belt, for a guy who wanted to get rid of his 1988-model pickup trucks. The surprising team batting leader Rick Lewis was in a Grade One class, stammering his way through a reading lesson and offering the kids free tickets to a Civics game (but not, Rich was careful to emphasise in his memo, their parents).

The only advantage of these insipid public appearances was that he got to stop thinking about baseball for a couple of hours, get away from that sporadic guy on the streak who'd ask what his trouble was against lefties, or why the team couldn't get two balls in the strike zone consecutively, or whether they were all just trying to get Xiang-Ling the record for most solo home runs in a season. Compared to hearing that in the day then going out that night and lining a ball right into the first baseman's glove, the morning show was almost bliss.

Almost.

"So, the Civics off to a rough start this year, huh, Mitch?" the man asked, appending one of those boisterous morning show chuckles. It was always the man who asked these bloody sports questions. Backstage, she'd complimented Mitch and Xiang-Ling on coming together so quickly as a double-play combination and musing that a pitcher had to be a bit more confident knowing they were getting a free out or two per game, and he'd asked Mitch how many touchdowns he had this year. Yet, the man had to ask the sports questions. Go figure.

"Well, Gus," Mitch said with a cloying smile, leaning over the omellet and just grinning stupidly, "it's been tough sledding these first six games, but, you know, there are a lot of new faces in that clubhouse and it'll take us a bit of a time to gel. There's a lot of great young talent, and if you'll watch, we've been getting better every game. Just have to take it one game at a time, really."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch glanced to Xiang-Ling, as though waiting for his teammate to take over. The shortstop was presently more interested in an omellet than he'd ever been in his life. Gritting his teeth inwardly, Mitch continued.

"Yeah, yeah, I haven't been here long but I know the fans here are very discerning," he glanced towards the bare wall in place of a studio audience as though acknowledging the imaginary crowd, "and they... well, Gus, they want to see a winner. But it'll just take a little time for us all to come together, you know? Baseball's like building a house. You can't just move right in before the walls are up. Ain't that right, Ziggy?" Mitch clapped a big mitt on Xiang-Ling's back, causing the shortstop to jolt upward with a start.

"Yes," he hissed in his perfect English, glaring at Mitch.

The male host laughed. "Well, I'll just leave you two to it. Best of luck for the rest of the season." Apparently, he'd sensed that there might have been actual baseball conversation if he kept this up, and he was looking to get out early.

Mitch smiled cloyingly. "Oh, it's been my -pleasure-, Gus," he said, wondering if it was too early to demand a trade.

---

The rest of the United League was in little better shape than the Civics. The Eugene Cranes were the defending champions, having made the four-team playoffs fifteen times in their history, raising a championship banner precisely once, and facing such a cash crunch in 1989 that the team was moved from Sacramento to Eugene, Oregon. That same year, the three-time defending champion Victoria Sting moved across the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Port Angeles, Washington.

Once, the league had drawn players who, while not 'stars', were at least exciting to watch and stuck around for a few years. But the league had not boasted a 20-game winner since Robinson Lerma in 1986. Of the top ten United League players in career hits, only three players had played their prime years after 1990. The league's charismatic stars were years in the rear-view mirror. Old-timers still talked about Norogumi Kawamura, who in three United League seasons stole 250 bases: still a career record. A few stars, such as Edmonton's Xiang-Ling Xun and former Pueblo Anchor/Salem Bingo pitcher Yoshida Uemura, captured some of the public's imagination, but they were few in number and lacked the charisma of some of the old stars. Moreover, some of the less enlightened fans murmured against the fact that the United League's top players were increasingly of Asian origin, and attendances continued to decline. The United League Hall of Fame in Billings had one player of post-1990 vintage in its walls: long-time Billings Barnstormers infielder Ed Nichols, who never led the league in any category and was nominated largely for long periods of acceptable consistency.

The last a team or league needed in this situation was to start 1-5. Though it was early days for the Civics, on the heels of a previous season of failure, the attendance could not be called "enthusiastic".

Coming up: Chapter Two: The Storm Before the Calm