[Pommpie]

This story was first posted to the OOTP forums on May 6, 2007. Yes, really. So why am I in there almost four years later editing it up? Well, I was playing a bit of OOTP 11 recently and that made me feel like getting into story mode again. I'd had some good things going in this game, and the story had been a pretty entertaining one. More importantly, I still had the OOTP X save-game file, so it was a simple matter to import the old save into the new game and get back into the habit.

So that's an excuse for a new chapter, but why revise the old ones? Frankly, part of the reason I'd never continued the story after I petered out is that I was dissatisfied with the overall quality. Particularly in the first few chapters, there were some entertaining concepts but too much inconsistency, too much sloppy editing. So I decided, just for the heck of it, to grab my old data and see if I could get in the groove again by trying to rewrite the first chapters of the story. Make it a more satisfying read for anybody who wanted to start from square one, and therefore more satisfying to write for an author of a slightly perfectionist bent.

As you can see, the groove was found.

This story is set in a fictional baseball world. It revolves around the Edmonton Civics of the independent class "A" United League. The United League was formed in 1975 (also knows as the "the year I started simulating the league's history"), with our story beginning on Opening Day of the 1997 baseball season. The United League has attracted a few veterans of the major league American Baseball Association, and a few UL veterans have gone on to success around the world, but for the most part it's a dumping ground for no-hopers and marginal players trying to eke out a few paycheques playing the game they love. The league is in decline, attendance is dropping, and stars are becoming rarer and rarer. There are talks of teams relocating, of the league folding altogether, and the storied Edmonton Civics are now one of the most troubled teams of all.

So, without further ado, the first chapter of Play Ball.

Chapter One: Meet the Edmonton Civics

There are old-timers who swear that there's no better place to play professional baseball than Edmonton, Alberta in late spring.

It's chilly, of course. On each bench, players brought in from Mexico, from the Dominican Republic, from warmer parts of the United States found themselves bouncing around on the old aluminium bench trying to keep warm. Manager Kelsey Bowden, standing on the top step of the dugout, had spent years pitching and living in Edmonton but was powerless to keep from shivering, jowls flapping as he chewed his gum with the intensity of a man trying to think of anything but the temperature.

But the day itself was beautiful. The crisp air magnified the crack of every bat, the slap of every ball into every leather glove, the sound of every set of spikes sliding through every piece of gravel. Without a hint of cloud, the bright Alberta sun beat upon little AGT Field, doing little to warm it but making the atmosphere almost ethereal. On a Sunday afternoon, even the traffic down nearby Jasper Avenue was more muted than usual. It was more like a baseball movie than actual baseball. The sort of ballpark where you expected J.D. Salinger to roll up and start playing catch.

In this shrine to baseball, looking its absolute finest, only a handful had gathered for the game they loved. Two thousand paying patrons (maybe) crowded in the grandstand behind home plate, loyally cheering on their hometown heroes. Pretty sorry even for an independent league team, and on Opening Day no less. The team had won a championship as recently as 1995, but two years of firesales, of relocation rumours, and of pitiful performance had eroded the crowd almost beyond recognition.

In such a tranquil environment, the enthusiastic cry of the public address girl stood out; a sudden intrusion of modernity as the home team came up for their half of the inning. "Batting first for the Civics, the second baseman, number eight, Mitch Daniels!"

Applause scattered through the crowd like raindrops on a tin roof. A couple cries of recognition from the real fans. Raising his hand to salute the borderline praise, a tall, stout figure walked into the batter's box, digging in and twirling his bat like a windmill. The crisp, almost unblemished white of his uniform glinted in the sunlight. Not quite six feet tall, the stubble on his face flecked with more grey than he was comfortable admitting, and just a bit of a paunch beginning to ruin what was once a well-defined body.

Over the hill he may have been, but Mitch Daniels was a cut above most of the United League. He was still an excellent fielding second baseman, and compared to brash young AAA fireballers the indie pitchers looked like grapefruit tossers. Daniels hadn't played at a level this low since rookie ball. But he had two kids to feed, he had no pension to speak of, and when the Civics had given him an offer he'd taken it. Playing every day, covering second base instead of DHing while cement-handed twenty-somethings boot grounders into the outfield, and wringing a few more years of potential stardom out of a career that had descended into a journeyman's obscurity.

On the hill, lanky righthander Steve Starratt was pitching for the Trail Smelters, a slender but ferocious 26-year-old. He met Mitch Daniels's steady expression with an enthusiastic grin. It wasn't every day a United League lifer like Starratt got to pitch against a former big leaguer. A big leaguer who had never had much more than a cup of coffee in the major leagues, who had spent the last several years bouncing around the high minors, and whose best days were well behind him at age thirty-seven, but a big leaguer all the same. The previous season, Daniels had hit .257 with a few homers as a part-time DH in AAA, more mentor than player. It didn't matter. In the indie leagues, being a major leaguer made you an icon.

Yeah, keep smiling, thought Mitch, a venomous undertone creeping into his internal monologue even as his face remained impassive. Edmonton's hitters were mostly a sullen sort, but he'd pumped the gregarious veteran first baseman for information on Starratt. Plenty of power, not much control. United League pitchers usually had something wrong with them. You just had to wait until they made a mistake and...

Christ! "Ball one!" shouted the umpire as Mitch took a hurried half-step, half-jump back, a fastball cruising alarmingly close to where his knee used to be. He really let that one go. Even the veteran Daniels found himself rattled by the near-hit, and he tested his right knee as he dug back in with some concern. He'd been hit by a pitch there in his youth and never fully recovered; one of the side-effects was a very real reluctance to risk his career for the sake of first base.

The difference between the veteran and the rookie, though, is that the veteran gets his composure back. No sooner did Starratt have the ball back than Daniels was back in his groove. Looking down the third base line, he cheekily aimed the barrel of his bat at Trail Smelters manager Phill Guay, an old rival from his American Baseball Association days. Then it was back to business.

Starratt let the pitch go. This kid has some smoke...

"Steeeerike!" Mitch still hadn't gotten the bat off his shoulder. Twisting around, he gave the umpire a sharp, disbelieving look. But one more out of habit than anything; he really had no idea whether the ball had been in the zone or not. Mitch Daniels gripped his bat a little tighter. He'd be damned... he'd be damned... if some indie league punk was going to sit down a former ABA player in his first United League at-bat.

Mitch pointed the bat at Phill Guay again.

Starratt released: breaking ball. Curve ball. Big mistake. It didn't hang much, but it hung just enough and a quick, short swing got to it. The ball dashed into the outfield, a frozen rope skipping across AGT Field's hard grass. The Trail right fielder hustled but he was far too late; Daniels was already around first, knee throbbing silently, and by the time the throw arrived he had himself a lead-off, stand-up double.

Taking a short lead, Daniels squinted past the mound to take a look at Edmonton's number two hitter. Tall, lanky Denny King, the centre fielder. Just a kid, it seemed, drafted in 1994 but falling out of the big league system before he got out of single 'A'. A stringbean who could never put on weight, who'd had some injury problems, and who'd never been able to reliably hit; so much for his major league hopes. King was getting paid peanuts, but he was also getting a chance to play professional baseball. He was quick as lightning on the basepaths and had some fielding ability, making him useful enough at this level. The United League was about as high up the baseball ladder as Denny King was ever going to get. Part-time ball, hours on old buses between run-down ballparks, spending the offseason stocking shelves at Safeway, grinding it out until either your body gives out or you decide to settle down and get a real job.

Denny King could not have looked happier with it all.

King grinned over at Starratt, who worked out of the stretch to the young centre fielder. One ball well outside, another fastball off the plate that King took a cut at anyway, and the count was 1-1. Starratt's power threatened to overwhelm the slap-hitting King, but the fireballing pitcher's accuracy let him down. King started to foul off a few pitches, just getting a piece of each here and there, Daniels edging further and further off the plate as Starratt focused his attention on trying to retire the centre fielder.

Finally, King stroked a ball fair. But he only caught the top half of the ball, knocking a sharp but routine bouncer towards the mound. Caught off the bag, Mitch Daniels tried to shift all his weight back, diving for second, gritting his teeth as his aching knee protested painfully. But the ball had bounced almost into the glove of Stevie Starratt, who turned and effortlessly hurled the ball down to second. Even as he contorted himself into a lunge for the bag, Daniels felt the tag hit his shoulder.

One down.

It took a moment for the veteran to get his breath back. Waving off an offer of help from the seemingly-concerned Trail second baseman, Mitch Daniels made his solitary way back to the dugout, willing himself not to limp.

---

At the bottom of the United League crest, black letters proudly proclaim "North America's Only Independant 'A' Baseball League". Formed in 1975 when eccentric billionaire Philip Wilder grew tired of the lack of baseball in his native Billings, Montana, the United League boasts eight teams in the western United States and Canada. Teams have moved, thousands of players have come and gone, but the league has remained, entering its twenty-second season. Wilder financed the league at a big loss until his 1989 death, but by then it was an established part of the baseball community. They'd never challenge the major league American Baseball Association, but even with their sugar daddy gone the team owners could settle into the almost-profitable, sometimes emotionally rewarding, and always difficult world of independant minor-league baseball.

Of those eight United League teams, the Edmonton Civics have been the most successful. They boast nine league titles in their twenty-two year history, and the names of United League legends like Michael "Rainmaker" Baldwin are hallowed among old-timers who gather at AGT Field during baseball season. The most recent championship came to Edmonton, catching all observers by surprise: in spite of losing star first baseman Pancho Gonzalez to a skull fracture, the Civics rode the stunning power of 23-year old Ethan Little and a lethal starting rotation to the most improbable of all their championships. But contracts were expiring, raises were being asked for, and with the rent at AGT Field going up the Civics were in no position to keep a championship team together. Gonzalez remained a strong player after his skull injury but was never the same. Those starting pitchers were sent off to bigger, better things elsewhere in baseball. After missing the playoffs in 1996, horrifyingly, young superstar Ethan Little was forced to retire after an off-season car accident. The next year, they were out of the playoffs and fell to second last in the United League. General manager Ty Crabtree was gone. Manager Tim Travis was gone. Ticket sales slumped and ownership resorted to public relations tricks. 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.

Nobody was fooled. Bowden had never managed a team before at any level, and while Walcott had a rising reputation he also had a very marginal budget. The predictions for the 1997 season were as dire as ever.

---

By the end of the fifth inning, the Civics were taking another Opening Day beating. Edmonton starting pitcher Carlos Silva had been chased after allowing six earned runs in three-and-two-thirds innings and the Civics offense against Stevie Starratt had been erratic at best. There was only one bright moment in the bottom of the eighth, when the bottom of the order managed to get the bases loaded against an exhausted Starratt and Mitch Daniels, capitalizing on the journeyman's fatigue, pulled a grand slam just inside the left field foul pole. It wasn't anywhere near enough, and Edmonton went down in flames 10-6.

The home locker room in the bowels of AGT Field was sombre, players shuffling listlessly back and forth. Big first baseman Pancho Gonzalez, one of the three survivors from the 1995 championship team and an acknowledged clubhouse leader, was usually the first guy to crack a joke or try to break the mood. But even Pancho could only lean on the wall near the showers, going over missed opportunities, lost in a reflective reverie.

Pulling off his now sweaty, dirty shirt, Mitch Daniels was startled by a friendly, if slightly reluctant, pat on the shoulder. The unassuming Rick Lewis, Edmonton's starting left fielder, was there. He was a taciturn sort but was at least making an attempt to reach out; by contrast, the team's star hitter was shortstop Xiang-ling Xun and he hadn't stopped staring at the wall, practically smouldering with intensity and barely suppressed frustation.

"Nice swing," Lewis said, or rather mumbled, as though afraid to break the mausoleum-like atmosphere of the locker room. As it was, a few heads (not Xun's) gave a surprised look in their direction.

In truth, Mitch Daniels wasn't the friendliest of players himself. He very much came from the "ride their ass" school of man management, which was fine when he was trying to whip a AAA prospect into shape but more of a problem when trying to relate to guys, like Rick Lewis, who were playing indie ball in their mid-twenties and knew they had no long-term future in the game.

"Thanks," Mitch mumbled almost beneath his breath. Then, as if realizing something more was appropriate, he added, "Shame we couldn't get a bit more." Or a bit less thought Daniels, glancing at the despondent figure of Carlos Silva, the struggling starting pitcher sitting quite literally with his head in his hands. Silva wasn't an ace, but Adam Wallace, the team's best pitcher, had a wonky back and Silva had been forced to start on short notice. The result had been sadly predictable.

A few awkward seconds of silence passed, and even Mitch Daniels found the atmosphere too oppressive to sit in silence. "You had a few good cuts out there... Rich?"

"Rick."

"Rick. Hit the ball hard. Good stuff." It came off more patronizing than Daniels had meant it to: Lewis had gone 3-for-4.

"Thanks." Rick Lewis smiled, very slightly, as if being told by an old major leaguer that he'd hit the ball hard had almost made up for a 10-6 loss. "Trying to get back into a groove, you know. Hit .233 last year. Heh. I used to be able to do this..." The "heh" had been spoken, not truly laughed, and when Rick Lewis's voice trailed off he sounded like a man who knew very well how marginal his baseball career was. On another team, or at least a team that had been able to dig up a decent outfield, he'd already have been cut. Only Edmonton's mediocrity saved Rick Lewis's baseball career and Rick Lewis knew that quite well.

Mitch Daniels picked up on it. "Hey," he said, clapping Lewis on the elbow lightly. "You sting the ball like that, you'll hit .300."

Rick Lewis laughed, slightly less anxiously. Of course, Daniels didn't say whether Lewis could keep stinging the ball like that.

---

The Edmonton Civics were a losing team, both on the field and off. Owned by a consortium of local businessmen of modest means, they were trying to turn a profit playing at a field where the rent seemed to go up every year in a market full of summer teams, both professional and university, that challenged for championships every year. Salaries in the United League were going up, but in Edmonton revenue was going down. 1996 had been their worst year ever for attendance.

When the Civics won, life was good. AGT Field was a beautiful place to spend an evening rooting for the home team. The Civics had been blessed with their share of charismatic stars who shook hands, signed autographs, told great anecdotes, then went out and had three-homer games. AGT Field even sold out for playoff games, when the stands seemed like they could sway side to side with the cheering crowd. But 1996 had been a catastrophe. The enigmatic Xiang-ling Xun was among the finest hitter in the United League, but his attitude was at best distant and usually hostile. First baseman Pancho Gonzalez had once been a rising star and he was loved by fans. But his 1995 skull fracture had robbed him of his daring and some of his instincts. He should have been approaching his prime but instead Gonzalez was growing fatter, more out of shape, still a capable first baseman but with his offense falling back to the league average. The rest of the lineup was lucky to be replacement level. There was talk of a move and not enough die-hard fans to prevent it.

When new general manager Rich Walcott was hired after the 1996 season, press releases made a big deal of him being a former ballplayer rather than 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, preferably by winning games but, if necessary, but cutting payroll. The owners loved baseball, and they were desperately hoping to keep the Civics in town. But they loved their houses more and many members of the ownership group were feeling the pinch.

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. Bowden's most recent experience had been running a money-losing bar on Whyte Avenue. His only qualification was that he worked cheap.

---

The 1997 season started no more promisingly than the 1996 season ended. The Civics grunted out to a 1-5 start. They looked lousy in almost every area of the game. Xiang-ling Xun had cranked three home runs, true, but he was also a damned cuss both on and off the field. New Civics learned to give Xun a wide berth, and in practice he was prone to barking harsh instructions at his comrades for the least infraction.

The damnable thing about Xiang-ling Xun was that he had the talent to back up his temper. His hitting skills were formidable, of course. He'd joined the Civics at the beginning of the 1996 season, the Taiwan native's first ever trip to North America. He didn't speak a word of English when he arrived but knew fluent baseball, cranking a league-leading forty home runs backed up by a .320 batting average and even a stolen base. Moreover, he was a sterling fielder, with an average arm but staggering range married to almost unerring reliability. Nobody could doubt his playing credentials, but the trouble was that he demanded as much of his teammates. Mitch Daniels wasn't a half-bad fielder himself and mostly avoided Xun's ire, but woe betide him if he bobbled a double play ball or threw wide of first base: the resulting outburst of profanity from short forced the veteran Daniels to bite his tongue until he thought he was going to choke.

On first base stood chubby, enthusiastic veteran Pancho Gonzalez. Pancho was the undisputed leader of the Civics, a 27-year-old Nicaraguan who had joined Edmonton in 1992 and never really looked back. Gonzalez seemed to always be talking to somebody: to a young fan in the stands who wanted a ball and an autograph, to an old-timer about some old Civic who had retired long before Pancho's day and yet seemed eminently familiar to the veteran first baseman, to a runner on first base (for even Edmonton's opponents had time for Pancho Gonzalez). He lived year-round in Edmonton and, as he made enough money from the Civics to play full-time, spent his winter days involved in the community he'd taken as his own. As a lean and trim young man, he'd also been a leading offensive player, knocking out 27 home runs in 1994 with a batting average that almost never dropped below .300.

In April of 1995, though, Gonzalez had suffered a horrifying skull fracture in a collision at the plate. The injury ruled him out for almost the entire 1995 season, and indeed there had once been talk that he would be forced to retire - at best. When Gonzalez lay in hospital shortly after the injury, in a coma for ten days, fans feared a far worse fate for their beloved first baseman.

Instead, by the time the playoffs rolled around he was taking batting practice and concentrating on returning to form. In the Liberty Series final, Gonzalez was added to the roster even though he was by no means in playing shape just so he could get a ring when the Civics finally won the championship. By Opening Day of 1996, Pancho was back in action, and when he came up fourth in the order during the first inning the applause at AGT Field almost shook the building to the ground.

But at the end of 1996, Gonzalez had lost .040 from his 1994 batting average and over a hundred points from his slugging percentage. He was more apprehensive in the box, easier to brush back. He was less fit, which diminished his once-decent fielding and cut down on his extra-base hits. He was still a decent player, and he was still a great leader, a great gentleman, and one of the class acts of the United League. He had just ceased to be a star; lost that ineffable confidence which distinguished the great hitters from the merely good.

Apart from Gonzalez, Xun, and Daniels, most of the starting lineup were a mediocre lot. 32-year-old catcher Ki-tae Yi was, like Xun, Taiwanese, but the two still did not get on at all. Yi was a decent but not great defensive catcher brought in primarily for his hitting. Unfortunately, Yi seemed to have left his bat in Taiwan and his prodigous salary stripped resources from the desperate Civics. Third baseman Dave Garner was a defensive specialist uncharitably forced into starting every day. Young right fielder Wei-kang Nao, the third member of the Civics' Taiwanese trio, had a passable power swing from the left side of the plate but absolutely no other skills on a baseball field. Denny King and Rick Lewis rounded out the starting outfield.

The pitching staff was only a little better. The Civics were lucky enough to boast a first-class starting pitcher, veteran lefty Adam Wallace. 29-year-old Wallace was a big body on the hill but, unusually, a strong control pitcher with a wicked variety of pitches in his arsenal. He could throw a fastball, a slider, a splitter, and a cutter regularly for strikes while mixing in a changeup and a surprisingly good sinker. The Virginian had only just joined the Civics after pitching for two seasons in Mexico, where he had never been more than a fourth starter for Quintana Roo but was still overqualified by United League standards. Unfortunately, Wallace had a series of injury problems: sporadic elbow pain and a bad back. Even worse, he had a terribly obnoxious attitude, as he took confidence over the edge into arrogance and self-superiority. Adam Wallace was respected, but not liked.

The rest of the pitching staff was a mixed bag. Many of the starters, like Carlos Silva, the Aruban Drees Wolf, and Japanese youngster Kichebei Fujita, were just lousy. Melvin Stewart was a long-time Edmonton Civic who bounced between the rotation and the bullpen but was never more than replacement-level whereever he went. Another Civic of many years, Felix Vasquez, anchored a sub-standard bullpen where the sole highlight was 21-year-old closer Dusty Gill, a tall, imposing southpaw who relied on a tricky fastball and some devious off-speed stuff. After two seasons in the Dallas Gremlins organization, Gill had spent three years out of baseball working construction before trying out for the Civics on impulse and stunning the United League by impressing in spring training and winning the closer's job.

The Civics, as currently constructed, might have been a .500 team if their best players stayed healthy. But their best players were a pitcher with a bad back, a first baseman who had screws in his skull, an admittedly durable shortstop, and a 37-year-old man with a wonky knee at second. Even with all of that, a .500 team wasn't going to make the playoffs in the relatively generous United League.

No wonders fans were skeptical.

---

The Edmonton Civics had fallen further than most of the United League, but everyone had fallen a little. The league's best years had been in the 1980s, but the United League had not boasted a 20-game-winning pitcher since Robinson Lerma in 1986. Seven of the top ten United League players in career hits had their prime years before 1990. The career leader in stolen bases, dazzling former Civic Norogumi Kawamura, left the league in 1978 after stealing 250 bases in only three years and setting a record that still stands. Only one United League Hall of Famer, "Reliable" Ed Nichols, had his salad days in the 1990s and he never led the league in any major statistical category.

In 1989, both the Sacramento Cranes and the Victoria Sting were forced to relocate to Eugene, Oregon and Port Angeles, Washington, respectively. The now-Eugene Cranes, still resented by old-timers for taking Sacramento's team, were the defending United League champions, further increasing the resentment of the league's die-hards. And some less enlightened fans murmured darkly against many of the league's stars increasingly being of Asian origin, as cash-strapped United League GMs took talented hands from the Japanese, Taiwanese, and South Korean leagues whenever they came cheap.

In this oppressive atmosphere, where one win could be the difference between profit and peril, the Edmonton Civics were off to a 1-5 start. As bleak as the league's future looked, the darkness closed on some teams faster than others.

Coming up: Chapter Two: The Storm Before the Calm