[Pommpie]

What can I say? I was on a roll. This chapter, in a lot of ways, practically wrote itself: I like it a lot more than chapter five partially because I think I write a lot better when I do big bits all at once rather than piecemeal as I did last chapter. On the other hand, I only write a huge amount at once when I'm really into the writing. Hrm.

Chapter Six: The Coup de Grace

August dawned with a distinct lack of hope in Edmonton. The Civics, once hoping to take the division, were now so far out of the playoffs they couldn't have hit them with an artillery shot. Both Billings and Trail were looking nigh-unbeatable in the North Division, depriving Edmonton of what remained of their hope. Men like Rick Lewis, R.J. Yeo, and Mitch Daniels, all key parts of the team, found themselves on injured reserve. When Joe Bascombe, whose ERA was rising like a helium balloon, allowed three runs in seven innings only to see the bullpen self-destruct in a 10-9 loss to Port Angeles, it seemed to be a symbol of what was going on with the team.

The bullpen was a serious point of contention on the team. Melvin Stewart, Roberto Sánchez, and Dusty Gill were reliable, but all three had been worn down by Kelsey Bowden's strategy of letting his relievers throw until their arms exploded. In their place stood mediocrities like Tom Colbert (who left the Port Angeles game with a 27.03 ERA), Charles-Émile Sirois, Masamune Okawa, and Félix Vásquez left the team in holes it could seldom escape from. The starting rotation was little better: Wallace and Bascombe were both solid pitchers, and Drees Wolf was at least not utterly brutal. But men like William LaFontaine were too far out of their depth, and despite his reputation as a pitcher, Kelsey Bowden found himself utterly unable to manage his pitchers to best advantage.

The Civics, in short, were doomed.

"You guys are doomed," Michael Baldwin had murmured to Rich Walcott as the two walked down the corridors of AGT Field after the Angels game. Michael Baldwin was one of the most unassuming men you could ever meet: modest height, uninteresting build, rather twiggy arms. But more than one old-timer turned around as Baldwin and Walcott went through the clearing arena, and grandfathers whispered to their grandchildren. It was hard to believe to those seeing him for the first time, but the little man with thin arms and that discrete, greying moustache which had so long been his trademark was the leading batter in Edmonton Civics history.

"I wouldn't say that," Walcott replied, turning his used-car salesman gaze upon Baldwin with a small smile. Baldwin's return look reflected obvious distaste for the general manager, and he immediately distracted himself by waving to one of those gawking baseball fans. The fan's son stood nearby, a Civics hat askew on his head, and when he timidly asked for an autograph, the old shortstop simply smiled and plucked a felt-tipped marker from his pen, making small-talk with the boy and scrawling his little signature beneath the brim. The legend, the fan, and the boy chatted for several minutes, Baldwin smiling the little smile of a man happily making an unpleasant general manager stew for a few.

When the stammering, blushing boy and his father excused themselves, Baldwin watched them go for a few minutes before turning back to the GM, his smile soon fading into its former irritated ambivalence. "I don't know what old man Bowden is doing," he said, quiet voice betraying slight anger, slender frame trembling minutely. "He's killing his pitchers. He's not using his starters. I don't know what he's thinking, having Quintal hit leadoff instead of King, either."

Now it was Walcott's turn to frown. "Jesus, Rainmaker, I offered you the job before I even got Bowden's number. If you want to bitch..."

"Shut up," Baldwin declared, lifting a trembling finger to silence Walcott, "for once in your life, just shut up." Another fan gawked at Walcott and Baldwin, for the little shortstop was glaring up at the general manager with clear loathing in his eyes, finger shaking rapidly as he continued to hold it before Walcott's face. In his playing days, Rainmaker Baldwin had been known for his calm temper and quiet nature as much as the incredible bloop singles which gave him his nickname. The sight of him dressing down the first-year general manager was thus a memorable one.

"I didn't take that job. You know why?" Walcott opened his eye, but Baldwin jutted his finger again. "I knew that I couldn't handle it. I could never handle the stress. It's not like swinging a bat, you have to think about every single thing all the bloody time. And I went down to the Bowden Bowl like I was here, like everybody else. And I knew that Kelsey Bowden wasn't a manager before you ever thought about giving him the job."

Walcott was thoroughly shut up, merely gazing down at the normally-polite Michael Baldwin as if not quite believing what he was hearing.

"You've got a mediocre defensive catcher hitting .200 as a starter. You've got an outfield of castoffs and mediocrities because you're too goddamned cheap to get some talent." At this, Walcott opened his mouth again, but Baldwin kept going. "You've got the two best players this team has seen since me hitting in a wasteland of no power, no contact, and not a lot of walks. And you have the guts to stand here, look me in the face, and say this team isn't doomed."

At this, Walcott could wait no longer, and if anything his voice was even snippier and more acerbic than the legend's. "I want to keep baseball in this town," he said, simply, an icy stare boring into the unflinching shortshop. "I've got a dozen owners staring at the bank statements on the first of the month wondering if they'll have to fold the team on the thirtieth. I've got to keep the names fans recognize so they bother to show up, and you know what? After I do that, it's kinda hard to get the supporting cast together."

Baldwin was unrepentant. "If the manager could arrange this team properly, they might do something," he snapped. "If the GM could tell the difference between 'bargain bit player' and 'random Canadian college kid', they might do something. I played 480 games in the major leagues and I loved every day I played in Minnesota. And you know what? I still come to this little stadium on this little river, because I spent a lot more time here and I'll be a Civic until I stop drawing breath. And now I see that you're running my team into the ****ing ground."

"Hey, if you want to do my job," extending his right arm, Walcott pointed angrily towards the owner's box, "go apply for it. If you agree to work for less than I am, they'll probably take you, too."

Staring up at Walcott for a few moments, Baldwin shook his head and stormed off, stopping outside the large glass doors to sign a program for another young, awestruck fan.

---

"In 754 games with the Civics, he had 911 hits and 107 home runs. He is the team's all-time leader in hits and batting average, a six-time All-Star, winner of the 1988 Royal Bank Batting Award and a three-time Liberty Series champion, a 1995 United League Hall-of-Famer, the Rainmaker, Michael Baldwin."

From the press box, Frankie Truro recited the Rainmaker's prolific resume with his usual calm, velvety tones, but in the stands, the fans rose to their feet as one to applaud the diminutive shortstop as he strode onto the field. Dressed nattily in suit and tie, he paused for a moment to wave to the fans, which merely enthused them all the more. Attendance was at its highest in months, as even the most casual fans trotted out to salute their long-time hero.

Walking onto the field, Baldwin paused to shake hands with Pancho González, his teammate for his last two Edmonton seasons and his partial successor in the hearts of Edmonton's fans. The handshake turned into a hug, the two old friends reuniting happily in front of the pitcher's mound. Melvin Stewart also strolled up, and the two exchanged a few grins and a few words: Stewart had faced the Rainmaker a few times when Melvin Stewart began his United League career with the Billings Barnstormers.

"They never cheer me this loud," said Pancho with a grin as soon as the chat with Stewart was over.

"Don't sweat it, Punch," said Baldwin with his accustomed quiet smile and a little punch on the first baseman's arm. "I'm sure you'll be popular around here someday."

With a laugh, González strolled away as Baldwin walked up to the mound, kicking away some of the dirt and squinting in to Ki-tae Yi for the ceremonial first pitch. Rearing back, Baldwin sent up a little fastball way high and outside, which Yi easily got over and caught. The crowd roared.

As he headed out with a wave of his hand, Kelsey Bowden stopped the shortstop at the top of the dugout. "Nice to see you again, Rainmaker," murmured Bowden, clapping a shaking hand on the shortstop's shoulder.

"Great to see ya, Kelsey. You're doing a great job." Smiling easily, Baldwin soon strolled past Bowden, leaving the manager watch his former acquaintance stroll into the dressing room, stopping to sign something for an awe-struck batboy.

William LaFontaine got the start for the Civics, and as he fired his pitches in, it soon became clear that they may as well have just let Baldwin finish what he started. Allowing a run in the top of the first, LaFontaine soon found himself in his traditional struggle. But, by the end of the first, LaFontaine had settled down somewhat. In the second, he retired Carl Thomas, José Ferrer, and Ernesto Molina, three pretty good hitters, in order. In the third, the top of the order came up and Luis Reyes dug in against LaFontaine.

Reyes was the league leader in batting average, a renowned contact hitter, a man capable of getting a hit off of anybody. But LaFontaine was beginning to fly high, and pitches flew in. A slider coming up on the hands made even the disciplined Reyes swing, and the ball lightly flew to surehanded Scott Deakin in centre, who reeled it in handily.

Héctor Trevino came up next, the left fielder gazing out at LaFontaine with the confidence which came from facing William LaFontaine. Sure enough, on the first pitch Trevino hit a slow roller to Sam Quintal at second. The slow Quintal charged down the turf while the lightning-quick Trevino ran for first, and by the time he got the ball in Trevino was safe on an infield hit.

Then, out came Kelsey Bowden.

"Bowden coming up to have a word with LaFontaine," commented Frankie Truro idly, but in the stands the large crowd was aghast. "What're you doing, Bowden?" yelled one fan as he plucked the ball from the hand of LaFontaine after only forty-one pitches and a single run. Howls of derision and anger greeted the manager, as the once-confident and suddenly-crestfallen LaFontaine slipped off towards the bench, only to be replaced by Tom Colbert and his ERA of twenty-seven.

For Tom Colbert, it was an awkward situation: stepping on the mound even as the home crowd rained boos down upon him. The designated hitter Pancho González immediately leapt out of his seat to meet LaFontaine on his way in, grabbing the young pitcher and thumping him in the side encouragingly, while most of the bench immediately followed González's lead to try and buoy up the dismal pitcher. But Colbert had no such support network, and though he got out of the third unharmed, it was by the skin of his teeth.

Colbert did not last, however. In the fourth, he was hit for three runs, and Melvin Stewart came in. The league's leader in games played, however, was showing the miles, and after only two-thirds of an inning the wheels came off, yielding three walks and three runs in the fifth. Félix Vásquez came into stop the bleeding, but the Civics were already down 7-0 on Michael Baldwin Night.

"Now we need some rainmaking," murmured Sam Quintal from the bench, looking even more despondant than the Civics always were.

30-year-old starter Carlos Miranda was still on the hill for theee Angels in the sixth, and a rally seemed a million miles away. Quintal strode up to lead off the top of the order and managed to foul off three pitches against the hard-throwing Miranda, but eventually yielded a harmless ground-out to third.

Raúl García was next up, and, being a rather feeble swinger, he was an unlikely figure both to be hitting second in the lineup and to ignite a rally. However, García had one important skill: fearlessness. Not even twitching as a Miranda fastball came hurdling into his head, he went down in a heap but soon popped up, strolling to first and sending up Xiang-ling Xun.

The crowd was less than exuberant for Xun, especially when he let the first two pitches by him without so much as twitching. On the third, however, the quiet hitter found what he wanted to see, getting the bat to the ball and hitting a frozen rope into right-centre. García, showing no ill effects from his beaning, got on his horse and managed to get into third without a throw. The crowd was far more animated for the number four hitter, Pancho González, and when González grounded out to second it was all he needed, as García got across to score Edmonton's first run.

So it began. In the seventh, another sacrifice hit by Scott Deakin scored Wei-kang Nao, and though Raúl García more than redeemed himself for his accidental usefulness by stranding the bases loaded, the rally was officially on. Vásquez's pitches were dancing across the plate, and though Kelsey Bowden was showing his normal reluctance to yank a reliever, Vásquez was at least making it work. The Angels got a run in the eighth, but in the bottom of the inning Bob Zasko sent Xiang-ling Xun across on a fielder's choice and then Scott Deakin picked up his second RBI by knocking a single into left and scoring Denny King.

The Civics, however, had got themselves into a hell of a hole, and remained four runs back in the bottom of the ninth. Gregg Payne, Port Angeles's closer-cum-long-reliever, had come in for the eighth, and in the ninth he would face the best part of Edmonton's order.

Sam Quintal strode up and, as if his miserable experience as a leadoff man meant nothing, drove a line drive into centre. On the very next pitch, Raúl García did exactly the same thing, and Quintal slid in safe to third to put runners on the corners for Xiang-ling Xun.

This time, the crowd cheered him raucously, and Xiang-ling casually tapped his bat on the plate as he gazed easily at Payne. Four pitches flew in; three balls and a strike, none of which saw Xun lift the bat off of his shoulder. The 3-1 pitch saw a swing, the ball fouled off towards third. And on the next pitch, Xun stroked it into the no-man's-land between second and the centre fielder, sending Quintal rushing home and García to third on the single.

Pancho González was the tying run when he strode to the plate, and he swung like a man thinking about it too hard. An immense cut at the 1-2 pitch sent González back to the dugout, shaking his head more grimly than usual ("Baldwin woulda hit it!" yelled one fan from the stands).

Denny King, however, was up to the challenge, An easy first-pitch single eked through short, sending García home and Xun to third, with runners on the corners for the third time in the inning. Again, the batter was a great cutter: Wei-kang Nao, a man incapable of doing anything other than hitting for power or missing entirely. He opted for the latter, swinging so hard at a pitch in the dirt for strike three that the bat leapt out of his hands and the home-plate umpire had to duck to avoid a beaning.

With two outs, up strode Bob Zasko. Bob Zasko, owner of a .209 batting average. Bob Zasko, a solid fielder but a hopeless hitter mired in the worst of slumps. Bob Zasko, facing the best reliever Port Angeles could muster against him, who had already sent Pancho González and Wei-kang Nao to the dirt looking stupid.

But, like Raúl García, Zasko had one great asset which could make up for everything: he was patient. Three firm balls flit by him without so much as an eyelash twittering. And when Gregg Payne made that one mistake, Zasko got a-hold of it, and the ball arked easily into right.

"Go! Go!" yelled González from the bench, forgetting his previous melancholy as he leaped up and waved his arms frantically. Xun scored easily from third, walking away without even watching the action behind him. The right fielder, Jeremy Ryan, was a man with a solid if not spectacular arm, but Denny King was one of the fastest players in the United League chugging from first, dust churning up from his feet as Ryan got his hand on the ball.

He didn't even try to throw. King tied the game to an immense roar from the crowd.

Scott Deakin promptly flew out, and in the top of the tenth Vásquez walked out once more. With immaculate ease, he struck out the first two and forced the third to fly out. Ki-tae Yi then led off the tenth for Edmonton. If ever there was a chance for Gregg Payne to get outs, this was it: Ki-tae Yi, Sam Quintal, and Raúl García were not exactly a murderer's row.

Yi walked. When Quintal knocked a double-play ball to Payne, the pitcher promptly booted it to the catcher, who tried in vain to catch Quintal at first on an error. When he walked Raúl García to load the bases, the hook finally came, and José De Jesús walked into face Xiang-ling Xun.

The crowd was entirely on its feet. The team had none out and the two best hitters to try and get one run across. Xun stood in the box, utterly oblivious to everything, and when "ball one" was called, he did not so much as react.

"Ball two!" Still, nothing.

"Ball three!" This time, the crowd leapt up in roars of delight, Yi smiling to Xun from third, but, once more, the shortstop did not even blink, windmilling his bat as if it were the first pitch rather than the fourth.

"Ball four!" The crowd erupted. Ki-tae Yi charged in from third, De Jesús stared on from the mound in shock, and the catcher was met by an ecstatic mob as the Civics won, 9-8. The cheers echoing through AGT Field were unlike anything heard in that park throughout the entire depressing year, a callback to the glorious days when Michael Baldwin was lacing his singles all over the continent, a young Pancho González was the greatest young player in the league, and the Liberty Series was not merely Edmonton's goal but its god-given right. And, in the midst of this final release of jubilation in a season filled with misery, Xiang-ling Xun strode away calmly, ignoring even an offered high-five from an excited batboy, merely walking into the dressing room so he could go home.

Michael Baldwin went back to join the Minnesota Drummers after the game; he was working as a colour commentator for the major league team's radio broadcasts. But the effects from his visit and the win that had accompanied it remained. The next night, Drees Wolf won a nailbiter against the Wild Thing, Bartolo Rodríguez, with both pitchers hurling complete games and the Civics only pulling away with a six-run eighth in a 12-6 victory. The Civics then strode into Billings and took two of three from the division-leading Barnstormers, closing it with a magnificent 15-9 victory in which Ki-tae Yi went deep twice and Israel Anaya was just a bit less terrible than Sam French, who did not even escape the second inning and took the loss.

A sweep of the Boise Idahoes followed, and in the final match Joe Bascombe, Melvin Stewart, and Dusty Gill combined to throw a fairly normal game: Bascombe went seven innings, Stewart one in a setup role, and Gill came in for a one-inning save. This curious experiment in normal managing led to a 3-2 victory, with the number seven hitter Bob Zasko and the number nine hitter Ki-tae Yi providing all three RBI.

The Civics were 7-2 in August, the last month of the regular season. Yet, for all their success, they were still effectively doomed. There was no realistic shot at a playoff spot: the Civics had begun the month simply too far out. At best, they could mar the chances of another team. A sweep in Port Angeles, one of their competitors for a wild-card spot, merely cemented things. But the Civics were still playing some of their best baseball.

Perhaps this was due to the sheer relaxedness which sometimes settles into losing locker rooms. The team had nothing to lose, and the sheer tension of the ballplayers tasked with saving a franchise began to dissolve when this became clear. Indeed, even the most straitlaced players began to let their hair down a bit, as evidenced when Adam Wallace stepped into Kelsey Bowden's office.

"I want to hit," declared Wallace.

This startled Bowden. It was true that, in batting practice, Wallace was fond of stepping into the batter's box just to prove that he could. But he had never swung a bat in a competitive game in his life, and wasn't that good a hitter in practice. "Good for a pitcher" was how Sam Quintal put it, with a rather derogatory smile, "but he wouldn't last a second at the plate." If the team was in a playoff race, even Kelsey Bowden would have laughed Wallace out of the room. But it wasn't.

"Sure," said Bowden immediately.

On October 20, Adam Wallace got the start on the mound for the Edmonton Civics, and threw five innigs, allowing two runs. He also got the start as the team's designated hitter (a rather obscure United League regulation allowed a pitcher to do both), and went 0-for-4 with a strikeout. Sam Quintal was looking quite prophetic.

The next night was the back end of Edmonton's sweep in Port Angeles. Once again, Wallace was the designated hitter, though this time Joe Bascombe was pitching. José Núñes was opposing for Port Angeles, and retired the first three Edmonton batters in order. In the second, Núñes faced Pancho González to lead off, and allowed a long solo home run to the first baseman. Denny King and Wei-kang Nao promptly struck out, drawing Wallace to the plate.

On the first pitch, Wallace managed to get solid contact, driving the ball foul into left field. The second was a casual called strike, and the third a ball, but on the next pitch Wallace again turned on one, driving it foul. The third, likewise, popped up into the stands behind home. But digging in, Wallace peered at Núñes, and as the fastball came in, Wallace swung and smoked the ball, sending it easily into the seats in left field.

From the dugout, Sam Quintal yelled bursts of the most shocked profanity in the English language, and González leaped to his feet in joy, leaping to the top of the dugout before Wallace was at first base. Even Wallace himself allowed himself a little joy, pumping his fist with a grin as some lucky fan ran outside the wall and collected the token of Adam Wallace's first career United League hit. The Port Angeles crowd allowed themselves to indulge in a smattering of boos at the triumphant pitcher, while José Núñes looked on with an expression usually reserved for somebody running over his cat.

Though the Civics ended up getting their lunch handed to them and Wallace went 0-for-3 the rest of the game, there was still exuberance at the bar after the game, where the Civics feted Wallace's feat, unprecedented in Edmonton Civics history.

"Not so hard, is it?" Wallace had asked Xiang-ling Xun mockingly; the shortstop had been dragged out to the celebration against his will, and his sombre demeanour was under attack by the enthusiastic pitcher.

"I mean, you just see the ball, then you hit the ball..." Wallace laughed again, taking another draught from his beer. Beside him, Denny King thumped Wallace on the back, and it was a token of Wallace's good mood that he did not immediately turn around and threaten King with bodily harm.

"If it's so easy," Xun had seat, voice quiet but laden with menace, "let's see you do it twice."

Wallace did, in fact, manage to go 2-for-4 in his next game in Trail, prompting manager Phill Guay to murmur loudly in the press about brushing that pitcher bastard back from the plate a bit next time. Perhaps this rattled Wallace, for he went hitless the rest of the series, though he did manage a pair of run-scoring sacrifices in the third match.

Edmonton's final game of the season came at home, against the Salem Bingoes. The Bingoes were last in the West Division, the Civics third in the North. Neither had anything to play for save pride, and with Joe Bascombe getting the start, he had given the lads something else to think about.

"Boys," Bascombe had said while they were getting changed at AGT Field before the game, "I think this is it."

The others had merely nodded. None expressed any particular surprise: the forced transition from a great pitcher in the Japanese league to a serviceable pitcher in the United had clearly been galling the 36-year-old all season. Once upon a time, he had been the best pitcher in the second-best league in the world, and now he was unlikely to even be the best pitcher on his team. Only Pancho González had anything to say: "why now, Joe? We could sure use you."

Bascombe smiled. "Jesus, Punch. I ain't Joe O'Kirwan, I ain't Michael Baldwin. Maybe those guys could stick with Edmonton after they stopped being major leaguers, but I can't. I've won titles, I've won awards, I've got everything I need, and when I'm done I might go to the Hall of Fame." His smile was wistful, sad, but there was no hint of indecision in his voice. "I want to get out before I outstay my welcome."

At that, even Pancho nodded silently.

The general fan, of course, knew nothing of this. But the attendance on a clear night in Edmonton was better than usual, with the fans showing up to send off their boys on Fan Appreciation Night. Bascombe received his usual polite applause when he was introduced as the starting pitcher, and as always it dimmed next to that afforded Pancho González, Xiang-ling Xun, or even the city's new hero, designated hitter Adam "Home Run" Wallace.

Mario Durán knew nothing of Bascombe's decision, either, or if he did he showed no respect for it. In the top of the first, the Salem left fielder stroked a long home run to straight-away centre, scoring two runs and giving Salem the 2-0 lead. As the ball landed on Jasper Avenue, eyes on the bench flickered to the erratic Kelsey Bowden. But the skipper, showing more poise in one day than he had all season, simply smiled. "Not yet," he said quietly.

The first went by without event for the Civics, but in the second, fan favourite Pancho González strode up against Ronald Tipton. The first pitch was the only one González needed, and he stroked a centre-field homer of his own, even deeper than Durán's, smashing another car window on Jasper Avenue and causing a raucous roar from the fans. Their enthusiasm continued through the strikeouts of Wei-kang Nao and Home Run Wallace, and stuck with Joe Bascombe as he retired the third without trouble.

In the bottom of the third, things opened with singles from Scott Deakin and Ki-tae Yi, but after fouling off six pitches Sam Quintal managed to ground into a double play and seemingly kill things. Raúl García, however, managed to line a double over second, and Deakin scored from third to tie the last game of the season. More runs came in the sixth, when a Wei-kang Nao single scored Xiang-ling Xun from second without a throw. With runners on first and third, Adam Wallace strode forward, waving his bat with easy confidence.

Once again, Wallace tagged a pitch, and the crowd leapt from their seats in delight. But he had gotten under it, and the ball drifted to the left fielder, allowing him to make the snag. Denny King, however, took off from third and scored the sacrifice fly, beating the play at the plate by a mile to make it a 4-2 lead. Finally, in the bottom of the seventh, Xiang-ling Xun delivered the coup de grace: a three-run home run, his thirty-ninth of the season. Only one thing remained.

In the top of the ninth, Joe Bascombe stepped out onto the hill one more time. He had allowed three runs to that point in the night but he had also struck out nine, and the crowd was cheering as if they knew that it was his last inning as a professional baseball player. They didn't. But that's the magic of baseball.

Chris Lynch stared at Bascombe, the leadoff hitter and his formidable .348 batting average forming a mighty obstacle for the aged pitcher. But not mighty enough, as Bascombe sent him down swinging on a cruel cutter.

Mario Durán stepped back in, his old nemesis from the first inning. Bascombe, however, smiled easily. Another cutter sent Durán swinging and missing on strike three.

His entire career, that cutter had been Joe Bascombe's bread and butter. In Japan, it was said no pitcher had ever done more with one pitch. Even in his old age, when after more than a decade of overwork his velocity had absolutely died and his breaking pitches were unable to compete with quick bats, that cutter had always been there to give him the outs he needed. Now, as his body had to stand up for the last time, that cutter was spending what was left of its magic.

Jorge Gonzáles, the Salem first baseman, swung and missed at two cutters from Bascombe. By this time, Gonzáles and everybody else in the building knew which pitch was coming, and when it came, he swung. But it cut just a bit too much, and the ball lifted lightly into the air. Wei-kang Nao drifted in from left, following the ball easily, and making the catch. The crowd roared as Bascombe finished his complete game, and as the Civics congregated to celebrate their season-ending 8-3 win, none outside that happy huddle noticed Nao handing Bascombe that ball and a pat on the back.

---

"Phill Guay will put Trevino aboard intentionally. 2-2, bottom of the tenth, the Port Angeles Angels are one run away from winning the Liberty Series."

From a hotel room in New York City, Mitch Daniels sat on his couch, an icepack resting on his aching knee. He had managed to find an Internet feed of the last games of the Liberty Series, games which the Trail Smelters had seem to have in control. After brushing past the Eugene Cranes in the first round, Trail had taken a 2-1 lead heading home, having controlled their two victories and with the United League victory seemingly in their grasp. But, twice at home, victory had slipped away from them. And now, back in Port Angeles, the end might have been nigh for Mitch Daniels's old rival the Lethbridge Lumberjack.

"Miguel Trevino looks in for the signs" (Daniels, like everybody else, had smiled at Trail's Mexican pitcher Miguel Trevino facing the unrelated Floridian Héctor Trevino, and had frowned in disappointment when Guay opted for the intentional walk), and fires into Carl Thomas... it's a curveball, in the dirt, ball one."

Really, Daniels had no idea why he was listening to the game. His United League career was obviously over. His old American Baseball Association comrades at the New York Sky Warriors were bringing him in for a job interview, and his life in baseball seemed set to continue. But the instant he had heard that his old minor league rival was within an inch of a championship, he had started to tune in. And, from the first instant he had turned on that Internet radio, the Smelters had started to lose the series. It should have been funny, but it wasn't.

"Thomas takes a fastball, strike one." The Port Angeles announcer, Daniels found himself musing unbidden, wasn't half as good as Frankie Truro. He wondered why he cared about that. He had listened to Truro call the United League All-Star Game his injury had forced him to miss, and had quite enjoyed the experience. This guy wasn't nearly as good. He tried to affect the same gentle non-chalance, but screwed it up with a disturbing air of excitement behind his every word.

"Curveball now, swing and a base hit!" There was that excitement. The Port Angeles man was practically yelling now. "Here comes Ferrer from second! He's getting waved home, Ayala gathers the ball and throws home, it's a rocket, he's going to make it! He's going to make it! Ferrer is home! The Angels have won the championship! The Angels have won the championship!" Crowd noise echoed through the small hotel room. "Carl Thomas, the pinch-hitter, with an RBI single in the bottom of the tenth! The Port Angeles Angels have won the Liberty Series! Give the win to Gregg Payne, what a great playoff he's had! For the second time since moving from Victoria, the Port Angeles Angels have won the Liberty Series! Oh, this..."

Leaning over precariously to avoid standing on his bad knee, Mitch Daniels clicked the small 'X' in the upper right-hand corner, and the over-exuberant announcer vanished into the aether. Twisting back into his former laying position, Daniels stared up at the roof, and silently thought.

Coming Up: Chapter Seven: Reloading