[Pommpie]

Okay. So it's been, what, half a year? Please. That's not a hiatus. That's practically a nap.

Tell you the truth, I was having the devil's own time writing this chapter. I struggled and struggled to bring this thing up to the standards I was used to and tore it all down more than once. It's not that I spent the entire half-year fighting to do that, it's just that after a certain point I got tired of trying. Then OOTP9 came out and I grabbed it and I said "hey, this is awesome!" And the old stirring in my heart came, and I imported my Edmonton story from OOTP8 (which only took about eight hours), and I decided to pick up the proverbial pen once more.

The result is... well, adequate.

Since it's been some time, I'd advise those who are glancing at this story for the first time or who read it once but have forgotten what's going on to start from the beginning. It's not huge, I think it's a pretty good read, and it's far more story-based than stats-based, which might make it hard to just leap into things. Although if you are new to it, I'd sure appreciate your input.

Chapter Ten: Old-Time Rock and Roll

A loud crack echoed through the locker room, like a bat connecting with a baseball but somehow even louder, amplified by the stone walls of Salem Field's locker room. Bill Williams staggered backward, back pressing against the aluminium of the lockers, touching his jaw with his right hand as if hardly believing what just happened.

Before he could properly react, Xiang-ling Xun was after him once more, pushing aside big Greg Hubbard's attempt at interference with ease. All around the locker room, towels were allowed to fall to the tile as Civics rushed forward to try and break up the two combatants. Williams got his hands up to try and defend himself, but even as the Civics formed a maelstrom around him Xun landed another solid right flush to Williams's chin before Hubbard and Jesse Cantrell, the two largest Civics, finally got hold of Xun and, between them, managed to pull him off. Williams jolted forward as if to attack his suddenly immobilised opponent, but Pancho González tied Williams's arms up, pushing the centre fielder to the side slightly.

The sky was blue with profanity. Xun and Williams both barked the foulest insults at each other, while the other Civics cried out in shock and anger, the mob filtered between the warriors, just in time for Kelsey Bowden to burst out of his office, jaw slack with shock, eyes looking like placid pools on a spring night, a piece of half-chewed gum visible between his molars. The ruckus continued in spite of the skipper's presence, both Williams and Xun trying in vain to overcome a throng of professional athletes and get at each other, Xun's infuriated Taiwanese accent sounding almost comical if his expression weren't so earnestly serious, Williams retorting with various novel curses through the swollen left side of his jaw.

As the scene sank in, even Kelsey Bowden realised that he had to act. Taking a few laborious steps, the sophomore manager put a foot on one of the benches and, with no little grunting, lifted his hefty frame onto his makeshift plinth. Raising two fingers to his mouth, he let out a shrill whistle.

The scuffling continued. Another whistle. Finally, a yell of "OI!" caused at least the worst of the fracas to calm down and turned most eyes towards the manager.

For a moment, Bowden struggled with finding the appropriate words to open his tirade. Finally, he settled on, "What in the seven circles of Hell happened in here?"

There was a dreadful silence. "I was just giving Xun the gears a bit, the crazy bastard..." Bill Williams finally answered up, giving the shortstop a hateful glance out of the corners of his eye.

Xun scowled back. "You weren't giving me no gears!" he answered, voice almost an angry yell, causing Kelsey Bowden to take a step down the bench.

"What the hell did he say, anyway?" Jesse Cantrell asked, still keeping his body wrapped around Xiang-ling's arm.

Xiang-ling told him.

The gum fell from Kelsey Bowden's mouth. "Holy hell, Williams!" the skipper barked. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

"What the hell's wrong with some crazy bastard going around slugging people?" Williams barked back.

"I'll do worse if you ever give me that again!" Xun retorted.

"Both of you shut up!" Bowden retorted. "Listen." His gaze fixed Xun and Williams, alternatingly. "You two don't have to get along. So just leave each other the hell alone. Or... you'll both regret it." The sentence ended even more lamely than his tirade had begun. Visions of previously-promised suspensions floated through his head. Visions of Bob Zasko batting cleanup while his two best players fought in the press box floated just behind them. He felt vaguely ill.

None of his players called Bowden out on it. Bench coach José Morales, standing a few strides behind Bowden, kept his mouth dutifully shut. Neither Williams nor Xun seemed to have any inclination to get themselves suspended.

Into the awkward silence strode one of the bat boys, looking excited, utterly oblivious to the melee that had just concluded, skipping along in that excited way that only a young batboy could pull off. "Hey, guys!" he said exuberantly. "They just said that Xiang-ling was Player of the Week and Bill was Player of the Month!" Then, with a grin etched permenantly onto his face, he turned and headed off.

The night had been a poor one for more Civics than just Bill Williams and Xiang-ling Xun. The team had started off June with a dull 5-2 loss to the last-place Salem Bingoes, with Edmonton's only runs coming from a Pancho González home run in the seventh. William LaFontaine continued his Bizzaro season: throwing six and a third innings of fairly solid baseball and allowing five hits, he still found himself tagged for four runs (three earned) and the loss. At third base, Greg Hubbard had recorded two errors ("how do you even get two errors at third?" an exasperated Frankie Truro had asked his radio listeners) while the normally sure-handed Xiang-ling Xun had added one of his own at short that could have been a double play ball. Xun and Bill Williams both went 0-for-4, and new signing Jake Cameron (a middle infielder back in the United League after spending 1997 with Port Angeles) had, pinch-hitting for Michael White in his debut, gone 0-for-2 and struck out twice against mediocre Bingoes pitching.

Even without Xiang-ling Xun and Bill Williams trying to murder each other, tempers were high in the Civics locker room. Even the irrepressible Pancho González was looking downcast, and in the finest baseball tradition of drinking off a loss, he practically dragged Xiang-ling Xun out to one of the traditional Salem baseball hangouts, taking advantage of his unique position on the team as one of the few men the shortstop had even the slightest amount of respect for.

"What is your problem?" he had asked Xiang-ling once the pair had dumped a few drinks into themselves and passed a few hours staring blankly at the bottles on the wall, picking out whichever ones were the most obscure and ordering shots of them. "I know Williams is an asshole, you know Williams is an asshole, you didn't need to rise to his crap like that. That didn't help anything."

Xiang-ling gave Pancho a muted version of the same angry expression he had previously used on Williams. "I'm not going to let him be the cock of the walk," the shortstop answered in a soft, surly tone, lifting up his highball glass and swirling around the remaining eighth-of-a-glass of liquid, examining its consistency with the narrowed, keenly observant eyes of the accomplished baseball slugger. His thick accent made the very English idiom sound charmingly foreign, but nobody was smiling.

"Why, Xiang-ling. I had no idea you cared." Pancho took a pull from his glass.

The shortstop laughed. "I don't!" he answered, and his voice echoed derision. "You know. Edmonton means nothing to me, it's just a city. But baseball?" Lifting the glass as if to take a drink, Xiang-ling merely rested his elbow on the table, holding it up to the dim light of the taphouse. "Baseball, I give a crap. I don't need some half-assed pole polisher deciding we're all his merry little band of followers." The glass dropped down onto the table, Xiang-ling clenching it tightly within his fist, looking at the bartender as if considering something, before letting his eyes begin their long trek back to Pancho González.

This, Pancho seized on like liquor. Clapping a hand on Xiang-ling's back, Pancho shook the slight shortstop around on his stool gently, setting him positively jiggling in his inebriated state. "Exactly. You like baseball." He nodded, leaning in slightly, one elbow in an old beer stain, the other encroaching perilously on Xiang-ling's personal space. "And you have to admit, Bill's good at baseball."

"Bastard swings for the fences every time..." Xiang-ling murmured, staring angrily at a bottle of rye across from him. "All those legs and all those eyes and no idea what small-ball is..."

Another thump on Xiang-ling's back. "Come on, Xi-li," Pancho said, employing the friendly nickname and sending a visible wince through Xiang-ling Xun, "he can hit. And he can... well, he can hit." The shortstop chuckled softly. "And you can't tell me we're not a better team with sixty zigillion extra home runs a year."

"Like that fat prick Hubbard," Xiang-ling murmured darkly. "Either hits a home run or hits into a double play..."

"You don't have to give the guy a hug or anything. Just stay out of his way." A brief pause, and Pancho leaned into jab Xiang-ling gently in the chest, finger teetering unsteadily. "Tellyawat," he rapidly added. "If Williams gives you any trouble... anything at all... just take a deep breath, walk away, and let me know. I'll make sure it gets taken care of."

"You sound like Bowden."

"Yeah, except I'd actually do it."

The two infielders shared a raucous laugh, before clinking their glasses together in agreement.

The next night before the second game of the Bingoes series when the team got ready, Xiang-ling Xun made a point of staying away from Bill Williams (his bruised face casually explained in public as being hit in the face by a pitch during batting practice). Both Kelsey Bowden and Pancho González noted the new demilitarised zone with approval, and when the game actually began Williams was feeling uninjured enough to go two-for-four with a walk while Xiang-ling hit a first-inning home run. Mark Stewart ran his record to 3-5 with seven strong innings and the Civics won 8-3 before taking the rubber match 12-4. In the latter match, Xun mustered a triple, a double, and a home run, in that order, falling just short of the cycle when a would-be single in the fourth inning was robbed by an excellent catch by right fielder Yeo-san Ch'on. Bill Williams also hit a home run, and after the Salem series Xun and Williams were first and second in the United League in home runs with twenty and seventeen respectively.

A loss to the division-leading Boise Idahoes back in Edmonton followed, but the Civics then took off with five consecutive wins: two over the Idahoes and a three-game sweep at home of the Billings Barnstormers, winning by a combined score of 27-9. By June 14, the Civics had a record of 8-4 on the month and had moved up into first place in the North Division, gaining half a game on the Idahoes. Even when the Civics lost, they won: a heavy 11-1 defeat to the Pueblo Anchors on the 13th (former Civic Kichibei Fujita threw a complete game with only four hits) was followed by a dramatic 7-6 win the next night. The Civics took a 7-1 lead into the bottom of the ninth before the bullpen imploded: Felix Vásquez allowed two earned runs, Charles-Émile Sirois and Roberto Sánchez failed to record a single out (Sánchez throwing only a single pitch before getting the hook), and Dusty Gill eventually had to take a far too difficult save.

The victories did much to improve the mood of the Civics clubhouse. The team won, Jesse Cantrell was made Player of the Week, and almost every loss was followed by two wins. Even Kelsey Bowden could figure out how to manage a relatively happy, successful ball club. Xiang-ling Xun and Bill Williams continued to keep their distance, even as Williams gained on Xun for the league lead in home runs: he hit two in the victory over Pueblo and moved into a tie with Xun on twenty-two home runs each. Increasingly, Xiang-ling took Pancho González's advice to let him know about Williams's disturbances: on more than one occasion Xun and González would meet after the game for a beer and the shortstop would just vent. Through all these meetings, González was more than patient and communicative, and when a relieved Xiang-ling Xun belted the occasional pitch into the stands, the results became clear.

González himself, meanwhile, might have quietly been the most valuable fielder on the Civics. An immense 10-3 victory in Port Angeles was accompanied by a four-for-four night with a walk, a run batted in, and a run of his own for Pancho González. A career .298 hitter in previous United League seasons, the 29-year-old had fallen off the .400 pace but was still hitting a league-best .374 with thirteen home runs. In spite of hitting sixth in the lineup González was also third on the team in runs batted in, behind only Xun and Williams. Despite being traditionally pegged as a middle-of-the-order power hitter, González was in fact badly outhitting Denny King, the .219-batting second batter in the order, and Luis Reyes, who at .348 was leading off. While Reyes and King were both considerably faster on the basepaths than the chubby González, neither of them walked nearly as much as the first baseman (Reyes in particular was second in the United League in strikeouts). And even the Edmonton media, which didn't give the Civics much attention at the best of times, was starting to ask questions.

John Noatun was the baseball writer at the Edmonton Journal, and when not churning out feature stories on ABA Montreal's backup catcher he was fond of doing the occasional story on the local team. Noatun was a young sports writer, a devoted Civics fan (his father had been one of the original season ticket holders in 1975 and had a signed picture of 'Rainmaker' Baldwin and Norogumi Kawamura on his study wall), and the sort of man who was too happy to wonder why Kelsey Bowden's batting order was the way it was.

"Having signed Luis Reyes to a three-year contract with the objective of making him the leadoff hitter," Noatun wrote, "the Civics made the mistake of expecting a .372 on-base percentage and only twenty-five walks in his best-ever season to set the table for the team's power sluggers. Over one hundred strikeouts per season isn't helpful either, but the fact that Reyes's numbers have precipitously declined from last season have only made matters worse for Kelsey Bowden. Denny King, hitting below Reyes, has made so little contact with the ball that he's on base only 33% of the time. Meanwhile, Pancho González is hitting over .370, walking more often than he strikes out, slugging around .600, and is setting the table for the bottom of the order. Yet, clinging to Reyes and King's superior speed (in spite of the fact that Reyes is thrown out on a third of his steal attempts), the team's leader continues to bat sixth in the order. Coming on the heels of his inexplicable use of a 36-year-old defensive specialist named Sam Quintal in the leadoff spot for the second half of last season, this is merely more evidence of the former pitcher's difficulty in writing a lineup card."

Reading the article, Kelsey Bowden merely scoffed quietly. "On-base and slugging percentage?" he murmured, tossing the paper aside. "Gee, didn't know Bill James watched the United League."

Pancho González would certainly not be caught complaining about his spot in the batting order. As a 23-year-old United League rookie in 1992, González hit .293 and was on-base at .354. Both of those numbers improved over his next two seasons, until his serious skull injury in 1995 threatened his career. He eventually recovered, but in 1996 González recorded career lows in every major statistical category save home runs. In 1997, even his formerly reliable power numbers dipped as González bounced around the lineup between injuries to veteran leadoff man Mitch Daniels and Xiang-ling Xun and never got into a groove. In 1998, having seemingly lost his status as a future United League superstar in favour of becoming a mere role player, he was suddenly having a career year.

And, though he was a true team player, Pancho González was utterly delighted to finally be hitting the ball like he used to.

After one successful game against the Billings Barnstormers, González had gathered most of the Civics at one of the watering holes he knew so well. The booze flowed freely, and Pancho was at the centre of it all, chatting merrily about the team's victory. In particular, González had gotten the team off on the right foot in the first inning, hitting a long three-run home run over the left field wall to score Xiang-ling Xun and Jesse Cantrell and take a 4-0 lead. Many of the Civics laughed merrily. Xiang-ling Xun and Adam Wallace sat on the periphery, looking grumpy but just good enough teammates to not get up and leave too early. Bill Williams hadn't even shown up; as a former Barnstormer he had friends in the area and was off to his hotel room with one of the prettier female ones.

As the Civics talked up a storm, a small but pudgy figure circled around the periphery. Holding a beer in his hand, the man bobbed around the edges of the Civics circle, occasionally limping around the gang on a bad right knee, constantly wearing a strange little smile, until Melvin Stewart, relating a story about his experience in the 1995 Liberty Series, spotted the figure, his eyes brightening in recognition.

"Holy hell!" the pitcher cried, extending his arm. "Ethan Little? The Bitty Bopper himself? How the hell have you been?"

Stewart leapt off his stool to embrace the small man, with Roberto Sánchez and Pancho González close in his wake. The three had been teammates of Little's in his only full season of United League baseball when, twenty-three years old, the second baseman hit 24 home runs and batted .306 to lead the Civics to their most recent Liberty Series title. However, a car accident in his native Lafayette during the offseason had seriously injured his right knee and instantly ended his once-promising baseball career. Little, González, and Sánchez exchanged handshakes while Stewart (one of Little's closest friends on the old Civics) pulled Little into the mob, sitting him up on a stool and ordering a drink.

"So, Bopper, what's brought you into Billings?" González asked when the furor of introductions and greetings for an old friend had died down.

"Oh, I'm working for the league these days," Little answers, casually. "Doing some stuff on the side scouting with SISA. Took in the ball game, thought I'd come for a drink. Nice to see you guys again."

"SISA, eh?" Sánchez replied with a visible smirk. "Hope you saw me throw a couple of nights ago, you guys have been underrating me for too long."

Melvin Stewart laughed. "God," he asked, "it's been how long, three years?"

"Three years," Little answered, nodding his round head solemnly. "Too damned long. Last time I saw you guys together... probably the party after the Liberty Series." The three veterans grinned, nodding and glancing around at each other, while the more recent Civics merely sat rather awkwardly around the edges, reluctant to break into the veterans' throng but at the same time finding the conversation too dominant to start ones of their own. Xiang-ling Xun made a point of checking his watch, then glaring at the long-time Civics, then checking his watch again.

Glancing at González, Little grinned, grabbing a glass as it arrived and taking a quick pull of beer before thumping the glass down onto the bar. "So, Jesus, Pancho," he said with a wide grin. "You were the elder statesman when I got there and you're still the elder stateman, eh?" It had been a running joke among the Civics of the era; González had been 25 years old that season and, aside from the third baseman, had been the oldest starting member of the Civics' infield.

"Not anymore," González replied, his smile dipping very slightly, liquor on his breath assailing the nostrils of those around him. "Ethan Little, Greg Hubbard. Greg Hubbard, Ethan Little."

Hubbard popped off his stool and shook hands. The third baseman was 35, after all, and years of riding the buses through the dregs of minor league baseball had made sure that his face showed every one.

"You're having a pretty good year, huh, Pancho?" Little asked with a friendly grin, standing on tip-toe long enough to smack González on the back chummily. "About bloody time, huh, old man?" Little had often ragged on González in their playing days; it had been one of the few consistent parts of the turbulent early-to-mid-1990s Edmonton Civics.

For once, however, González wasn't in a mood to be funny. "Still playing, too," he retorted with uncharacteristic venom. "Guess I take baseball a little more seriously than some folks."

Nobody looked more surprised at this uncharacteristically acerbic answer than Ethan Little. He and González had always gotten along very well and their banter had been part of what made the clubhouse click three years ago. Melvin Stewart shot González a surprised little glance, and Ethan Little's expression was somewhere between contrite and bewildered.

"Hey, Pancho, man, if I..." Little began.

But González was pissed off for the first time in a long time, and he was not going to be so easily deterred. "You think you're funny, with all that 'old man' crap?" he barked, popping off the stool with fury in his eyes while Little awkwardly backed up, leaning on good leg a little more than usual.

"You don't think I know that, Ethan?" Pancho jabbed a finger into his own pudgy chest. "You don't think I know? You think I don't get up every morning before a game, think about where I was that rookie season and where I am now, and you don't think I get pissed off?" Judging by the expressions of the Civics around them, nobody had ever given a thought to Pancho González being pissed off.

Nor had Ethan Little. "What the hell are you talking about, man?" he asked, voice a little higher-pitched than usual.

For a moment, Pancho González looked ready to explode, swaying unsteadily on his feet as he took a few tentative, a dangerous expression in his eyes. But he paused when he glanced around him and saw his teammates standing in a phalanx around him, most looking concerned, and then when he looked down at his old teammate, trying to present a courage in the face of a far larger, far fitter, and far more threatening man that he clearly didn't feel.

Pancho's shoulders slumped. Melvin Stewart, in spite of his diminutive size, promptly stepped forward, grabbing Pancho González's arm and pushing him off away from the scene. "We'll talk to you later, Ethan," the pitcher said to his old comrade before turning back to his current one. "Come on, big guy, we're going back to the hotel."

"**** that guy," González murmured, but his heart wasn't in it.

The next night, the Civics played their second game of the series against the Barnstormers. Melvin Stewart was the starting pitcher that night, and while he warmed up he occasionally spared glances over to first, towards Pancho González loosening up with second baseman Michael White. During batting practice that morning González had been his usual excitable, energetic self, showing no signs of even remembering his altercation with his old friend the previous night. It was only late in the warmup that González tossed the ball to White for the last time and strolled towards the pitcher's mound, as easily as he would as if he were going to just talk strategy.

"Hey, Melvin," González murmured to call the pitcher's attention, even though Stewart had been watching González walk over the entire way. "Sorry about last night, buddy." A firm thump on the pitcher's back, enough to send the slight Stewart lurching a step forward. "Had a few too many. Guess I was a bit of an asshole."

Stewart jabbed his glove into Pancho's chest in a friendly way. "Don't sweat it, Pancho." Melvin smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Do you remember what it was that you were saying last night?"

"I was on Ethan for something," Pancho lied blatantly. "Can't remember what."

This did not improve Melvin Stewart's demeanour. "You were pissed off about his 'old man' bit. Kinda weird, Pancho. You were going on about..."

Pancho cut him off, his usual smile replaced with great earnestness. "I was in a mood, Mel. And I don't want to talk about it."

Melvin Stewart opened his mouth to reply, but Pancho González was already on his way back to first base.

Perhaps distracted, Stewart was not at his best that night. The Barn in Billings is the United League's largest and rowdiest ballpark and an intimidating environment for any opposing pitcher, featuring crowds of a sort not usually seen below AAA. There were 22,000 excitable Billings fans in the building that night, and all of them were determined to agitate a pitcher who didn't need any help being agitated. Stewart walked five over five and two thirds, hit a batsman, and only struck out two.

Pancho González, meanwhile, was playing completely care-free baseball. He rapped out two sharp singles in his first three at-bats off tenth-season Billings pitcher Francisco Velázquez, and on the latter he showed some characteristic hustle when he beat former Civic Rick Lewis's throw from centre to score on a Michael Lewis single. The other Civics stroked the ball very well as well: Bill Williams hit three singles in five at-bats and even backup catcher Sloan "Groundhog" Leighton, who moved like the tectonic plates and hit like he was using a piece of straw, got in on the act with three hits. Finally, in the ninth, with the Civics already running away with it 10-3, González drove a two-run home run off of Velázquez into deep right centre, a towering four-hundred-foot shot that made it a 12-3 game.

The next night, however, the Barnstormers recovered. Juan García was possibly one of the finest pitchers in the United League, a 28-year-old in the prime of his career who had thrown six quality seasons as a starter in Japan and who had only returned to North America on account of his involvement in a serious drug scandal. The United League, which was never afraid to take a chance on a persona non grata, snapped García up, and though he had put on weight and was obviously dogging it in practice, he could also throw like a demon and led the league in quality starts for the Barnstormers.

He was more than suited to cooling off the Civics' hot bats. He was fantastically accurate, striking out twelve and walking only one in a shutout effort that saw the Civics lose 3-0. It was their first loss in seven games, but one that still left them on top of the United League North Division. They closed out the month with the division lead, the Boise Idahoes breathing down their neck only one game back: it was the first Civics' division lead in seemingly forever, but there was an increasing simmering sound coming from the Civics clubhouse.

Meanwhile, Kelsey Bowden stood on the sidelines, staring into the increasing storm like a deer in the headlights.

Coming up: Chapter Eleven: Take On Me