[Pommpie]

Hey! It didn't take six months this time! Mostly because when I ran into trouble this time around, I decided that I just wasn't going to worry about it on the grounds that the last time I worried about it, I didn't actually get anywhere for half a year. So enjoy. Someday I might even finish this thing.

For what it's worth: I do have a finishing point in mind. No, I won't tell you what it is. :P

Chapter Eleven: Take On Me

There is a tradition in the Canadian United League cities that the season only really begins on Canada Day. Fans of the American teams preferred Independence Day, for obvious reasons, but it was in Canada that the saying was coined and it was in Canada that it remained most popular. If it was true, the Edmonton Civics were in serious trouble.

June had been fantastically successful for the Civics on the field, but in the clubhouse relations were rapidly deteriorating. The two batting stars, Bill Williams and Xiang-ling Xun, had begun the month by getting into a fight. General manager Rich Walcott was proving able to stock the team with talent, but it was talent that couldn't always get along. Too many players were like Adam Wallace, Luis Reyes, and Angel García: loners in a team game who were happiest when their teammates could just leave them alone. Too many others were like Xun and Williams: contentious personalities who seemed to take a perverse delight in infuriating their teammates. Even Pancho González, normally the steadiest and most reliable team player in the world, was growing alarmingly erratic.

The rifts in the clubhouse were growing too great to paper over. When the team was winning, as it usually was, the players were able to put the mutual distaste behind them. When the team was losing, things were less good.

Canada Day began with a game at AGT Field against the visiting Eugene Cranes. The Cranes' boasted a poor record but a strong team: starting pitcher Andrés Quiñones was an electric if inconsistent pitcher with six lively pitches bearing plenty of movement. 27-year-old Rick Shaw was making the leap into a standout United Leaguer, combining speed on the basepaths and superior fielding ability with devestating power at the plate. Utility infielder Javier Domínguez was 31 years old and had seemingly been a star in the United League forever, with a career batting average over .300 and a hundred home runs in over eight hundred career games with the Cranes.

All of them, however, paled next to the prodigy, Ernesto Cabral. Cabral was a Cuban who, at age twenty, had defected to the United States with the help of a family friend in the Kansas City Skywarriors organisation. Cabral failed to catch on with the Skywarriors or any other major league team, as the outfielder was sick with worry about his family back in Cuba and his baseball performance completely fell off. In 1996, Cabral was reduced to signing a contract with the Eugene Cranes: the very day after he signed, however, his parents and brother called him from Miami, having successfully gotten out themselves. In the last five games of the season, Cabral made his mark on the Cranes. And in 1997, as a 21-year-old rookie, Cabral was like no other.

For a man who didn't even speak English and was stuck in little Eugene, Oregon playing against grown men for less than a hundred dollars per game, Cabral proved that he could play ball. He hit .285 in his first year of professional baseball, adding twenty home runs and seventy-eight RBI. In 1998 he continued to improve, and going into July he was only slightly behind Shaw for the team lead in home runs and RBIs and threatening first baseman Sergio Sánchez for the lead in batting average. There were rumours that American Baseball Association clubs were looking at Cabral, whose contract was up at the end of the season.

Today, though, he was a Eugene Crane, And he'd show the Civics what that meant.

Cabral led off the second inning with a home run to right field off Roberto Espinoza. He came up again in the third and hit a three-run home run to almost the precise same part of the park, jogging around the bases almost leisurely with his head down as the Civics fans rained abuse down on the Crane. The Civics got a run in the bottom of the inning from a Xiang-ling Xun single, but with Xun aboard it remained Ernesto Cabral 4, Edmonton Civics 1 with one out.

Xun stood at first, arms swinging lazily as he eyed Quiñones carefully. Quiñones's pitches had a great deal of movement and not a lot of heat. Moreover, he was known for a slow delivery even from the stretch: more than one player had victimised him on the basepaths. A quick glance up towards the Civics dugout and the signals coming in from Kelsey Bowden: green light. Xun, usually so serious, allowed himself a small smile. He was never much of a base-stealer but he could still move. And when he glanced back towards Bill Williams at the bat, Xun told himself that he'd need the help.

Quiñones reared back, the pitch fluttered in, and Xun was off like a shot. Cranes catcher Corey Schmitt was a new adversary for Xun; he was a first-year United League player, a light hitter who had only recently started to play every day. But he had a gun for an arm, and the ball was soon in Alfredo Rodríguez's glove, swinging out towards the sliding shortstop. There was a cloud of dirt, a call of "out!", and a string of Taiwanese profanity.

"Safe, ump, safe!" Xun insisted, his knowledge of the language temporarily blotted out by raw anger. He wasn't safe. Even the Civics fans in the stands hardly bothered to boo the umpire's decision. Xiang-ling Xun was usually too level-headed to argue even close plays, but today he was giving the fans a show, slamming his batting helmet into the gravel agitatedly and pointing to the bag, as though all language was beyond his power. Meanwhile, the shortstop Rodríguez stood off to the side, eyes wide with surprise. Rodríguez was another United League rookie, but he'd heard enough about Xiang-ling Xun to realise that this outburst was more than a little out-of-character.

So had second-base umpire Jesus Santana. A hefty but largely demure man, Santana looked at Xun in something like shock as the shortstop colourfully commented upon Santana's ancestry, eyesight, and sexual inclination. It was that shock, perhaps, which saved Xiang-ling Xun from a prompt and discourteous ejection; by the time Santana had regained his composure Xun had lost his steam, settling for kicking the second-base bag grumpily and storming off the field, while the crowd howled in derision: whether in belated defiance of the umpire's call or in mockery of their superstar's temper tantrum, nobody could say.

From that point on, things went downhill pretty quickly for the Civics. Roberto Espinoza, normally so reliable, didn't record an out in the fifth inning before absorbing two earned runs and being pulled in favour of Roberto Sánchez, who fared little better. Only in the bottom of the eighth did the Civics scratch out a couple more runs, when Bill Williams sent his twenty-fourth home run of the season out of AGT Field in centre field, closing to within two of Xun's league lead. The Civics wound up with an 11-4 loss, with the phenomenal Ernesto Cabral finishing two-for-two with two home runs and two walks, not to mention a chorus of incensed boos from the fans in Edmonton.

The next night was a big one for the Civics, however, in more ways than one. Not only was a win essential to try and break the Civics out of their slump, but the Civics had made the sort of signing that they had excelled at throughout the Rich Walcott era: a big name, past his prime, for not a lot of money.

The new Civic was 41-year-old starting pitcher Yoshida Uemura. The signing of Uemura was greeted with great fanfare in United League circles: he was widely regarded as one of the finest pitchers ever to take part in the United League. His United League career had begun in 1980 with the San Diego Bingoes: he made 185 starts over six seasons in San Diego before moving with the team to Salem and spending three more years there. Some of his records were less-than-glorious: he was, for example, the last United Leaguer to ever lose 20 games in a season in 1983. But he had always been a remarkably effective hurler on a consistently mediocre team.

In the offseason of 1988, Uemura was 32 - old for a United League starting pitcher - and was universally regarded as being on the downslope of his career. The Bingoes got rid of him on October 13, trading the Salem icon to the Pueblo Anchors in exchange for journeyman shortstop Wes French. It was one of the most lopsided trades in league history - French played 126 games as a Bingo, hit .256 with a single home run in that time, and retired after the 1989 season. Uemura, who was supposedly past his prime, pitched six full seasons for the Pueblo Anchors. Like the Bingoes, the Anchors were never one of the stronger teams in the league, but Uemura could still pitch like a demon. He appeared in the 1990 and 1991 All-Star games and was once runner-up for the BMO Arm of Steel award as the league's top pitcher.

The 1994 season was Uemura's last with Pueblo. He was 38 when the season ended and the oldest starter in the United League, posting a 6-10 record with a 4.37 ERA. Age had robbed Uemeura of his once-devestating fastball, and the Anchors let Uemura go after 1994. Rather than sign with another United League team, however, Uemura went abroad, pitching briefly with the Escogido Flames of the Dominican league and winding up in his native Japan. The Hanshin Fireants signed him as a pitching coach, and his playing career seemed to be done.

Naturally, he came back. For the first time in his career Uemura worked out of the bullpen, but at an age where most pitchers were looking past baseball Uemura was starting his career anew in his home country. 39 years young, Uemura pitched in twenty-two games and compiled a 3-2 record with a 4.18 ERA. The next year he was claimed off of waivers by the Seibu River Bats and pitched ten more games. In the last game of the season, as what was supposed to be a retirement present, Uemura got the start against Hanshin, threw seven innings, and lost the win only on a blown save. After 481 professional games, Yoshida Uemura rode off into the sunset.

Until, of course, Rich Walcott came calling. There wasn't much money, but Uemura had always been one of those men unable to resist the siren call of baseball. He had not retired after the Bingoes let him go, seeing him as past his prime. He had stuck around when Pueblo did the same thing, and though he was now forty-one years old, not even a retirement game in his home country could keep him away from baseball for long.

Uemura was formally introduced before the game on July 2; the third game of the Salem series. The casual fans in the crowd roared their approval, recognising one of the great names in league history as the tall, lean pitcher tipped his cap to the crowd. Only the old-timers, who had the most appreciation for Uemura's talents, were sceptical: their faith in Rich Walcott had never been high, and bringing in has-been pitchers did not further endear him to them.

The starting pitcher for Edmonton was William LaFontaine, who was less a has-been and more a never-been. LaFontaine sported a 4-4 record and a 4.56 ERA, an undersized southpaw of the sort that could always find jobs in the United League. A strong arm that topped out in the mid-nineties, an acceptable slider, erratic control, and not near enough ability to consistently retire batters. He had made great strides since this 1997 rookie campaign where he went 0-6 in eleven starts, but he was still notoriously erratic.

LaFontaine started badly. A leadoff single on a 2-0 count to John Smith began LaFontaine's troubles. He retired Corey Schmitt on a grounder to third but Smith moved to second, and when Sergio Sánchez stroked a single into centre Smith came around to score and stake Eugene to a 1-0 lead with the mighty Ernesto Cabral at bat.

Fortunately for the Civics, LaFontaine bore down. Two called strikes racked up a quick 0-2 count on Cabral and a mighty fastball up high struck Cabral out swinging. Cipriano Saldaña struck out afterwards, and after a listless bottom of the first for the Civics LaFontaine forced the Cranes' second-best batter, Rick Shaw, to fly out on his second pitch. He got through the second without damage, and even if the Civics offense had trouble getting going, the pitching seemed to be in order.

Naturally, the fans were surprised when the top of the third came about and Félix Vásquez jogged out to take the mound for Edmonton.

There had been no sign of the pitching change before it had happened. LaFontaine, sitting on the bench, looked as surprised as anybody, jerking his head towards Kelsey Bowden and leaping off the bench, stretching his arms out, demanding an explanation from the skipper. The fans greeted poor Vásquez in the worst way: with boos and jeers, more directed to the management than the pitcher but still making an impact on the reliever's expression. Catcher's mask in hand, Angel García stood behind William LaFontaine in the dugout, not even bothering to go onto the field, pelting Kelsey Bowden with questions.

"You didn't have it tonight, Willy," Bowden stated, simply, clapping LaFontaine on the back and trying to look more certain than he felt. "You got a couple outs, but these guys can hit..."

"Jesus Christ!" yelled an anonymous Civic on the bench, witnessing the altercation.

Bowden's eyes danced like a rat in a cage, trying to track down whichever Civic had expressed his bewilderment so openly. Meanwhile, LaFontaine spluttered ineffectively, and García answered more directly, poking Bowden in his soft chest.

"You may have pitched for a long time, Bowden," the catcher yelled, voice carrying up into the crowd, "but you don't know **** about pitching."

Jaws chewing furiously on his trademark piece of gum, Bowden pointed out onto the field. "García," he cried, "get the hell on that field."

"What're you gonna do, skip? Suspend me? I notice Bill and Xun's suspensions are coming along really nicely now!"

Even the crowd had gone quiet, the sounds of the altercation carrying up into the seats and leading the fans to glance between each other nervously. Kelsey Bowden stared down at the smaller catcher for a few moments, then turned his back and walked to the other side of the dugout.

It was supposed to look defiant. It looked more defeated. Veteran bench coach José Morales quickly followed Bowden as García, with a look of purest contempt, pulled on his mask and walked out onto the field.

"Christ, Kelsey, you're not going to let him get away with that?" Morales whispered urgently to Bowden. "The bastard was calling you out. You can't put up with that."

Bowden shook his head, mutely. "What're we gonna do, Morales?" he whispered, voice trembling, eyes slightly watery as he stood in the bricked-up corner of the dugout. "Play the Groundhog? We need García, Morales. And Xiang-ling. And that bastard Williams. We need them all."

"Better to lose a game now than lose ten later," retorted Morales. "I mean..." the bench coach's voice trailed off, thunking his head gently against the red brickwork, eyes closed. José Morales had been doing this for a long time. He had been a veteran when he joined the Civics in 1986 alongside legendary manager Alfredo Pérez and had simply never left. Ty Crabtree and now Kelsey Bowden had also come along during his tenure, and Morales had thought he'd seen it all. It turned out that he was wrong.

"What the hell am I gonna do, Morales?" Bowden sounded like he might cry.

Morales had an answer, for all the good it would do. "You're losing this clubhouse, skip. You've got to show them who's boss."

Bowden simply shook his head. Morales felt even worse.

On the mound, Félix Vásquez cruised through the third and survived the fourth in spite of allowing a run on a couple of hits. In the fifth, Vásquez walked John Smith on five pitches and that brought out Kelsey Bowden once more, looking somewhat shakier and paler than usual, calling for Roberto Sánchez from the bullpen. This, in turn, received a chorus of boos directed towards Bowden, even though Vásquez was clearly beginning to labour: confidence in the manager was low enough tonight that they were booing his defensible moves.

It turned out the fans were right. Corey Schmitt lined Sánchez's first pitch into centre for a double, scoring Smith. Sergio Sánchez walked, and Ernesto Cabral let five pitches - three balls and two strikes - go past him without swinging once, and then on the sixth pitch he turned on it, hitting a double of his own into the gap in left-centre, scoring Schmitt and moving Sergio Sánchez to third. Roberto Sánchez allowed another run when Rick Shaw sacrificed Sergio Sánchez across the plate, and after four and a half it was 5-0 for the Eugene Cranes with no end in sight.

It took until the bottom of the sixth for the Civics to make some noise. Alfred Brewer was the pitcher for Eugene: a rookie, Brewer was another rather mediocre lefthander in the William LaFontaine mold, but unlike LaFontaine Brewer had made the best of his meagre talents and was a respected part of the Cranes rotation. But he was still prone to the failings of the rookie pitcher and he was not known for his endurance. He led off the bottom of the sixth by walking Denny King on four pitches. There were few players in the United League you'd less like to walk than the speedy King, and with catcher Schmitt's rifle of an arm, a close steal attempt seemed likely.

Brewer was clearly thinking about King's speed. Thinking too hard. A quick pickoff attempt to first sailed well left and King was off like a shot, getting into second before anybody could react. Xiang-ling Xun grounded out harmlessly to second, but that in turn moved King to third. Bill Williams had had a miserable night at the plate so far, like all the Civics, but he managed to grab another productive out when he smacked a Brewer fastball into right, deep enough to score King fairly easily.

Finally, Greg Hubbard closed out the Civics offense in the sixth in style. On Brewer's second pitch Hubbard socked it to right field, a gargantuan home run that brought the previously surly crowd to its feet. Hubbard's blast was estimated at 454 feet, and the solo bomb meant the Civics were back in it with a shout.

The new pitcher for the Civics in the top of the seventh was an unusual choice: centre-fielder Scott Deakin. It was not as eccentric as it first sounded, however: Deakin had been a skilled left-handed reliever in college and had only moved to the outfield fulltime when he was drafted by the Minnesota Drummers. Deakin, remarkably, in his first professional pitching appearance, struck out the side in spite of a single to Sergio Sánchez and a walk to Ernesto Cabral, bringing the Civics up in the bottom of the sixth.

Brewer remained in the game for the Cranes, but not for long. Angel García led off with a double, and Jake Cameron (pinch-hitting for Michael White) slapped out a scrappy single that moved García to third. A Jesse Cantrell flyout scored García and when Luis Reyes singled at the top of the order, runners were on first and second and Alfred Brewer's night was over. Veteran Mike Ferguson came in to put out the fire: a 33-year-old right-hander who had pitched in almost 250 games in an eight-year career as a Eugene Crane, an unremarkable but effective arm out of the bullpen.

The Civics, however, were cooking at last. A Denny King line drive to left gave Ferguson a rude welcome, and only Jake Cameron's sloth-like pace on the basepaths prevented a run from getting in. The bases were loaded with only one out, and the news wasn't getting any better. Xiang-ling Xun was striding to the plate, the league leader in home runs, with the go-ahead run on first.

Ferguson had faced Xun slightly over a dozen times but the record was in Xun's favour, including a .360 batting average and a single home run. Ferguson fired his first pitch well outside, Corey Schmitt only just getting over in time to cover it up. Perhaps chastened by his miss, Ferguson got his next pitch in. Too far in. Xun turned on it and Ferguson could only watch it fly, jaw dropping in disbelief as the ball went out to right, bounding towards the street and instantly making the score 7-5 Civics.

Previous disagreements between the fans and the manager disappeared in an instant. The Civics fans present leapt to their feet and roared their approval while Xun embarked on his usual non-chalant jog around the basepaths. not even deigning to high-five his teammates when he got to home plate. Later in the inning, the Civics pulled out another run, when Pancho González doubled home Bill Williams and drew another delighted cheer from the crowd, as in one giant inning the Civics had been staked to an 8-5 lead.

Deakin remained in for the eighth, but his would not be an easy inning. The first fault was not of his making. Antonio Villa grounded what ought to be a harmless ball to second. Jake Cameron received it easily and fired to Pancho González at first. But the normally reliable González let it eat him up, the ball falling out of his glove and skipping into foul territory. Villa, hustling down the foul line, reached on the error before González could recover, and the Cranes had a man aboard with one out. Alfredo Rodríguez singled to move Villa to second and Deakin hit John Smith with a pitch, loading the bases for catcher Corey Schmitt.

Deakin wiped off his brow anxiously. The nominal centre-fielder looked in nervously, shifting the ball around in his glove. Schmitt was not a strong hitter, but for Scott Deakin any batter might as well be Ernesto Cabral at the moment. He threw low, trying to draw a ground ball. Too low. Twice, García had to move quickly to prevent a pitch from heading to the backstop. And when, on a 3-0 count, an agitated García set up right down the heart of the plate, Deakin threw so high that García had to leap from his crouch to snare the ball. Villa scored, the Cranes were within two, and closer Dusty Gill came in from the bullpen.

Gill was regarded as one of the better closers in the United League, but he would face the heart of Eugene's order with the bases loaded. Sergio Sánchez was at bat: a capable first baseman and a .300 hitter with a good eye and 15-home-run power. Gill tried to be careful with Sánchez, nibbling the corner of the plate with a couple quick fastballs, getting a called strike on the first but not on the second. The third pitch of the at-bat was a slider heading outside that Sánchez turned on, lining it well foul. The next pitch was a fastball inside and this time Sánchez got it into fair territory, heading right towards second. Gill twisted to try and glove the ball but missed, and it flew towards Bill Williams in centre field.

Slapping his glove against his thigh, Gill swore loudly as Alfredo Rodríguez scored. Williams came up with the ball and fired home, trying to beat Smith. Williams had a strong arm, but not strong enough to beat John Smith: the Eugene centre fielder was, along with Denny King, one of the fastest men in the United League. Sánchez almost skipped to first base: he had tied the game and handed Dusty Gill a rare blown save. The closer crouched at the mound, looking distraught as Eugene Cabral walked to the plate with only one out to add on more misery.

Cabral was intentionally walked to load the bases once again and Cipriano Saldaña, a light-hitting infielder, came to the plate. Gill bore down to try and stop the bleeding, firing BBs and striking out Saldaña on three superb pitches, although the achievement drew only scattered applause. His next pitch to the dangerous Rick Shaw was also well-chosen, and Shaw grounded out to short, ending the inning and leaving the game tied at eight.

The bottom of the eighth passed quietly for the Civics and the top of the ninth came with Gill still pitching. Shortshop Javier Domínguez was one of the large number of solid hitters on the Eugene roster, and Gill had to be careful against the crafty veteran of nine years with the Cranes. Gill soon went up 0-2, but Domínguez was no easy strikeout mark. Three straight pitches came in, teasing the shortstop to offer at them, three times Domínguez declined, and three times the call came "ball!" With the count full, Gill tried once more, but again Domínguez laid off and again the umpire agreed, sending the shortstop strolling to first.

Antonio Villa took less time to make his mark. Gill's first pitch was higher than García had set up and Villa got a hold of it, sending a home run to right centre. It was 10-8 Eugene. Forget the blown save: Gill was now on the hook for the loss, remaining in long enough to strike out the next three batters and firing his glove against the side of the dugout in anger.

The best part of the Civics order came up in the bottom of the ninth against Eugene closer José Hernández. Hernández was nicknamed "Clueless" by the fans but the Venezuelan rookie could pitch with the best of them, saving recorded sixteen saves on a 2.52 ERA to that point of the season. Xiang-ling Xun led off and fought Hernández in a scrappy at-bat, fouling off four pitches and trying desperately to hold on until he saw one he could drive. He thought he did on a slider outside, but Xun got under it, flying out harmlessly.

As Bill Williams came up to bat, Xun passed him. "Just get aboard," the shortstop hissed between his teeth, Williams merely smirking in reply.

Williams was a dangerous hitter and Hernández was rightly wary. Soon, Williams had a 3-0 count, that same smirk etched on his features. He laid off the 3-0 pitch, a strike. The next pitch came in and Williams swung mightly, fouling the pitch to right. On the bench, Xun put his head in his hands.

The next pitch was well outside. Williams swung anyway and came up empty. A roared profanity echoed through AGT Field and Williams stormed off, Xun not even managing to look pleased at his rival's failure.

Greg Hubbard strode to the plate. He, too, was a mighty cutter, but he was more patient than Williams and Hernández was apparently itching to walk somebody. He did walk Hubbard, thanks to a disciplined eye and an opportune foul ball on a 3-2 count. And, with two out, up came Pancho González representing the tying run.

González had never faced Hernández in his career. He swung his bat nimbly, trying to remember the scouting reports as he settled in against the Eugene closer. Fastball. I know that. Loves the fastball, mid-nineties. Good splitter. Dammit, what else was there? Was there anything else? He held the bat in his usual relaxed stance, barrel hovering just over his shoulder. He stared down at Hernández, trying to find some clue: some sort of tipoff in his delivery, some betraying glance towards the catcher's signs. Nothing. The bastard didn't even have the decency to shake Schmitt off once or twice.

The first pitch was the fastball, heading low but hittable. González brought the bat forward no goddammit that's the splitter! With an audible grunt of exertion, Pancho held back on the swing as the ball dropped out of the strike zone. Schmitt immediately leapt up and pointed towards first for the appeal, but the ruling came in: no swing. Ball one.

González asked for and was granted time, taking a step backwards out of the box and swinging his bat idly, trying to loosen his muscles after the tough checked swing. As he did so he glanced towards first base and Greg Hubbard still standing on the bag. Hubbard? I'm faster than Hubbard. Surely we should have a pinch runner out there? González frowned, his grip on the bat tightening ever-so-slightly. That was odd. Of course, Kelsey Bowden was managing, so that probably explained that. González stepped back into the box and got ready.

Hernández took a breath on the mound and threw without even bothering to glance towards Hubbard at first. This one González could see from the start was heading outside, and he let it pass. Ball two. A small smile. On hitter's counts Hernández backed off the splitter as his control with it was less precise. One more advantage for Pancho González.

The fastball flew in, and González swung. He was taking a step towards first before he had fully registered making contact, and as a result he was almost out of the batter's box before noticing that he hadn't. González looked back as Schmitt threw the ball back to Hernández, and frowned. He's got some heat, the bastard. But the frown vanished as quickly as it came. That's the last time he's getting away with that.

Hernández shook off the first signal from Schmitt. González let out a slow breath and stared in towards the pitcher, balanced as though on a knife's edge. When the pitch came, Pancho knew he'd be ready for it.

The pitch came, flying towards the heart of the plate. González swung. As his bat arced towards the ball it ducked, ever-so-slightly, the spin sending it towards, allowing González's bat to gently graze the top of the ball and send it bouncing out harmlessly towards second. Javier Domínguez threw the ball to first, and the game was over.

Pancho González didn't even bother to run it out. With a great cry of anger and frustration he drove the bat down over his raised knee, snapping the maple cleanly in half. Throwing the remains of his bat without regard for where they landed, the first baseman stormed towards the dugout as his teammates filed away. Pats on the back, muttered condolences, all were ignored. He showered and changed in total silence and strode out towards the dirt parking lot at AGT Field to drive home.

As he walked, a fan was waiting. He eyed Pancho with the unsteady eye of the experienced drunkard. "Baldwin woulda hit it!" the fan proclaimed.

Pancho González broke his nose.

---

José Morales looked around unsteadily as he walked into Rich Walcott's office. In eighteen years in professional baseball, Morales had never done anything like this before. He had hardly even been in the GM's office at AGT Field, except to sign contract extensions every couple of years. But he had a soft spot in his heart for the Civics, and he had to do something.

"What's up, José?" the general manager asked from his desk, with the windows behind him looking on the darkened field. Morales stepped in awkwardly as Walcott waved vaguely towards the seats in front of his desk. Morales sat down, but didn't look in the least comfortable.

"I've got to talk to you about Bowden," Morales said, the words coming out in one great blob of verbiage. "He's completely lost the clubhouse."

Walcott broke in there, the lines on his face creasing into a frown. "I know he's had some trouble with Xun and Williams..."

"Not just Xun and Williams," Morales retorted just as quickly to his boss. "Everybody. I think even Pancho would get rid of him if he could."

Walcott waved his hand, almost dismissively, towards the bench coach. He opened his mouth to say something, but Morales cut him off. He'd been in this game for a hell of a long time, and nobody - not Kelsey Bowden, not Rich Walcott, nobody - was going to stop him from saying what he had to say.

"You've got to get rid of him, Rich," Morales said, simply. "Replace him with whoever you'd like, I'm not sure it matters. But the boys just won't play ball for him anymore."

Walcott broke in. "I know he's had some problems, José, but for god's sake, he's only in his second season..."

"Not 'problems', Rich. I see those guys down there. Xun and Williams are going to kill each other and Bowden can't do a thing to get them under control. Half those guys whose contracts are coming up are going to try and get out of here. Angel García is going crazy trying to deal with the way Bowden runs the rotation. And Pancho's just getting angrier and angrier and hitting worse and worse. He's got to go."

"And what happens if he stays?" The increasingly strident tone of Morales's voice had not escaped Rich Walcott, and he was not happy about it.

"Then I'm gone. Melvin Stewart's gone, William LaFontaine's gone, half our bullpen's gone, a couple guys either go in the tank or demand trades, and you end up with a team licking the boots of the North Division again. Is that what you want?"

At that moment, fate intervened. The phone rang. With an angry glare towards the bench coach, Walcott picked it up. His glare at Morales merely intensified. He hung up.

"González is at the police station," the general manager observed, matter-of-factly. "He beat the hell out of some drunkard in the parking lot."

There was a pause. "Get rid of Bowden, Rich," Morales said quietly.

Fortunately, González's legal troubles blew over. The officer arresting him was a Civics fan, and once the drunkard had sobered up he viewed the story more as one to laugh at than press charges over. An autographed Civics jersey courtesy of the team was all it took to win the fan's goodwill back, and Pancho González was out in time to join the team bus on their trip down to Boise to play the Idahoes in a three-game set.

The first game was a debacle. González went 0-for-4, his every swing seeming more like he was chopping down a tree than hitting a baseball. Melvin Stewart got the start for Edmonton and lasted only four innings, allowing five earned runs before Kelsey Bowden strode out to give Stewart the hook. José Morales watched demurely from the dugout, occasionally glancing up to the press box at Boise Grounds, where Rich Walcott observed the game with an equal lack of intensity.

Dusty Gill ended up throwing the last three innings of the game after a multi-inning game the previous night in Edmonton, the closer throwing fifty-one pitches, striking out three, and allowing three earned runs, as by that point his arm was practically ready to fall off. The game had been lost when Gill came in anyway: the team's only runs had come by Xiang-ling Xun and Jesse Cantrell solo homers, and the Civics fell by the ignomious score of 11-2. The next night the Civics dropped their fourth in a row 7-6 in extra innings, with staff ace Adam Wallace lasting only four and two-thirds before being pulled after seventy-seven pitches and two earned runs. Wallace didn't even bother to argue with Bowden's erratic hook: he looked more resigned than angered.

The Civics were, to put it bluntly, going in the tank. The team's confidence had never been worse and the dressing room was growing increasingly toxic. Bill Williams was no longer on speaking terms with anybody, having been rejected by the entire team. Pancho González was miserable, and his batting average showed it. On July 5, Denny King hyperextended his knee, putting himself out of the lineup for four weeks. And the youngster almost looked glad to get the time off, with Bob Zasko taking his place in the lineup.

From time to time, the results did some for the Civics. On July 10, Bill Williams recorded a three home run game in Trail, British Columbia, in a game the Civics won 10-3 on the back of six and a third solid innings from Melvin Stewart. The third home run was Williams's 29th of the season, moving him one ahead of Xiang-ling Xun for the Civics and the United League lead. With Greg Hubbard on 23 home runs and Pancho González on 18, the Civics boasted by far the best slugging attack in the United League. It was putting together everything else that was the trouble: the next night was Yoshida Uemura's debut as a Civic, starting against Trail, and in five and a third innings of work he allowed six hits, five walks, two homers, and six earned runs against only one strikeout. It took slugger Greg Hubbard scoring on a Luis Reyes single in the eleventh inning to get the Civics the win.

It was, naturally, the big home run sluggers that found their way onto the United League All-Star teams when they were named that month. Bill Williams was named a starter in the outfield, Xiang-ling Xun at shortstop, Pancho González at first base, and Jesse Cantrell as the designated hitter. Of the fielders, Angel García, Greg Hubbard, and Luis Reyes found their ways onto the team as reserves, while Adam Wallace, Roberto Espinoza, and Dusty Gill joined the team as reserve pitchers.

With every game Rich Walcott watched from his office or the press box, he found himself growing less and less satisfied with his team. José Morales's words rang through his ears despite his best efforts to block them out: he found himself paying mroe and more attention to Kelsey Bowden in the dugout, to the way he walked, the way he talked, and the way he ran the team. And, gradually, without even realising he was doing it, he began to think about a replacement.

Meanwhile, the Civics sputtered away below. They were still second in the division. Still in the hunt for the playoffs. Barely.

Coming up: Chapter Twelve: The Seventh-Inning Stretch