[Jazzmosis]

This one came much quicker than I expected: I have alot of ideas and now that I've gotten into the season I don't want to forget what I had planned.

I thought that just for reference, in the game my Owner is "Horror" so I did my best to portray that mentality. And the names are all in the game, except for Roy Pickering and Fistell. I made them up to just get it rolling.

Without further delays:

Chapter 2: The team, the media, the ridicule

I spent the winter working out. To this day I still don’t entirely understand why, but it was probably so I wouldn’t be a rookie manager with a big league club that weighed 135 pounds. I managed to balloon to 155 when Spring Training rolled around. I took out a loan with the bank and said my goodbyes to my family. I flew down to Jupiter, Florida, where the Marlins held spring training. I moved into a temporary apartment: a room in a basement. The family that lived seemed nice, but they wanted all the money upfront. That didn’t bother me, since I was only going to be there for a month and a half. I had already begun looking for an apartment near the Marlin’s home stadium. That would consume most of my free time when I wasn’t on the field.

I was within walking distance of the Spring training complex, so I walked there everyday. The first day, though, I got lost. Lost twice in two trips to the USA - not a good start. When I did eventually find the stadium, I met with the GM, Mr. What’s-his-name again. He gave me a pass, one I paid little attention to, but always had on. I followed him to the clubhouse, where I was immediately escorted to the front office. There, I met my coaches. The pitching coach was Raymond Turman. He was only in his second year as a coach. He was also 42. A short, stout man with an amusing goatee and big sideburns from the 70's. . . even though he would be too young to grow them back then. He told me that he used to pitch for the Tigers - retired only 4 years ago. He couldn’t have had a great career, since I’d never heard of him until that day. The batting coach was completely different. Geraldo Johnson. He was a completely relaxed man, casual and joking all the time. Had a decent career. Retired in 1999, hitting .265 as a second basemen for four or five different teams. Won a gold glove in ‘89. It was him that I would rely on more for advice then Turman. I always got a funny feeling from Turman. . . like he thought I was a threat to him or something. I don’t know why, I was only 18 when we met.

After all the formalities, I gradually met the pitchers and catchers. However, the very first player I ever met was neither of those two. He was named Jerrold Dewberry, and he was the starting first baseman. I didn’t know what to say when we shook hands. This was a real major leaguer, one I’d seen on TV countless times. He hit 41 homeruns back in 2001, but had been criticized recently for his struggles against righties. Dewberry was a 33 year old weathered veteran - and he taught me a lot of how to deal with the media during my first year at the helm. The first pitcher I met was Christopher Look - a 34 year old fireball reliever. After watching him in Spring Training, I made a highly controversial decision and declared him my closer. The media harped me like crazy until the season started - then they couldn’t say enough about my decision.

The rest of the team I met as they came in. Most were easy going, except for one player that thought I should be playing in some bush league instead of managing this team - Luis Guerra. He was an offensive catcher. Couldn’t catch worth a damn, though. I met a lot of young prospects, too. One guy was a first rounder from last year named Albert Ellingston. He was only two years older then me, so I clicked with him during our brief spring meeting. He could play third like nobody’s business. And man, could he hit. I wanted to take him to the active roster, but upper management quickly lectured me for even considering that. He ended up starting the year in Single-A. But he didn’t stay down there long.

It was only a matter of time before the media found me. I had managed to avoid them for a week thanks to Dewberry’s suggestions, but they caught me when I was watching some drills from the sidelines. I had no idea how to answer most their questions. They asked me about players, about the expectations of the team, and about myself. I couldn’t answer any without stuttering. It was a reputation I had to shake quickly, but never could. As spring progressed on, I found out that the media hated me. They called me “a baby in still in diapers”, “a kid in over his head”, and many other humiliating names. I even got called to go on a baseball talk show, which I foolishly accepted. They slammed me for the whole night. However, I did manage to get a few good comments in about the team.

God, how I hated the media. But I had to accept it was going to surround me, for as long as I was a big league manager. Every move I would make would be watched, every decision dissected by critics and fans alike. But I had a job to do, and ignoring the media was just impossible. I still tried, though.

Spring eventually ended, and myself and the coaches had to make some tough decisions. When I talked to Turman, he told me we lacked starting pitching. Boy, was he right. But an even bigger concern was the offense. The outfield was solid, as was Dewberry, but I quickly found out how cold the rest would start out. What made matters worse, was the owner. He called me into his office just two days before the season started with an introduction and a lecture I would never forget.


“Jazzington. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long. I’ve been busy all spring with offers and the likes, that this is the only time I could arrange to talk to you.”

“Uh.. Hello.” Was all I could respond with as an introduction.

“Yes, yes. Enough with the hello’s. I’m going to tell you straight out - the GM and Pickering may like you, but I don’t think you’ve got the balls to make it here.”

It took me looking as his desk placard to find out his name was Erwin Canon. “Then why did you hire me, Mr. Canon?”

“Pickering and Fistell recommended you - said you could read pitchers real well.” News about that had spread quickly, I discovered.

“Okay?” I responded.

“I’ll be straight forward with you. I lost money last year and patience with Gregorio. That’s why I fired him. This year, I want you to pilot this team to the playoffs. Anything less, and you can kiss your a** outta here. Understand?” Canon sat in his chair, hardly looking at me. His attention was on his computer, and he was constantly sipping coffee.

“Yes.” I was consumed by shock and anger. He was too busy to even meet me until the end of March, and then he dropped that bomb on me right away? I was fuming inside but I forced myself to stay cool. “I’ll do my best, sir. I can guarantee you that.”

“If by ‘best’ you mean playoffs, then fine. Otherwise you better shape up.”

“Okay?” I responded, unknowing of what to say.

“Good. Now get out, I’ve got business to conduct here.” He pointed to the door and went back to typing on the computer.

I wanted to punch Canon already. It turned out that he was like this to most people, especially the coaches. But to me, a young guy? I suppose it was the business, but that meeting started a massive hatred between him and I.

That meeting was in the back of my mind as opening day rolled around. I wanted to throw everything in his face. My success, everything. I had a lot to prove that year. And failing just wasn’t an option. I had to succeed - for the sake of my career, my pride, and to say “take that” to the media and Erwin Canon.