[Jazzmosis]

Here's the next chapter. I tried to get up to speed in my season, and I'm only a few days behind now. Some interesting things happened though, to make for some interesting following chapters!

Chapter 3: Ejected, Rejected

The Florida Marlins season, and my managerial career, started in Atlanta. I revelled at the sellout crowd in Turner field, the screaming fans when the Braves were introduced. There was a fair number of Floridian fans at the stadium as well, something that surprised me. My Marlins had been highly televised and criticized in Spring Training, the butt of the speculation thrown in my direction. I had heard about a poll circulating on the internet about who would the first manager that got fired. I had something like 77% of the votes. It just drove me to succeed more. I had slated superstar Gilbert Wright for the opener - it was a no brainer. He had been signed as a free agent in the off-season, and was supposed to be the anchor for a weak staff. Just before the anthems, Jerrold Dewberry came up to me with some encouraging words.

“You’ll be fine, Skip. We’ll bag you a first win.” He said, with a pat on the back for me.

“Thanks, Jerrold.” I responded.

“Well,” he cracked a wide smile. “As long as you don’t get ejected.”

I faced him, returning his grin. “In my first game? I don’t think so.”


Well, it didn’t take long. The first inning came, with leadoff hitter George Aiken striking out. My shortstop then grounded out. Then, I ruined my credibility - comically. The left fielder, veteran David Yoshii, hit a line drive to the outfield, a ball that the right fielder dove for and caught - apparently. In reality, he just trapped it.

Yoshii was very annoyed, and began arguing the call immediately. I hesitated, then rushed out to defend his argument. After all, it WAS a trap. Yoshii gave up, but I found myself getting caught up in the heat of the argument.

“That was the worst call I’ve ever seen. He clearly trapped the ball!” I yelled.

“Look, I saw it as a catch. The call stands.” The first base umpire retorted.

“You’ve got to be kidding me! Are you blind, or just stupid?” I screamed back.

First game. First inning. I got tossed. I was angry about the call for the rest of the night, but when I finally gave up and walked towards the clubhouse, I saw Dewberry in hysterics, repeating, “Way to go, skip!”

I had to smile. I didn’t know what to do in the clubhouse except eat some chips and watch the game. We lost, 7-2.

The media had a field day with me after the game. There were insults mixed in the laughter, but Dewberry bailed me out, leaning on my shoulder during most of the interview saying how much of a comic I was.

The next few weeks went smoothly. Dewberry and I were getting along great, and he was on absolute fire. The bullpen was pitching well, but we were only playing just above .500. The owner kept calling me in to discuss my failures as a manager and person, and how I would never lead this team to playoff berth if I didn’t shape up. I never said anything back, but it was getting harder to bite my tongue each time.

Luis Guerra hadn’t said much to me - at all. He thought I was bush league, so he didn’t listen to anything I said. He listened to Geraldo Johnson though. And Johnson listened to me, although my strength wasn’t in offense.

I’d managed to pick up most opposing pitchers well. Dewberry just sat beside me, every game, watching what I pointed out. Hanover, the shortstop, dropped by to listen in sometimes. And a starting pitcher asked me how I figured this stuff out so quickly. Slowly, I was gaining the players trust. Turman and I didn’t have much in common - we always just talked business.

The team was starting to heat up, until April 19th. That day, the wheels just fell off. One of my most solid relievers, Shannon Mathew, pulled his arm and was put on the 15 day DL. The bullpen almost instantly went to hell. ERA’s jumped. This Dominican, Anibal Pena, had his ERA go from 1.08 to 5.68 in one game. Upper management called up a 21 year old to fill Mathew’s place, but gave me instructions to only use him in dire need, and no more often than once every 5 days. They also sent down a utility infielder that hadn’t had a hit yet. I had to be the one to tell him. He accepted it, telling me he knew it was coming. He was replaced with some veteran pitcher. I couldn’t pronounce his name, so I just called him “The Vet”. He barely spoke English. That surprised me considering he’d spent ten years in the majors.

The flurry of movement started a tailspin. Half the hitters went cold, and the bottom half of the rotation couldn’t throw a strike. We lost 4 games in a row, and the owner gave me hell for it. I just took it.

Dewberry did his best to cheer me up that night, dropping by my apartment with a case of beer. “You’re not old enough to drink, but nobody cares.” He smiled as I let him in.

“Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife?” I asked quietly.

“Told her I was going out for the night.” He responded with a grin. Out of all the players, he was quickly becoming my favourite. He was in a situation similar to mine. . . just with 14 years of experience on his side. The media was always on him because he couldn’t hit righties. So far, he was hitting over .400 with 7 home runs against them. He was also criticized for his injury-prone past, many saying that it was ‘just a matter of time before his ankle gave out and ended his career’. He always came back with a witty response when questioned about it, saying things like he’ll buy a new foot or clone himself and play the game forever. He always supported my decisions as manager, something I needed in my first month steering that team.

We spent hours playing a baseball simulator and drinking beer.

“This game is horrible!” Jerrold complained, after I beat him in a round. “Whoever programmed me in this game should be fired!”

I laughed. Playing as himself, he’d struck out 3 times. “It’s true, Jerry,” I jeered. “You just can’t hit the righties!”

He chuckled. “I don’t see your name here, Jazzy.” He cracked that signature grin I was getting used to.

After a while and an ordered pizza, he and I just began talking. “What made you take the job, Mark?”

“The money. I’d never seen that much before.”

He laughed as he chewed. “Peanuts. When we get to the playoffs you can demand any money you want and the Canon will give it to you.”

I stared at him. “Canon hates me.”

“Of course he does.” Dewberry responded. “He hates everyone. But you know what? He hired you for the job.”

“I guess so. But why does he have to be such an ass about doing business?”

He leaned in close. “Look. Canon likes to get under guy’s skin. He’s ruined players careers before. Don’t let him get to you.”

I stumbled for an answer. “Yeah. . . but why?”

“I dunno. He’s an idiot. Cares more about himself then anyone in this club.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Next time he gives you hell, do me a favour and stand up for yourself. Okay?”

I nodded again. Jerrold was right. I was nervous about losing my job so much that I never said anything back. But this was my team to manage, and I decided that I was going to let Canon know it next time he lectured me. No matter what the consequences were.