[Jazzmosis]

Here we go - the next chapter of Mark Jazzington. This one wasn't as long as I'd hoped (time wise), but I focussed more on some different, rising issues rather than pure stats - as it turned out, the chapter came rather difficult.

Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 6: Rolling along

When my editor and I sat down to discuss this book, we had quite the discussion about the title of this chapter. We finally agreed on the title you see before you - but be warned, it is not titled the way you would want it to be. Yes, we were rolling along - but rolling down a hill, into a fiery inferno of chaos. To say we simply stumbled would be an understatement - absolutely nothing went my way. Virtually all of my decisions backfired. When a pitcher had a good start, we’d be shut out. Whenever the offense hit the ball, a pitcher would implode. And speaking of implosions. . .


Gilbert Wright, the undisputed ace of the Marlins, saw his ERA rise not one, but two full runs over the second half of the month. He simply could not throw the ball by the batters - they peppered it all over the field. This was a big part of our demise.


On May 20th, we started a shameful record that had been held for 25 years. In this same game, we also tied another record for mediocrity. New call-up Jesus Soriano, a 23 year old fire-baller, was making his major league debut. Well, we welcomed him to the majors by playing like a R team, committing 3 errors in the first. First Guerra threw a nubber into right field, which second baseman Kendrick Rizzo, a gold-glove calibur fielder until that point, followed by throwing a ground ball out over Dewberry’s head, allowing the first runner to score. Not to be outdone by his comrades, utility infielder George Sampson hurled a ball from third base, complete with two outs, further over Dewberry’s head than Rizzo. The ball skipped into rightfield, for a third time, costing rookie Soriano four runs - all unearned. When that pathetic display finally ended, Dewberry came into the dugout, noticeably upset - the first time I’d ever seen him angry. “Guys, I’m not a ****ing acrobat here - we just threw away an inning.”


I seconded his thoughts. “We just made a great impression on our starting pitcher, fellas. This isn’t some amateur leagues - you guys are getting paid millions, and you come up with that display? Let’s get our heads back in this and play like we’re capable of.”

Guerra piped up, speaking in his light Spanish accent. “I don’t see you making these plays, chief.”

I wasn’t in the mood for backtalk - not after that. “Shut up, Guerra.”

The team mulled around in the dugout in silence after that. Until then, I had been positive almost all the time. Perhaps this shocker was what the team needed to pick up the game. How wrong I was. Another error was committed in the 7th, Totalling four on the night. And in the ninth, I blew my top on a stolen base call - and like clockwork, was welcomed to my seventh ejection.

The next day, I was greeted to some interesting news - Clayton Herring, the lefty specialist, signed a four year, 1.1 million dollar extension with the Marlins. Didn’t seem like a bad deal at the time, but he fell to pieces as the month wore down, giving up 5 runs in 1 inning and having his ERA jump to 6.75. That wasn’t the worst thing about the end of the month, though. In fact, I would consider that rather pleasant.

We strolled into San Diego, who was wailing on their division, on the 24th. Fistell and Canon had met earlier that day, and sent struggling backup catcher Granville Thornhill to AAA for another rookie. I was beginning to notice a trend in the moves. Didn’t concern me, though - the younger guys were more understanding and willing to listen to me.

Although we lost the series, I finally got a laugh - As San Diego manager Frank McKeller got himself tossed two games in a row for arguing calls. As record-prone as I was that year, I had managed to avoid that feat.


May 26th rolled around - two days from my birthday, and my first official month of being with Lacey. To celebrate, I decided to shell out the money, and of course, get permission from her parents, to take her to San Diego with the team. Of course, we had just started the road trip on the 24th so she came for the 3 days - and knew exactly what it was about - there was no way I could mask it. As we sat in the bleachers that morning in San Diego Park, long before the game would start, but too lazy to do anything to kill time, and nowhere to go - we had an interesting conversation.

“I’m glad you accepted to come to San Diego with me, Lacey.” I said, using my usual stutter that Lacey had come to love and try to fix at the same time.

“Well, it was a sweet way to celebrate our first month together.” She responded with that simple innocence I was nearly in love with.

“It killed me that I was going to be away from you for our first anniversary. I had to do something. . .”

She chuckled quietly, half to herself. “You didn’t have to do anything for me - I would have understood.”

I felt my cheeks turning red, so I looked away, down towards the field. We were rather high in the stands - the field level, but near the back row, sheltered by the overhang above. I remember her so well, that day - the sun just short of us, her thin face covered by shade, her hair wisping gently in the breeze that passed by every so often. Her eyes gleamed with a hidden excitement - an excitement she did well to contain during our first few months together. It was almost sad, now that I think about it - we still had not shared our first kiss, and I was whisking her across the country. I could never gather the courage to kiss her, and she never made the first move - probably upholding the tradition of how the man should want the first kiss to be of his own will - not hers. I hated that ‘tradition’. At such a young age, I misunderstood the complexities of her thinking, her logic. . . her personality was even mysterious to me - I think that is what attracted her to me in the first place. Nevertheless, I was tired of being scared and shy.

“Tell you what.” I heard my voice crack. How embarrassing.

“What’s that?” She responded softly. Her voice melted me on the inside.

“For our one month - since I was so cheap on the gift - I promise you a win from my team.” I stopped, thinking my words over. “A win. . . just for you.”

She blushed, smiling widely. “That would be wonderful.”

I smiled. That is my chance. I moved slowly at first, waiting for her eyes to catch mine. I leaned in, grabbing her hand. I probably squeezed it too tightly - I didn't really have a clue what I was doing. Finally, I pressed my lips up against hers, and the two of us shared our first kiss.

Then, I saw a flash of light. I opened my eyes, as did Lacey, and we turned towards the flash’s origin. There, near the bottom of the stands, was Dewberry, camera in hand.

“Bam!” He called out loudly, laughing. “Got the two of you in action!”

I stood up, embarrassed as hell and flustered. “Dammit Dewwy! You bastard!”

He laughed, running away like a schoolgirl.

That was the bright spot of the month.

The game was interesting, but after building a solid 6-2 lead heading into the bottom of the eighth, veteran reliever Harold Bennett threw it away, giving up 5 runs and handing us another hard-to-swallow loss. I didn’t know what to say to Lacey, who was sitting just above the dugout during the game. What seemed like a sure-thing win was scratched away. Worst of all, we’d slipped to third, four games out of contention from Atlanta.


The Marlins thumped to my birthday, riding a 3 game losing streak. However, I was welcomed with a shocking phone call from Raymond Fistell.

“Morning, Jazzington. Sleep well?” His voice cracked in the static - he was obviously on a cell phone.

“Not really,” I responded. “This losing streak is putting us out of the hunt.”

“Well, Canon and I have something to make your birthday much better.”

I sat up. “What’s that?” My nerves began to jump. An extension, maybe? Canon got arrested and gave up ownership of the team to someone friendly?

“You know Clifford Isoruko?”

I picked my eye. “Yeah, that young gun from Houston. 9-3 and leads the league in K’s. What about him?”

“He’s a Fish, now.” Fistell crackled.

I nearly dropped the phone in disbelief. “Oh. . . really?”

“Yeah. Gave up a lot for him though. Houston’s a tough GM.”

My heart jumped. I prayed it wasn’t Dewberry or Look - both were on their way to having monster seasons. Just a few days ago, Dewberry had 6 RBI’s. And Look. . . his ERA was 0.52. Unheard of for a closer two months into the season. “Who?”

“Gilbert Wright, two big prospects, Billy Moris in AAA, and Thornhill.” Fistell responded. “And a mil an’ a half.”

This time, I did drop the phone. I scrambled to pick it up. “What?!?” I asked, exasperated. I couldn't believe it. A 6 person deal?

“Hell of a blockbuster, wouldn’t you say?” The phone responded.

“Hell yes. . .” I responded, at a loss for words. This was Clifford Isoruko. He made his debut two years ago, after being drafted. . . two years ago. He was a complete phenomenon, and insanely dominating. And now, he was a Marlin. He was mine to manage, to help turn this tailspinning team around.

Turned out it was a good thing we picked him up. The next day, John Torkelson, the guy Canon had scooped up in the beginning of the month, tore his bicep and was done for the season. I cursed the luck I had. It was like the world wanted me to fail.

The night after, I got thrown for the 8th time. It was about a terrible call on a stolen base. I remember walking on to the field, just knowing I wasn’t going to be finishing the game.

We lost - and we made an error. That error tied a 25 year old record - nine consecutive games in a row. Most of those miscues had come from recent error machine, Kendrick Rizzo. I swear, the guy could not throw a ball straight if his life depended on it. It got so bad that I actually removed him in the middle of an inning after he committed his 14th error - of the month. He was displeased, but I didn’t care. He let me know it during the course of the game, but I simply didn’t listen. The club tension was growing - we were losing, and guys were getting annoyed about it - so was I, and it wasn’t helping. Five in a row, and we were now 25-29, 7 games from red-hot Atlanta.

To finish the month, we broke the record for consecutive error games, but we actually won. Isoruko hadn’t pitched yet - but he was slated for the June 1st start. I hadn’t talked to him all that much, the other guys had been introducing themselves. During the losing streak, I was getting so frustrated that I couldn’t call pitcher’s tips - and the offense struggled because of it. The coaches weren’t helping much, either. The club, to say the least, was a mess. No one could get along, fingers were being pointed all over the place - I was trying to juggle the lineups to see which would produce a winning combination, but to no avail. Not having Torkelson for the year was tough to swallow - he had been pitching well, and there was no one in AAA to replace his numbers. If it wasn’t for Dewberry’s pranks and good natured attitude, I may have quit after that month.

He convinced me not to give up, though - reminding me that slumps would happen. He admitted that he wasn’t seeing the ball all that well during the month, but was going to spend some time in the batting cages. I threw batting practice to him on the June 1st morning, and he took me deep repeatedly. So I beaned him with my 55 mph ‘heater’, as a joke. The next pitch, he took me deep and did a trot around the bases, mocking me the whole time. It was all in good fun, but my mind was on the amateur draft that was starting at 1PM - and I was waiting to see who we’d pick up first. I hoped to hell it was a pitcher. Throughout the minors, this team was bereft of talented pitchers.


As it turned out, the last three weeks were just the beginning of my problems. Nothing could have prepared me for what happened during that night’s game.
It changed how I managed - forever.

----
I'd give you the name of the next chapter, but it would completely give away the suspense!