[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 15: Arm-peace, or lack of it


Full of confidence, we hammered our way into May. The months started off against Florida - how fitting. We slumped a bit, losing the series two games to one. I was booed by the fans when I came out to make a pitching change. Personally, I thought it was amusing. That’s the thing about the average fan: they’re uninformed - I didn’t leave Florida because I necessarily wanted to - it was because I wasn’t offered a job!

From May 7th to May 9th, Arizona made history with Houston. After routing the Astros for the first two games (13-1 and 16-9), we had collectively scored 39 runs. The MLB record was 44 runs for a three-game set. We lost the next game 6-0, but effectively broke the record by one run. And just like that, another star was added beside my name in my brief career. I never will attest to these records being anything of serious importance, since anyone can make up records in baseball and say someone is on the verge of breaking it.

Although these tiny etches were being made, the greatest achievement of the month was undoubtedly that which happened on May 12th. We were in Cincinnati, and clinging to a 6-5 lead in the bottom of the ninth. The ever-steady Look had given up two singles, and just like that, the losing run was on first base. Erwin Higa, a short, 30 year old Dominican rightfielder who had a reputation as a weak lefty hitter, dug into the box. He was in the midst of an 10 game hit streak, and had the chance to put his team on top for good. Look went 2-0 on him before piping a pitch.

Higa turned on it, roping a line drive back up the middle, just over Look’s head. The ball seemed to fly in slow motion, as I watched with a grim expression. Just as it was about to hit the grass in shallow centrefield, Dominic Rodriguez came out of nowhere, extending his glove in a diving grasp. His body slid across the grass like it was ice, and I watched in amazement while he twisted his back as Casablanca broke for second base. Without even trying to get on a knee, D-Rod threw a knee-high strike to second, which Magglio snagged for the out at the bag. Not skipping a heartbeat, Casablanca leapt into the air, turning his body around, and hurling the ball as hard as he could to Moreno at first. The runner had been caught between bases and was sprinting back for the bag. In a play that was the definition of ‘bang-bang’, Moreno grasped the ball as the runner (Cirilo Solis) made a hard slide. Moreno tumbled to the dirt cutout, but held his grasp on the ball.

Triple play.

The players mobbed each of the heroes of the ninth inning, as I sat in the dugout with my jaw hanging open.


The rest of the month was fairly uneventful. We continued our dominance of the NL, holding the best record but also with San Francisco hot on our tail.

We gained some stability in the bullpen when Santos Moya signed a 2 year, 2 million dollar extension. His ERA at the time was the lowest next to Look’s. Meanwhile, the starting pitching was weak, but Giichi was undefeated and Yorikazu Yo****ora had been pitching like a champion.

My life was getting considerably better. The media was slowly beginning to change its opinion of me, and in one article I even got praise.‘It seems like the one year of constant mistakes in Florida has taught Jazzington what not to do - and he’s made a statement in Arizona so far.’ Odd praise, but praise nonetheless. People were surprised about Arizona’s NL-leading record, and surprise ascension to the top. Everyone was waiting for the bubble to burst - there were rumours and reports flying everywhere about how we couldn’t keep up this pace. Both San Diego and Colorado were fighting to stay out of the cellar after such a big 2004. They were easily within striking distance.

However, on my time off between games, I had started to go to strange places. I wasn’t aloud in bars - despite turning 20 on May 28th - the happiest day of my life. No, my destinations ranged from the occasional nightclub to small apartments with a band playing inside. I was unsure of myself. I loved baseball and I was becoming more confident in my ability to manage, but my life, since breaking up with Lacey, had turned into work - so I began to visit places, to develop interests. Every so often I’d see my picture show up in a tabloid or on an internet news blog as “what did Jazzington do this time?”, but I was just bored and a little lonely.

The fans love to see their stars, and managers play a crucial role in getting them to perform. I never became loved, but I was building a reputation - incredibly slowly. When managers get hired or fired, fans will react with things like “He was a good manager” or “I’m glad he’s gone.” It may be all they talk about in terms of your skills, but at least you had recognition.

Unlike some young baseball stars, I hadn’t risen to fame or cult followings. I was just the guy everyone doubted. ‘Too young, too inexperienced, not enough sense for the game, runs on luck rather than talent’, I heard it all. The media was still negative towards me, but not as frequently. Given how the team was playing, they couldn’t find a whole lot to bash - but they were unwilling to give me any credit. It was always the players controlling me according to them. That was somewhat true, but when I wanted to pull a guy or make a change, for the most part the players didn’t argue.

I had met some girls here and there and gone on a few dates since leaving Lacey. I was surprised at how much I missed her, but I refused to go back. I had moved on. I got the distinct impression that a few of the girls I’d dated were interested in my ‘large sum’ of money I was pulling in. It was more money than I’d ever seen, but it certainly was nothing to retire on.

It was bound to happen, though. I’d been cruising around so often, meeting so many girls and pushing away my shyness, that someone came to me.

I was sitting alone at a small restaurant while a band played live, when some girl approached me.

“Hi, you’re that. . .um. . . manager guy, right?” She said, smiling.

I looked back at her with an awkward expression. “Depends on what you’re talking about.”

“For the, like. . . baseball team. Um. . . Diamondleafs or something?”

“Diamondbacks.” This girl annoyed me. At best, she was 18, with short blond hair and a giggly, plastic face. “I manage the Diamondbacks.” I looked back to my plate.

She giggled. “Yeah. Um. . . you see that girl I’m sitting with?”

I glanced at her. “No. I haven’t been looking at other customers.”

She smiled and played with her hair. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pointed across the room to a collection of girls sitting together.

“What about them?” I asked, mildly interested. None of them were particularly bad looking, but I just didn’t care. I just wanted to eat my chicken caesar wrap in peace.

“The one on the left saw you on TV.” The girl giggled and smiled.

“Lots of people see me on television.” I replied quickly, with impatience in my voice. I hadn’t paid much attention to the girl.

“Um. . . she thinks you’re cute.”

I stopped in mid-bite, and looked up to the giggling girl before me. “Okay. Can I eat now?”

The girl twiddled her hair nervously. “Will you talk to her if I send her over?”

Sighing and dropping my hands to the table, I caught eyes with the giggling girl. “How old are you?”

“We’re all 18 or 19.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Everyone says that - I’ll send her over. Her name is Caroline, but we call her Carla.” The giggly girl hurried back to her friends’ table, as I took a large bite of my wrap, relishing its flavour that I had been denied during the whole conversation. It was delicious.

Sure enough, this girl came to my table. She had long, straight black hair, was wearing clothes a little inappropriate for a sit-down restaurant, seemed to be average-sized, and had deep sea green eyes. She almost reminded me of Lacey. “Hi.” She greeted, sitting down across from me.

“Hello.” I responded bluntly.

“I’m sorry about my friend. . . she’s a little crazy.”

“Noticeably.”

She laughed. “I guess she told you my name?”

“Yeah - Carol...yn?”

“It’s Caroline. Caroline.”

I gave her a good look for the first time. She was definitely the best looking of the group. And I don’t know how it happened, but we actually had a decent conversation. She wasn’t nearly as annoying as the other girls, who I could hear giggling the whole time.

Just as I was about to leave, I felt her hand press against my quadriceps. I didn’t think much of it until I got home, and felt something in my pocket.

Her phone number.