Play Ball! - the Minor Leagues, the Small Markets, and Civic Pride

[Pommpie]

Yes, my first post to this forum is a dynasty post. I know. I know. But, really, I crave story-writing, so I decided to be a bugger and herald things by yelling "look at meeee!" I'm very sorry.

A couple notes first of all: what you see at the beginning isn't how I intend to write the whole story. It's an entirely new team in an entirely new league in an entirely new world with entirely new players. I had to jump around a little bit to get things in as much as possible. Stuff settles down a little bit as things go on.

Chapter One: Meet the Edmonton Civics

"Batting first for the Civics, the second baseman, number eight, Mitch Daniels!"

A lukewarm spattering of applause echoed throughout the scanty crowd, coming down like raindrops atop a tin roof. As though egged on by this measley applause a figure strode into the batter's box, aluminum bat bumping off the gravel as the dragged it behind him, carving a neat swathe in the crisp white chalk line. He was one of those guys who filled out rosters for every minor league team in the continent: broad shoulders, dirty white skin, stubble that was shaved once every couple of days. The classic minor-league lifer, aiming his bat towards the Trail dugout as though sighting up manager Phill Guay for a killer headshot, hoping to knock in a few runs for the Civics before moving on to his next port of call.

From above Mitch Daniels, the rattly public address system spun off his statistics for the 1996 season; it was, after all, Opening Day in the United League, and this season's stats hadn't been written yet. Daniels mouthed the numbers as though he had put them on the script himself, smiling very slightly at the mention of his .257 batting average. In triple-A, mind. An independant league like this was nothing to an old warhorse like Mitch, and he knew it. But he also knew that he had two kids to feed, and his only education was from the school of applying maximum force to small white spheres. He plucked at the white sleeves of his jersey, loosening the fabric around the shoulders. He picked at the hot pink piping on the jersey, but that was more out of distaste, and he spent a good half a second in the batters box looking down on the worst jersey in baseball.

Stevie Starratt grinned cockily at Mitch from the hill as he went into his windup. Smile, you little prick, thought Daniels as he tensed for the pitch. You weren't playing indie ball at 26 years old if you were a stud prospect, and Mitch was looking forward to wiping that smirk right off his goddamned...

"Ball one!" shouted the umpire.

Jesus, that had really come in. Good thing it was outside, he hadn't been paying nearly enough attention. He aimed the bat at Phill Guay again, who just stared at him like he was a bloody leper. Back when the Lethbridge Lumberjack Phill Guay was batting third for the Orwell Tracers and within an ace of a major league callup, he'd given Mitch that look every time he stroked one of those ridiculously high...

"STEEERIKE!"

Daniels turned back sharply and glared at the umpire, but more through reflex than anything else. He had no bloody idea whether the ball had been inside the zone or not. Come on, buddy, get your head in the game. Another bat-point towards the Trail dugout. The pitch. Solid contact, launching a frozen rope past the diving shortstop into the outfield. Mitch held up at first, as the spectacularly unimpressed crowd of 2,444 applauded uninterestingly.

The next batter was centre fielder Denny King, another one of those beardless kids, smiling and windmilling his bat through the air like it was a sandlot. It may as well have been; the United League was known neither for generous salaries nor for turning kids into stars. To his credit, Denny saw through the bull: he was playing baseball, he was (barely) getting paid to do it, and he was second in the lineup behind a man with 187 career big-league hits. For Denny, life was good, and he played ball with the attitude of a man who knew it.

King grinned even as he whiffed on his second pitch. 1-1. A tall lanky kid, nobody would confuse him with big Craig Courtney anytime soon. But by God, he could run, and by God, he had one of the sweetest strokes ever seen on a baseball field. 177th overall in '94, one who couldn't stay healthy, one of those guys who had fifteen milkshakes in a day just to try and gain weight. Maybe a slaphappy singles hitter in the show, in a happier world. But here he was, playing with the dregs for the disinterested, and grinning.

Probably a lesson there, somewhere.

Swing. Foul ball. Foul ball. Foul ball. Mitch found himself stepping just a little off the bag, anticipating. Anticipating one of those at-bats, as the pitcher found himself just un-bloody-able to get the out. Foul ball. Another one. Then ball two. Then a swing, and a firm ground ball to second. Somebody with muscle ekes that ball through the infield, but not Denny King. Daniels was never the finest baserunner, leadoff hitter or no, and it seemed the ball was whipping past his ear over to first before he was halfway to second. The easiest of double plays, and the two Civics made their slow way back to the dugout.

---

The United League likes to advertise itself as "independant A-ball". Eight teams in Canada and the western United States, with a proud history dating all the way back to the beginning of baseball in 1975, when eccentric billionaire Philip Wilder grew tired of the lack of baseball in his native Billings, Montana and resolved to do something about it as only a billionaire could. Since then, teams have moved, thousands of players have come and gone, but the league has remained, more-or-less afloat thanks to a commissioner who opened the pursestrings until his 1989 death, and enough realism to know that they could only ever hope to achieve so much as a baseball league.

The Edmonton Civics are the most successful team in United League history. Nine league titles in the twenty-two year history of the United League, most recently in 1995, when 23-year old Ethan Little stroked 24 home runs and hit .306 to drive a mediocre squad to the title. The next year, they were out of the playoffs. Little got in a car accident that summer that ended his career. The Civics fell to second last in the United League. General manager Ty Crabtree was gone. Manager Tim Travis was gone. In a gate-driven league, particularly in an unstable market used to winning, failure had to be addressed quickly. The new manager, Kelsey Bowden, was the Civics' all-time leader in wins by a pitcher, picking up the grand total of seventy-seven between 1975 and 1979. General manager Rich Walcott, 41, hit a career .255 in stops all around the low minors.

It was, on the whole, a time of transition.

---

It was 10-2 Trail by the end of the fifth inning. Starting pitcher Carlos Silva was long gone, with six earned runs in three and two-thirds. In his debut as a Civic, Mitch Daniels went 2-for-5, including tattooing a grand slam in the bottom of the eighth, at which point the dozen or so die-hard fans remaining in a 10-2 ballgame applauded exuberantly as Daniels rounded the basepaths.

"Hell of a stroke," Rick Lewis, the starting left fielder, mumbled to Mitch in the dressing room beneath AGT Field after the game. Lewis, an unassuming sort you wouldn't pick out of a police lineup, was the sort of man to keep his voice down, but it boomed regardless in the environment. The Civics dressing room was a cavern, right down to the brick walls and tall ceiling, the dreary decor of exposed pipes and wooden lockers topped off with the occasional picture of a Civics legend. But worst of all was the quiet: when it got quiet in the room (as after a 10-6 loss on opening day), a mouse's fart would echo about as surely as if it came from a loudspeaker.

"Thanks, buddy," Mitch mumbled back from his locker, giving the left fielder a little pat on the small of his back, just above his towel-line. "Bloody shame it couldn't do a bit more." Mitch grimaced, very slightly, but he glanced just slightly towards Carlos Silva, who was already putting on one of the ridiculous sportcoats he always wore, his eyes boring into his heavily-scuffed shoes. Never a staff ace, Silva had been forced up in the rotation after Adam Wallace's back acted up again, and his eyes still retained that glassy look of a man who'd endured a baseball beating. But Mitch didn't say a word, merely watched those glassy eyes for a few seconds.

"You had a good night too... Rich?" Mitch Daniels looked back towards the left fielder, who quickly corrected him.

"Rick."

"Rick. Hit the ball pretty well."

"Thanks." Rick Lewis smiled, very slightly, and looked down to his shoes as though he were suddenly channelling a starting pitcher. "Hoping I can get things going again. You know what I hit in my last year? .233." He laughed, jitteringly, like a series of hamsters being struck by mallets, and with the precise same air of utter torment.

"In 1993. I know." Mitch smiled very thinly, a smile which only increased the rapidity of Rick's laugh-squeaking. Rick Lewis hadn't played organised baseball since the 1993 season, in the rookie league. Property of the New York Sky Warriors, it took the organisation one season to decide the left fielder wasn't going to work out. He'd been working at a gas station until the Civics had dragged him out of retirement because he could more or less swing a baseball bat and wouldn't cost a thing.

Immediately, Mitch saw the distress Rick was going through, his hand clapping onto the young outfielder's shoulder. "You keep playing like that, though, and you can play for me anytime." A little shake, a smile like he thought a Real Leader might give in that situation. Lewis laughed nervously. Less nervously, but still nervously. Mitch meant it, too: 3-for-4 was, well, 3-for-4, and Rick was a nice enough kid.

He just didn't think Rick'd keep playing like that.

---

In 1996, the Edmonton Civics admitted their worst ever paid attendance. Their payroll had been about $525,000, and they lost two hundred grand anyway. Rent at AGT Field was heinous, as though the City of Edmonton was determined to remedy by usury what they lost in letting the University of Alberta team play there for a song, and the managers, coaches, scouts, and equipment were always more expensive than you thought they'd be. The Civics were always teetering on the knife's edge of solvency, much like the rest of the United League, but with their poor conditions and their too-small stadium with a too-large budget to stay competitive, and too much baseball competition in a city that wasn't exactly baseball-mad, they were in a tough spot.

When the Civics were winning, things were great. Fans would show up in droves, solid playoff revenues would provide a boost to the pocketbook, and since the Civics were usually winning, Edmonton was one of three cities to retain a United League team throughout its entire history. But 1996 had been a catastrophe. The enigmatic Xiang-ling Xun was the best hitter in the United League, but his distant manner alienated potential fans. And the rest of the lineup was lucky to be replacement level. Worse, the City had jacked up the rent on AGT Field again and was hoarding more of the parking revenue. There was talk of a move, and not enough die-hard fans to stop it. It cannot be said that the City of Edmonton would be sad to see them go, for Edmonton billed itself as the 'City of Champions', and the United League wasn't quite championship enough for marketing purposes. Maybe some money man would get a AAA team in if a vacancy suddenly appeared.

Thus, new general manager Rich Walcott. Press releases made a big deal of him being a former ballplayer, not a "company man". They didn't mention his spending his post-baseball career working as an accountant. His job was to stop the bleeding losses, for the small gang of modestly monied owners simply lacked the financial resources to keep eating such poor results. And if he could build a winning team in that environment, great! The owners loved baseball, and they were desperately hoping to keep the Civics in town. Even if all they got was to watch the other seven United League team tee off on the Civics, that would be fine.

When Walcott hired the legendary Kelsey Bowden as manager, exuberant oldtimers declared it a sign of a renewed commitment to winning. But Kelsey Bowden had never coached, never mind managed, and had been out of baseball for a decade. His only qualification was that he worked cheap.

---

"We're sitting down with Edmonton Civics second baseman Mitch Daniels and shortstop Xiang-Ling Xun. Mitch, Xi... Xiang-Ling, welcome to the Great White Morning!"

Mitch's "great to be here" and Xiang-Ling's general grunt of greeting he reserved for such occasions collided, but the canned laughter merely laughed it off. The big second baseman shook the hand of the exuberant morning show host, her exuberant morning show sidekick, and the chef from an area restaurant brought in to make the best damned omelettes any of them had ever seen for the folks at home. He smiled at all of them, a smile as transparent as Plexiglass, a smile bereft of humanity, never mind sincerity. The Civics were 1-5. Mitch was hitting .233 and could barely get the ball out of the infield. Xiang-Ling was hitting .370 and had another three goddamned home runs, but Mitch was rapidly learning that Xiang-Ling Xun could be surly if he was slugging 4.000 on an undefeated team.

Neither the ballplayers, nor the hosts, nor the chef, nor the television audience would remember much of their appearance on that morning show. That wasn't the idea. In the front office, Rich Walcott was busy getting every player as much publicity as he possibly could, and the Team Star and the Major Off-Season Acquisition were going to be front and centre. Even as Xiang-Ling helped add just a pinch of basil with the look of a man adding just a pinch of cyanide, Kelsey Bowden was at a used car dealership in Wetaskiwin, the best pitcher in franchise history, his gut hanging over his belt, for a guy who wanted to get rid of his 1988-model pickup trucks. The surprising team batting leader Rick Lewis was in a Grade One class, stammering his way through a reading lesson and offering the kids free tickets to a Civics game (but not, Rich was careful to emphasise in his memo, their parents).

The only advantage of these insipid public appearances was that he got to stop thinking about baseball for a couple of hours, get away from that sporadic guy on the streak who'd ask what his trouble was against lefties, or why the team couldn't get two balls in the strike zone consecutively, or whether they were all just trying to get Xiang-Ling the record for most solo home runs in a season. Compared to hearing that in the day then going out that night and lining a ball right into the first baseman's glove, the morning show was almost bliss.

Almost.

"So, the Civics off to a rough start this year, huh, Mitch?" the man asked, appending one of those boisterous morning show chuckles. It was always the man who asked these bloody sports questions. Backstage, she'd complimented Mitch and Xiang-Ling on coming together so quickly as a double-play combination and musing that a pitcher had to be a bit more confident knowing they were getting a free out or two per game, and he'd asked Mitch how many touchdowns he had this year. Yet, the man had to ask the sports questions. Go figure.

"Well, Gus," Mitch said with a cloying smile, leaning over the omellet and just grinning stupidly, "it's been tough sledding these first six games, but, you know, there are a lot of new faces in that clubhouse and it'll take us a bit of a time to gel. There's a lot of great young talent, and if you'll watch, we've been getting better every game. Just have to take it one game at a time, really."

Out of the corner of his eye, Mitch glanced to Xiang-Ling, as though waiting for his teammate to take over. The shortstop was presently more interested in an omellet than he'd ever been in his life. Gritting his teeth inwardly, Mitch continued.

"Yeah, yeah, I haven't been here long but I know the fans here are very discerning," he glanced towards the bare wall in place of a studio audience as though acknowledging the imaginary crowd, "and they... well, Gus, they want to see a winner. But it'll just take a little time for us all to come together, you know? Baseball's like building a house. You can't just move right in before the walls are up. Ain't that right, Ziggy?" Mitch clapped a big mitt on Xiang-Ling's back, causing the shortstop to jolt upward with a start.

"Yes," he hissed in his perfect English, glaring at Mitch.

The male host laughed. "Well, I'll just leave you two to it. Best of luck for the rest of the season." Apparently, he'd sensed that there might have been actual baseball conversation if he kept this up, and he was looking to get out early.

Mitch smiled cloyingly. "Oh, it's been my -pleasure-, Gus," he said, wondering if it was too early to demand a trade.

---

The rest of the United League was in little better shape than the Civics. The Eugene Cranes were the defending champions, having made the four-team playoffs fifteen times in their history, raising a championship banner precisely once, and facing such a cash crunch in 1989 that the team was moved from Sacramento to Eugene, Oregon. That same year, the three-time defending champion Victoria Sting moved across the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Port Angeles, Washington.

Once, the league had drawn players who, while not 'stars', were at least exciting to watch and stuck around for a few years. But the league had not boasted a 20-game winner since Robinson Lerma in 1986. Of the top ten United League players in career hits, only three players had played their prime years after 1990. The league's charismatic stars were years in the rear-view mirror. Old-timers still talked about Norogumi Kawamura, who in three United League seasons stole 250 bases: still a career record. A few stars, such as Edmonton's Xiang-Ling Xun and former Pueblo Anchor/Salem Bingo pitcher Yoshida Uemura, captured some of the public's imagination, but they were few in number and lacked the charisma of some of the old stars. Moreover, some of the less enlightened fans murmured against the fact that the United League's top players were increasingly of Asian origin, and attendances continued to decline. The United League Hall of Fame in Billings had one player of post-1990 vintage in its walls: long-time Billings Barnstormers infielder Ed Nichols, who never led the league in any category and was nominated largely for long periods of acceptable consistency.

The last a team or league needed in this situation was to start 1-5. Though it was early days for the Civics, on the heels of a previous season of failure, the attendance could not be called "enthusiastic".

Coming up: Chapter Two: The Storm Before the Calm

[307x]

Let's go Pommpie! *clap - clap - clapclapclap*

HERE WE GO POMMPIE HERE WE GO *thumb thumb*

:|

Good start, keep it up!

[Pommpie]

Why, yes, I did take, like, almost a month to write the second chapter. I'll do that. Sometimes I'll write an immense amount in a short period, sometimes I won't write a thing in a long one. This was one of the latter. Hopefully I won't take this long every time! I do try not to be one of those guys who stops story-writing the instant he doesn't get immense critical acclaim. I try.

Chapter Two: The Storm Before the Calm

As it turned out, Mitch Daniels, at least temporarily, did not have to worry. The 1-5 start soon gave way to a 7-1 run, and there was plenty of joking about the "lucky cooking show". The team was on one of those peculiar streaks common to every ballclub, and as Mitch Daniels and his compadres gathered at the Bowden Bowl on Whyte Avenue for drinks and recreation, every bloody one of them knew it. Daniels had run his batting average to .321 with a team-leading 14 RBI from the leadoff spot. Meanwhile, the great Xiang-ling Xun had fallen to .271 and had sent up only a single round-tripper during the streak.

The round-tripper came in a tight game on April 15 in Salem, against the Bingoes. The team's alleged ace, Adam Wallace, was taking the start, and Xun staked Wallace to a 1-0 lead in the second by swatting a solid solo shot to right. Wallace cruised for the first inning, retiring the side in order, then allowed the next three baserunners. Light-hitting third baseman Dani Mélendez slapped a seeing-eye single into centre to give Salem a 2-1 lead after the inning. In the top of the third, however, Xiang-Ling Xun came up with runners on the corners and stroked a line drive to centre. Xun happily stopped at first, but the blazing Denny King got on his horse, churning up a cloud of gravel as he beat Félix Serrano's throw from centre to restore a one-run lead. In the ninth, with the erratic Roberto Sánchez in to close and runners standing on the corners, Rick Lewis stood in as a defensive replacement in centre and managed to gun down the potential game-tying sacrifice fly at the plate with what Kelsey Bowden happily admitted was "the most unexpected cannon I'd ever seen" to end the ballgame. Meanwhile, Adam Wallace threw 98 pitches in five innings while still recovering from shoulder surgery, picked up the win, and walked out of the park after the game without talking to a soul.

In Eugene on April 18, however, things went less well for Sánchez. Veteran starting pitcher Kichibei Fujita was on the hill and struggled, going six innings, walking three, and throwing a heinous 121 pitches before Kelsey Bowden finally went to his bullpen. Even then, the Civics held a 6-4 lead thanks to a two-out grand slam by Mitch Daniels in the fourth. But after giving Charles-Emile Sirois a single effective inning, Bowden went back to the erratic Sánchez.

For four innings.

Sixty-three pitches, thirty-three strikes later, and a game-tying Rick Shaw double in the eighth later (Shaw held not only the most obvious nickname in the United League but also a .230 career batting average), Eugene's infielder Sancho Sánchez (no relation) hit a single in the bottom of the twelfth. As though his memory were jogged, Bowden called in the usual closer four innings too late: 22-year-old Dusty Gill. Gill immediately let Sánchez across the plate and the Civics dropped the game 7-6, ending their winning streak at five games.

The team was half-new, and many of the players were still feeling each other out as individuals. Regardless, some sharp clique divisions were already beginning to form themselves, of which the largest was centred around the big, gregarious first baseman Pancho Gonzalez, who had been a Civic since 1992, stroked 619 hits and 82 home runs with Edmonton, and was the acknowledged clubhouse leader from way back. As such, he'd found himself almost automatically associating with many of the new ball players as soon as a ballgame ended. On the other hand, the three Taiwanese players (catcher Ki-tae Yi, shortstop Xiang-ling Xun, and outfielder Wei-kang Kao) tended to stick together. Though only Xun was particularly antisocial towards the rest of the team (and Ki-tae had told Mitch many times that he didn't speak much around -them- either), it was regardless clear who their close friends were.

One man who belonged to nobody was the ace of the pitching staff, Adam Wallace. As the team congratulated each other in the AGT Field clubhouse following a 4-2 win over the Boise Idahoes, Adam merely sat off to the side, his hands folded in front of him, his eyes boring holes into the locker. Bum shoulder and all, Wallace was up to a 3-1 record, with respectable numbers all around.

His new fellow starter, Joe Bascombe, plunked himself down on the bench beside Wallace. Bascombe was born in New York but was a veteran of the Japanese league, and at age 36 had been lured back to North America with the promise of a regular spot in the rotation. Almost 2,000 career professional strikeouts, mostly in the high-quality Japanese league, but his best days were well in his rear-view mirror and he, too, worked cheap. However, the left-handed ace was among the few not happy to see Bascombe arrive: that said, Adam Wallace was very seldom happy to see anybody do anything other than strike out against him.

"Good start, Adam," Bascombe declared, punching Wallace jauntily in the shoulder. Already, Joe Bascombe was clearly one of those guys who tried a little too hard to lighten things up and be the admired veteran leader: since he'd just spent ten years in the same clubhouse in Tokyo, though, he could be forgiven for working a little too hard. Forgiven by most people other than Adam Wallace, who slowly turned his head and gazed at the senior starter balefully. If baseball was really like "Bull Durham", Adam Wallace was the sort of guy who'd punch Kevin Costner in the neck the instant he even thought about giving away one of his pitches. Indeed, he'd probably have punched Kevin Costner in the neck just for Dances With Wolves.

"Sod off, Bascombe." Wallace's voice was quiet, more irritated than really angry, as though the veteran right-hander was merely a mosquito.

Joe Bascombe blinked at this unexpected rebuke, eyes narrowing on Wallace slightly. He glanced around the cavernous dressing room as though groping for support, but silence reigned supreme. Off in the corner of the clubhouse, Kelsey Bowden stood somewhat awkwardly, fidgeting from side to side, but this was the closest anybody got to an actual reaction for several seconds.

"He gets like that." Xiang-Ling Xun piped up from his corner locker as he unbuttoned his jersey, looking at the two pitchers with a superior little smile. "Very reclusive." His tone was not entirely unapproving.

Still, Bascombe did not let it bother him on the mound. His debut came in AGT Field against the Port Angeles Angels and their hard-hitting lineup. Catcher Alberto Rodríguez was known for his immense height, his nearly-as-imposing girth, and his ability to rope line drives into the outfield as though he were just having fun out there. 21-year-old designated hitter/backup catcher Carl King was much smaller but nearly as impressive at the dish, and former University of Saskatchewan baller Mike Miller drove in homers from the cleanup spot. It was not the best team to make your debut against.

In the third inning, light-hitting Rick Lewis hit a homer off Homer Tyler, the most unfortunately named pitcher in the United League forced to gawk as Lewis took the trot for the first time that season. From there, however, Bascombe began to cruise. Coming out for the fourth with a 1-0 lead, Bascombe promptly struck out the side. He struck out another in the fifth, inspiring Lewis to pick up another extra-base hit and knock a double into left to bring Pancho González easily from third. Homer Tyler and, in the seventh, his replacement Clarence Blair utterly failed to get going, walking batter after batter and yielding a three-run seventh inning.

In the top of the eighth, however, Bascombe began to labour. It was his first start of the season, and he was thirty-five years old. Still, with nine strikeouts and no runs allowed to that point, he had been keeping it locked in cruise control, until ninth hitter John Holley managed to leg out an infield hit with none out to send up the top of the order.

"Come on, Joeeey!" Mitch Daniels yelled from second, slapping his hand into his glove like a father cheering on his fat catcher son trying to stretch out a triple during a Little League game. At short, Xiang-Ling Xun merely gazed over towards Daniels, eyes narrowed slightly, arms hanging loosely at his side, expression practically oozing scorn. Meeting the shortstop's gaze, Daniels added an unnecessary holler of "Get an out!" towards the mound. Xun scowled faintly.

Luis Reyes got set at the plate and swung at the first pitch, as Frankie "the Fox" Truro made the call from the press box.

"Reyes stings it to short... Xun comes up with it, to Daniels, to Gárcia, double play." Around the veteran broadcaster, the sparse crowd erupted in direct contrast to his simple tone, for the Fox had a knack of making every play sound less interesting than it was. Xiang-Ling Xun had thrown himself at the ball with almost reckless abandon, coming up with it on the hop and managing to fire it to second, whereupon Mitch Daniels easily beat Reyes with the throw to first. Eight hundred fans stood and applauded, Joe Bascombe tipped his hat to second base, and Daniels did something he very seldom did: he went over to Xiang-Ling Xun and offered him a hand up off the gravel.

"Good play," Mitch mumbled under his breath.

"Thanks," mumbled Xiang-Ling even more quietly.

Despite their sporadic animosity, the Civics' two star infielders were beginning to develop a rapport. Despite his reputation as a prima-donna, Xiang-Ling Xun was one of the best and hardest working defensive shortstops in minor league baseball, and his spectacular range had saved the Civics more than one run over the years. Meanwhile, Mitch Daniels was a steady, attentive, and reliable second baseman, who made only a handful of errors and despite his advancing years could finish a double play with the best of them.

The Xun-Daniels double play combo was already starting to gel, and both Xiang-Ling Xun (whose previous second baseman, now-third-baseman Dave Garner, was an overly flashy infielder known for firing the ball into the dugout) and Mitch Daniels (whose previous year with AAA Wilkes-Barre was mostly spent as a designated hitter so 20-something kids could develop by dropping pop flies) were very pleased with participating in an actual infield. Despite themselves, a certain mutual respect was beginning to develop between the middle infielders.

Joe Bascombe, on the other hand, began to struggle, giving up consecutive singles with two out. Melvin Stewart, however, came in for the ninth and got the save, and the Civics picked up a 6-3 victory over the Angels. They picked up a 4-2 win the next day. Two losses followed, but by April 30 the Civics had won three more games consecutively.

The Trail Smelters, struggling in the league under manager Phill Guay, sent the equally struggling Luis Vela to the hill. Edmonton countered with Adam Wallace, even more peturbed than usual since Joe Bascombe had begun taking the limelight from him. Bascombe's second start had been a complete game shutout with ten strikeouts, and the proud Wallace was irritated at the thought of being the team's second-best arm.

At 6'3", Adam Wallace was one of those Big Pitchers who were coming into vogue. He'd been selected in 1987's 22nd round and had immediately gone about trying to prove that he should have gone earlier, devestating the rookie ranks from Dunedin, Florida. A quick callup seemed inevitable, but Wallace's body had other plans. 20 years old at the time, he had been healthy as an ox, with a solid 95-mph fastball and a dizzying array of breaking and off-speed pitches. But a small back twinge on the mound had been enough to force him onto the disabled list for the rest of the year. And, after aggravating the injury in spring training and requiring surgery, all the next year as well. In 1989, Adam Wallace went into spring training with a fastball that topped out at 89 and a sinker that hung up as though inviting the hitter to pound the hell out of it. That was it for Adam Wallace as a major league prospect.

A lesser man might have sold dishwashers at that point, but Adam Wallace was not a lesser man. He rehabbed hard, and in 1992 appeared with the Guasave Atlantics in the Mexican winter league. In 1993, he moved on to Mexicali, his numbers steadily improving, his breaking stuff beginning to work for him again, his arm beginning to round into shape once more. By 1995, Adam Wallace went from having no baseball career to 5-4 with a respectable 3.76 ERA on a bad Quintana Roo team in the Mexican Baseball League. But in 1996, the back flared up again. Wallace pitched through it, and pitched badly, his ERA ballooning to almost six before he was finally forced to shut it down. He was traded to the Edmonton Civics just in time for the beginning of the 1997, having once again fallen out of a major international league.

Now, with success beginning to arrive for Wallace, he was facing a challenge: a 38-year-old who had won everything there was to win in the second-best league on Earth stealing the limelight. And while nobody in Edmonton doubted that Adam Wallace was the ace in the rotation, he had long ago refused to settle for second-best.

Times started out tough for Wallace. Speedy second baseman and leadoff man Chung Shang lined a double to right field to open the game, and Wallace blew an 0-2 count against Alex Ayala to make it 3-2. But the tenacious Wallace managed to get Ayala to fly out, and from there on he was in his element. Ki-tae Yi caught Shang stealing, and Wallace struck out Nick Stead on three pitches to end the inning. In the bottom of the first, Mitch Daniels had hardly stepped into the batter's box when he swung at Luis Vela's first pitch and drove it into left field, knocking out his first leadoff home run as a Civic.

"That's six, Xiang-Ling!" Daniels called to the shortstop mid-jog as Xun stood soberly in the dugout. Xiang-Ling Xun was tied for first on the team in homers with eight.

Up in the press box, Rich Walcott watched the drama unfold below him. Beside him sat Frankie Truro, the play-by-play man sitting idle as his radio station did not call Wednesday games (the broadcast would clash with a much more popular weekly programme featuring an American radio host who accepted callers and spent most of his time yelling). There weren't many better people to watch a baseball game with than the 78-year-old Truro: he had seen it all, he was more popular in Edmonton than any general manager could be, and he wasn't an employee of the ballclub, meaning he was quite happy to speak his mind.

"They're really not doing badly out there," Walcott murmured, his voice obscured by the hands tented in front of his mouth. García and King had just struck out in short order, but Xiang-Ling Xun had a 3-0 count and watched Vela with the calm air of a man fully expecting a base on balls and who had brought his bat merely out of deference to tradition.

"Not badly for the money, you mean," Truro replied, his voice every bit as calm and unpassionate as it was on the radio.

Walcott glanced over towards the radio man. "The highest-paid player on this ball club just hit a homer on his first pitch, and the second-highest-paid is currently throwing a one-hitter." Of course, it was the bottom of the first, and Pancho González had just joined Xiang-Ling Xun on a walking tour of the basepaths. "What do you want from me? It's the United League."

The Fox was unruffled, as always, by Walcott's rising voice. "From my experience, I'm not sure the fans are here to watch a team get good value for its payroll. How much were you making when you were with Salem, Rich?"

The general manager shook his head, as much at Truro's statement as Ki-tae Yi striking out below him, allowing Luis Vela to say that he struck out the side while walking two and allowing a homer. "That was a few years ago, Frankie. Kinda hard to pay through the nose for a baseball team when the fans won't pay through the nose to watch it. We're first in the division and look." The crowd, as it had been all season, was uninspiring.

"What's there to watch, Rich? You have one unpopular star shortstop, a couple hired guns with a thousand-odd games on their odometers, and a bunch of guys named Fred. Half these guys are gone at the end of the year... you're telling me you can afford to resign Xiang-Ling Xun? You're telling me that if Rick Lewis keeps batting like this you'll be able to keep him? And good luck holding onto Adam Wallace if he can keep going..."

"My job," and Walcott's voice grew increasingly terse, "is to keep baseball in this city. This team is losing all sorts of money. I can't afford to go out and throw money at the problem. I can just get rid of all the salary I can and spend the rest as wisely as possible."

Frankie Truro glanced over at Rich Walcott, and paused for a moment. "Maybe you can't afford not to throw money at the problem," he said, and his voice was somewhat quieter than usual. "The fans haven't been staying away because the team's bad. They've been staying away because they can't see more than five of the players from last season."

For once, Rich Walcott was silent, looking down at Adam Wallace, Dalton Brown, and an absolutely unfair cutter from Wallace that sent Brown spiralling to the dirt.

The Civics won 5-1. At month's end, they were 16-12, atop the North Division by two games over Billings, and primed for another successful Civics season: solid everywhere, except at the ticket counter. All around the cities, the handful of modestly-heeled investors could only watch their bank accounts nervously.

Coming up: Chapter Three: Big Money, Little Else

[darkcloud4579]

Rousing start. Good luck with this one. You've got a potential gem on your hands storyline wise.

[Pommpie]

Remember what I said... well, yesterday... about writing either in spurts or in droughts? Yeah. This is a spurt. To be fair, I was kinda driven on by the fact that events in my simming ahead were getting interesting, and I really wanted to write about them. So if this chapter seems a bit rushed and a bit heavy on exposition, that's only because it is.

Chapter Three: Big Money, Little Else

Two hundred thousand dollars.

The number was on everybody's lips. Two hundred thousand dollars. The collection of dentists, lawyers, and physicians who owned the Civics were even more haunted by the figure than the rest of the baseball world. Two hundred thousand dollars.

Nobody had really expected Xiang-Ling Xun to sign a contract extension. Making the league minimum on a two-year deal, Xiang-Ling had established himself as a star of the United League, and it was almost an axiom that the Edmonton Civics couldn't afford any stars. There were reports that the Minnesota Drummers had their eye on Xun, and that he'd probably spend the next year in AA or AAA. Even if he stayed in the United League, it wouldn't be with Edmonton. The Civics had a deep infield, so deep that La Glove Grande winner Carlos Mendoza had only just been called up to the active roster. Xun would be missed, of course, but if anybody could replace him, it was Edmonton.

So that number hit the baseball fans of the City of Champions like a tonne of bricks. Two hundred thousand dollars.

Two years. One hundred grand per season. Forget the highest-paid Civic in these cash-strapped times, he was the highest paid Civic ever. He made more money than Mitch Daniels and Adam Wallace combined.

Many of the fans were ecstatic: Xiang-Ling Xun may have been reclusive and unpopular, but he was still the best damned player on the team, and the papers were full of "commitment to winning" and "determination to bring a championship back home" and such catchphrases. Less discussed, but perhaps far more important, was its impact on the team's finances. Rich Walcott, in short, was gambling on a consistent, skilled roster bringing enough fans through the gates to make up for the investment. But he was gambling with somebody else's money.

Normally sedate, Xiang-Ling Xun had just signed for more money than he had ever seen in his life, and even he was in the mood to celebrate. The Bowden Bowl had been a favourite of the Edmonton Civics since it opened in 1990, for it had many features that lent itself to the discriminating ballplayer. First, the beer was cheap. Second, a Civic could always could on getting a booth for himself and his friends even if they walked in at two in the morning reeking of vomit and cheap gin. Finally, the restaurant was owned by none other than Edmonton baseball legend Kelsey 'Howitzer' Bowden, the old-timer pitcher who in the late-70s had led the Edmonton Civics to the first three titles in United League history with the power of his cannon arm.

The fact that Bowden was now managing the Civics had altered the face of the Bowden Bowl somewhat. At first, the players had avoided it like the bubonic plague. But Bowden, so gregarious at his restaurant and so willing to regale any patron with a story of his playing days, had now become the morose, almost bipolar minor league manager that he never seemed born to be. His appearances at the Bowden Bowl became rare, and when he did show up it was as though he was working overtime, as though his restaurant were the only thing that made sense to him and he was utterly ecstatic for every second he could afford to spend within its walls. Still, nobody likes to drink with their manager looking over their shoulder, and it was two months before Pancho Gonzalez had dared to show Mitch Daniels the place.

Now, it was just like old times, except with a jubilant shortstop buying the drinks and a second baseman providing the old stories.

"It would have been 1991," Daniels said from his booth, smiling towards the other four Civics in attendance: Pancho, Denny King (nursing his second iced tea of the night), Xiang-Ling, and closer Dusty Gill. "I was with Wilkes-Barre in the Institutional League at the time, and Philly Guay was playing with Orwell, the Tracers, in the Pacific League. Exhibition game, right? Nothing to it. Except Phill and I had tied for the AAA lead in dingers the last season." Mitch chuckled, very softly, at the memory. "Well, y'know, exhibition to them but the real thing to us, right? So, first inning comes up, Tracers at the bat, and the Lumberjack just tatt-ooo-s one right into dead centre. Seriously. You haven't seen a guy hit until you've seen the Lethbridge Lumberjack hit. I think he hit nine out of every ten home runs to straight-away centre. It was amazing."

"He hit the home run..." prompted Pancho, nudging Mitch in the side. Part of the reason they got along so well is that the soft-spoken Pancho was always able to stop Mitch's rambling.

"So, Guay gets his homer, and he does this cocky little trot around the basepaths, and all the while I'm at second and he just gives me this look, like..." Mitch turned sharply towards Denny King, eyes wide, leaning forward slightly like an axe murder, the diminutive centre fielder shrinking back very slightly in the booth. "I'm hitting fourth and my boys go out 1-2-3, so I come up in the second and I -nail- one. I mean, I just hit that son-bitch on the screws, and just -barely- hit it higher up the stands than Phill. Guy was strong as an ox, let me tell you." The last sentence was somewhat drowned out by the roar of the other three Civics, as though the home run had happened right in front of them.

"Sure enough, Phill comes up in the third, and -pow-." Lifting his hand, Mitch moved it in the smooth arc of a really high home run. "Goodnight baseball. I come up in the fourth, -pow-." A repeat of the hand motion. "Then I come up in the fifth, -pow-. He hits in the sixth, -pow-. We're at three homers each, now, on three at-bats. I come up in the eighth..." the dramatic pause from Mitch, "and I strike out."

The booth erupted into a chorus of angst and disappointment, quickly waved off by Mitch. "So it's the bottom of the ninth. Two down, Phill Guay comes up again. Game tied, runner on second. First pitch, curveball, and it hangs just a -little-... and I mean -so- little... and Phill kills it. Just hits the hell out of that ball. I'm not sure it's ever come down."

"So he goes into his trot, and he's rounding second, and his teammates are starting to run onto the field because, of course, he's hit the walk-off home run. And he turns... I remember this so distinctly... he turns to look at me as I walk to the dugout, and I look at him, and he catches his toe on the second base bag, twists his knee around, goes down in a heap."

"ACL and MCL. Tore 'em both. The guy was going to the majors that year for sure, and he never played above A-ball again."

The silence at the booth was suddenly deafening. Even the formerly boisterous Denny King went quiet.

"That's a true story," Mitch said with a quiet, confident nod.

The fate of Phill Guay was looking almost as grim as the fate of the Edmonton Civics. Edmonton had dropped six of their first seven games in May, including a disasterous sweep at the hands of Billings to send the Barnstormers into first place in the North Division. The nadir had come on May 3, with Kichebei Fujita getting the start for Edmonton. Fujita had boasted a lousy 0-3 record entering Billings, and the Civics had lost every one of his starts. The signs, in short, were not auspicious.

Things started out well. Danny King and Xiang-Ling Xun opened the scoring with two sacrifice hits in the first to score Mitch Daniels and Raúl Garcia, and the Civics took a 2-0 lead after half an inning. But Kichebei Fujita would face a dangerous player: leading MVP candidate Bill Williams, the right fielder for the Barnstormers. The cleanup hitter for Billings led the league in homers, total bases, and boasted excellent speed, fielding skills, and a solid batting average. The best player by far in the United League, Fujita was simply no match for Williams.

In the first, Williams tied the game with a two-run homer. He spent the rest of the game walking, hitting, and stealing bases. Fujita needed ninety-two pitches to get through four and two-thirds, and a modest burst of offense from the Civics was nowhere's near enough to match the sheer beating Edmonton took in Billings that night. The Barnstormers took the second game of the series 12-5, and a 7-4 victory to complete the sweep was not as close as the score indicated. It took six solid shutout innings from Adam Wallace at AGT Field before the Civics got on track with a 5-0 win over Trail, and even then the Smelters took the next two games.

The problems were assorted. There were injuries. Mitch Daniels missed two games against Salem after aggravating an old injury to his right knee which had been plaguing him for years. Reliever Roberto Sánchez went down for two weeks on the eighth with a back injury. Another reliever, Chatham native Charles-Émile Sirois, hurt his shoulder and missed another two weeks. New third baseman Sam Quintal suffered a dead arm. But none of the injuries were particularly long-lasting and only Daniels was a particularly key cog.

There were slumps. After starting out the year promisingly, Ki-tae Yi had gone straight into the tank, his batting average declining and his never-remarkable defense suffering. Reserve catcher Nick Smart was brought in to catch nine games, and though he brought a gun of an arm, his always-bad offense had not improved (in 1996 with Edmonton he batted a remarkable .196 in 24 games). Eventually, Rich Walcott had little choice but to go outside the system, signing Scott "Groundhog" Leighton for the league minimum. Yet another of the cheap Canadians Walcott had been stockpiling, the 21-year-old Leighton brought a reputation as a rock behind the plate and a man with absolutely no stroke. However, Leighton managed to hover on the safe side of .250 while Yi finally got his swing back.

"The sixty-fourth round," Kelsey Bowden had said to Leighton when he arrived. "I think you're the highest-drafted player we have." He opened his mouth slightly to share in the inevitable team guffaw, but nobody even chuckled. Losing did that.

There was outright ineffectiveness. Joe Bascombe, after starting out 2-0, lost his next four decisions (much to the relief of Adam Wallace, once again secured as the team's ace). Drees Wolf, the Aruban Annihalator, continued to pitch steadily after his injury. But outside the top of the rotation, it was a horror show: 21-year-old Corpus Christite Artie Hines sported a .290 opposing batting average and a 7.04 ERA in three starts, and he was the best of the bunch. Kichebei Fujita dropped to 0-6, with statistics just this side of abysmal and his curveball looking so juicy that even United League hitters were teeing off on it. From the bullpen, around his injury Charles-Émile Sirois managed to pitch in eleven consecutive defeats. And in the outfield, even steady hitters like Sam Quintal and Wei-kang Nao managed to hit under .200 for the month. Bemusingly, one of the players not under the Mendoza Line for May was light-hitting defensive specialist Carlos Mendoza, who managed two hits in four at-bats.

Even some of the stars were out of sorts. Mitch Daniels had flirted with .400 in April, and settled on flirting with .250 in May. In three more at-bats, he managed three fewer homers and batted in fourteen fewer runs. His knee was part of the problem. It had bugged him since his last season in the majors with the Sky Warriors, and it flared up just when his team needed leadership most. Unable to turn on a pitch properly, Mitch Daniels was reduced to a slap-happy singles hitter with poor mobility until the pain subsided.

One man got better. Xiang-Ling Xun seemed to take his record contract as permission to cut loose, and he did. While his team decomposed around him, Xiang-Ling began to hit and hit hard. Balls cleared fences, sneaked through infielders, came in a little too hard to permit an out. He hit for more average, walked far more, slugged better, and hit more home runs in May than all but a handful of United Leaguers who had ever lived. On April 30, Xun had not been in the top five in league home runs, and on May 30 he was second behind the all-consuming Bill Williams of Billings.

Xiang-Ling Xun was no leader. He was not an inspiring dressing room presence. When Daniels had missed his second game, Xiang-Ling had taken a try at an inspiring dressing room speech, and managed to almost completely stumble over himself. Yet it proved more effective than many a speech from Kelsey Bowden, for the Civics did the improbable: they managed to overcome a meltdown in the eighth by reliever Félix Vásquez and eked out a 4-3 win in Salem, with big Páncho Gonzalez going hard in the top of the ninth to give Edmonton the lead and Dusty Gill taking fourteen pitches to strike out two, throw one perfect inning, and get his fifth save of the year. Charles-Émile Sirois's streak was broken: he got the win.

From there, amazingly, the Civics began to once again get on track. The Civics gutted out another win in the third game of the Salem series when Sam Quintal doubled home two runs in the top of the ninth (again) and Dusty Gill got the save (again) to grab a 2-1 victory. The Civics then took two of three at the home of the Boise Idahoes, and though they dropped two against Trail they still went into Billings high on confidence: only two games back of the North Division lead and a chance to be on top when the dust cleared.

The Civics sent Joe Bascombe to face Carlos García on the mound, and it went awry almost instantly. Bascombe got tagged for five runs from the relentless Billings attack, and Sirois allowed three in only an inning and two thirds. But the bats finally... finally!... came alive. Twelve hits, ten runs, and five stolen bases later, the Civics grabbed a 10-8 win on the heels of heroic relief from Mark Stewart and Dusty Gill. Poor Luis Hernández, at catcher for Billings, managed to gun down Denny King twice, but was unable to stop Raúl Gárcia from swiping second as the eventual winning run.

The next night, Adam Wallace went out for Edmonton. There is no need to recite who pitched for Billings: it didn't matter. Antonio Castillo in his prime would have struggled to outduel Wallace that night. His fastball was zipping and his menagerie of breaking pitches were devestating. Mighty Bill Williams went 0-for-4 and struck out twice. Poor Stewart Horton, on the hill for Billings, threw one of the lousier complete games in United League history, allowing ten runs and earning nine of them. Xiang-Ling Xun and Ki-tae Yi both took Horton deep in the fifth inning, and in the eighth, with the bases loaded, Mitch Daniels stepped into the batters box and, bad knee and all, barely managed to turn on a 2-0 fastball, eking it over the seats in left.

"That's more like it!" roared Xiang-Ling Xun from the dugout as Daniels went into his trot, the Billings crowd utterly shellshocked, the home run ball rolling under the few seats in left utterly unmolested. Daniels gave Xun a fistpump as he rounded third, before high-fiving Wei-kang Nao, Sam Quintal, and Ki-tae Yi at home. The mighty Billings Barnstormers took their heaviest loss of the season: 10-1.

But all good things had to come to an end. The name "Kichibei Fujita" pencilled in as the Civics starter was one indication. As was "Sam French" as the starter for the Barnstormers: French was 5-1 on the season and, though not actually a very good pitcher, had caught fire in May (while Fujita was merely going down in flames).

The Civics got a run in the first when Páncho Gonzalez drove in Mitch Daniels, but it was as though the offense was exhausted by its two previous games of war against the Barnstormers. French's stuff was not great, but it was more than good enough to confound the weary Civics, who racked up only four hits against French in seven innings and were no-hit by his replacement, Hongwu Thean, in two. Meanwhile, Fujita served up his obligatory terrible pitches, taking six earned runs in four and a third, and while Sánchez and Stewart did well coming out of the bullpen, it was too little, too late as the Barnstormers avoided a sweep and held their divisional lead with a 7-1 victory.

Both teams closed out May with victories, and at month's end, Edmonton was one game back of Billings for the division, two games back of a wild-card spot, and held a record of 28-26. But the team was healing up. The slumps were breaking. Guys were hitting and pitching again, and the Civics had ended May 8-4 against strong teams. Amazingly, the Edmonton Civics were looking more and more like a playoff team.

Coming Up: Chapter Four: The Fractures of Fate

[Pommpie]

Here it is. I have no further input, except that boy howdy, did this chapter ever end up screwing me up.

Chapter Four: The Fractures of Fate

On June 2, the Edmonton Civics did something they almost never did: they played a Monday night game. Mondays were traditionally an off-day in the United League, but the Port Angeles Angels were at AGT Field to close out a two-game set. 24-year-old William LaFontaine, a Montreal native formerly of the McMaster Marauders and a 47th-round pick of major-league Paradise, would be getting his first start as a Civic.

In a press conference before the game, Kelsey Bowden had mumbled into the mic that LaFontaine was a "catcher's dream" and that he had "spectacularly pinpoint control", as though mere pinpoint control was not quite spectacular enough. He was also a catcher's dream in that his fastball was a leisurely low-90s and his only other pitch was a rather mediocre slider, meaning that Ki-tae Yi didn't have to strain too many fingers sending in the signals.

But he worked cheap.

LaFontaine only allowed four hits in his debut, but he allowed them all in the second inning, and three runners got across. LaFontaine was pulled after two-and-a-third, as though Kelsey Bowden, mindful of his hollow words before the game, knew fully well that the skilled Port Angeles hitters would knock LaFontaine around like a pinball the second time they saw him. Nominal closer Dusty Gill got two solid innings in, and both Melvin Stewart and Félix Vásquez did well in later relief. The Angels managed only their three second-inning runs, and Port Angeles starter Bartolo "Wild Thing" Rodríguez was living up to his nickname, managing to walk eight in five innings.

It should go without saying that the Civics offense died anyway.

The Civics failed to muster a single extra-base hit and only five hits total. They managed one run in the fifth when Ki-tae Yi scored on a wild pitch from Rodríguez after the Angels had walked the bases loaded with none out and the middle of the order up (Xiang-Ling Xun and Denny King both flew out and Wei-kang Nao grounded out to short). The Civics ended up with nine walks, a wild pitch, a hit batsman, five hits, one run, and a 3-1 loss.

The continuing problems with the team's starting rotation were becoming glaring. A three-game set in Eugene saw the Cranes rack up a total of thirty runs, with even Adam Wallace failing to get out of the third inning. The team had done its best to stop the bleeding by giving a chance to kids like LaFontaine and even by trade: the team picked up young Torontonian pitcher R.J. Yeo from the Kansas City Skywarriors organisation in exchange for a couple young relievers on the reserve list. The 23-year-old southpaw had pitched in the rookie-level Arizona League for the Arizona Canines in 1996, mustering a 5.55 ERA in 47 innings after four solid years at York University.

The arrival of Yeo, however, only spurred on the growing difficulties in the locker room. Naturally, it was Adam Wallace who fired the first shot. Yeo had joined the team in Boise, and his first visit to AGT Field's clubhouse was an exciting one. The 23-year-old made one mistake, however: he brought in his young girlfriend Cheryl. Introductions went quite smoothly, until Wallace caught wind of what was going on.

The transformation was sudden. The first instant, Yeo and companion were chatting amicably with the amicable Pancho González. The second, Wallace had whipped in a fastball at Sam Quintal's head that, while high and outside, was no less intimidating as it rang off the brick wall and bounded back out down the corridor.

"NO GODDAMNED WOMEN IN THE DRESSING ROOM!" Wallace roared from his seat, his voice echoing off the stone. This was not a rule in the Civics locker room. Not even an unwritten rule. On the contrary, the tightly-knit and underpaid ballplayers of the United League tended to spend as much time hobnobbing as playing, and none of the other ballplayers were complaining about about the attractive young woman now staring at Adam Wallace as though he were out of his mind. To be fair, Wallace was running on two consecutive miserable starts, so his already precarious grasp of social niceties was rapidly slipping.

Off in the corner, Kelsey Bowden chewed his gum furiously, forcing himself to look at everything but the action.

The very next day, however, Wallace's mood was significantly improved. While a somewhat shellshocked Yeo sat outside his locker, the pitcher thumped Yeo on the back and sat down beside him.

"Sorry about last night, there, R.J." Adam Wallace said brightly, giving Yeo another friendly thump. "You know how it is. Stress, losing a few games, that's really all that'll do it." R.J. Yeo looked up at the staff ace as though he were a madman.

The reason for Adam Wallace's enthusiasm was in the papers by the next morning: he was the latest big-name member of the Civics to ink an extension, to the tune of $91,000 over the next two seasons. In spite of the improvement in his statistics as a Civic, it was increasingly clear, even to Wallace himself, that at 29 years old he was not going to burst into the major leagues on the strength of a 3.70 ERA and a 6-3 record in the United League. For this reason, he stunned Rich Walcott by walking into his office early in June and demanding a contract extension in the same tone of voice most players used to demand a trade and a ticket for the first bus out of town. Walcott, naturally, granted one.

The Walcott extension had eaten up more of the Civics budget for next season, and the surplus was already perilously thin with no few contracts unfilled. Meanwhile, after a 9-1 loss to Salem on the 11th (R.J. Yeo falling to 0-2 after a three-inning, six-hit beating), the Civics had once again dipped out of a playoff position, dipping behind the surging Trail Smelters for the second wildcard spot. Despite eight hits out of the Civics, only a solo shot from Mitch Daniels in the eighth had given the Civics a run.

Once again, on the heels of the losing skid, Kelsey Bowden had tried his best to fire up the locker room. This time, however, his speech was even more of an abortion. The instant the skipper stepped up in front of the lockers, he had fixed the players with the firiest, most angry stare he could muster, one sufficiently volatile that even Adam Wallace sat up and started to pay attention.

But Bowden was unable to maintain the momentum. His mouth opened but no sounds came out. Lifting his right arm, he held it in the air, but soon dropped it to his side. "Win," he said, simply, before turning around and leaving the room.

A few minutes passed.

"It had a certain understated elegance," Páncho Gonzalez said, looking between the rest of the players, who were in a vaguely bored state of shock.

A few more quiet seconds passed.

"Jesus Christ, guys," Mitch Daniels finally said, breaking the silence and looking around the locker room. "I mean, what the hell is this?"

The players turned in their chairs and looked at him blankly.

Internally, Mitch Daniels swore. He had sworn he'd never be that stupid veteran who gave the plucky, inspiring speech in the dressing room. He had no problem with being a leader, but he didn't want to be That Guy, the guy in the movie who always said to go out and win for the guy who'd just blown out his knee and who was probably watching from a hospital bed as they spoke. If the guy who blew out his knee was so important, he should be out on the bloody field. And if the leader was so important, he should stop talking and go get a hit. Mitch's own batting average was down to .273.

Still, it was too late to back out now. "Come on," Mitch continued. "I mean, we're the Edmonton Civics. We win. It's what we do. Damn, I've been here half a year and I've already picked up on that." His eyes flickered around to some of the new arrivals scattered around the dressing room. And there were a lot of them. "When will the rest of you pick this crap up?"

By now, the room was visibly aroused. It wasn't much of a speech, truth be told. But to the Edmonton Civics, starving for leadership at this point, any speech was a hell of a speech.

"I mean..." Daniels started to repeat himself, tripping over his words as he felt the eyes on him. "Let's just win this one. We'll worry about the playoffs and stuff later. Let's just win this one, just so guys back home can say 'hey, they can win.'"

There was no chorus of applause. Everybody just nodded.

For his part, Mitch started the game against Salem in grand style: he grounded out to short. The Civics in general seemed a little wound-up, with even normally-patient hitter Denny King taking a gigantic cut at a 3-0 pitch outside the strike zone and coming up empty (though he later walked). Meanwhile, Joe Bascombe yielded yet another subpar outing from the rotation, going three and two-thirds and escaping with six earned runs, four walks, and five hits against him.

Fortunately for the Civics, the reliable Félix Vásquez was on-form. The 27-year-old Puerto Rican had been busy chewing up innings that year, and as yet another stint of long relief beckoned, the team needed Vásquez to get some outs (and the bats to come alive, with the Civics already back 6-1). However, Vásquez held the fort, getting out of the fourth and blanking the Bingoes in the fifth and the sixth. By the bottom of six, Rick Lewis was leading off and the team needed a rally.

"Don't sweat it!" yelled Lewis to light-hitting Dave Garner, on deck. "This one's in the bag." With the bottom of the lineup due up for the Civics, this did not seem likely. Yet Lewis promptly eked a grounder between first and second on the first pitch from Ed Longchamps. When Garner stepped up, he stroked a line drive to left field that brought Lewis to third. Finally, the number nine hitter, catcher Ki-tae Yi, drove a hard-hit line drive to right, bringing Lewis home and getting the crowd of 1,113 to their feet: runners on first and second, none out, a run across, and the top of the order coming up.

1,113 fans could only make so much noise. But as Mitch Daniels stepped into the box, it seemed like a deafening roar, every bit as loud as the gigantic crowds he had heard in his hey-day in New York. The United League was not the major leagues, not by a longshot. But if you closed your eyes in just the right moment, there were still major-league moments to be had.

A curveball from Longchamps came in. That was all Mitch needed, and he got just enough of the ball. He saw the third baseman dive, somehow grabbing the ball as Mitch hustled for all he was worth to first. All the mileage on his body seemed to bubble up in that moment, his knee aching, his lungs suddenly gasping raggedly for first as he tried to claw out ninety precious feet. The ball rifled in from third, but even as the first baseman reached out to grab it, Mitch knew he'd made it. Still, it wasn't until the call of "safe!" that the crowd cheered. The bases were loaded, with Raúl García at the plate.

Even as García strode to the plate, Angelo Ramirez strode out to Ed Longchamps, the 64-year-old skipper operating as quickly as his fame indicated. Longchamps had hardly handed the ball over before veteran southpaw Simon Bond had jogged out to the mound, 39 years young and a fixture in the Salem bullpen since 1993, known for throwing a lot of innings both starting and relieving and for his deadly effectiveness getting that one out.

"He's scared of you, Raúl!" Dave Garner yelled to the sombre infielder who was at bat. "Scared of you! Hit the hell out of that thing!"

At his age, Bond was hardly known for zipping the ball in there. Perhaps Angelo Ramirez should have studied his scouting reports, for Garcia was legendarily effective when he had time to get his bat to a ball: his swing was perhaps the longest in pro baseball, and yet in the right situation it was deadly effective. For the first two pitches, García didn't take the bat off his shoulder. For the third, a surprise fastball, García turned on it.

"Yeah!" yelled Dave Garner exuberantly from third, leaping up and clapping his hands. The sound of the ball coming off the bat was almost an explosion, but a misdirected one. The ball was too high, and Mario Durán was able to jog back to the warning track, holding up his glove to shield against the evening sun and easily snagging the high fly.

Still, it was a deep ball, and Dave Garner took off from third. Durán didn't even pretend to throw it back in, instead flipping it idly to short. The same fans who had cried out in anguish when the ball was caught cheered once more as Garner crossed, high-fiving the crestfallen García half against the latter's will and jogging to the dugout with vaguely articulate roars of enthusiasm.

Steve Bond had got the out, but Ramirez left him in to get two more. His next opponent was no easy mark: mighty Xiang-Ling Xun, sweeping his bat through the air as though the air had better get the hell out of the way before he hurt it. Xun glared towards the mound, considering Bond the same way he considered every pitcher, including his own: a piece of meat fit only to be hit off of. And Xiang-Ling got his hit, lacing the ball past short and picking up a stand-up double. Ki-tae Yi easily scored from second, causing Dave Garner to run out of the dugout long enough to give the number nine hitter an enthusiastic punch on the shoulder.

Next up, Páncho González, who if he lacked Xiang-Ling's power made up for it in consistent clutch hitting. Steve Bond, veteran or not, was beginning to get a shell-shocked look on his face, the sort of face that skilled hitters feasted on. Both of the runs would be charged to Longchamps, but that didn't matter to a pitcher who'd already let two across and now had two more in scoring position with a superb contact hitter at the plate. Sure enough, González got ahold of a poorly thrown slider, launching it into right and picking up a double of his own, allowing Mitch Daniels to almost walk home from third (and allowing Xiang-Ling Xun, hustling as if his life depended on it, to almost run into the second baseman as he did so). A 6-1 game had become a 6-6 game, and Páncho González was standing exuberantly at second, waving to Denny King with only one out.

If Steve Bond was going to get one batter out that inning, Denny King would have been a good bet. King was a blazer but he was also a startlingly light hitter. Hitting number five in the order though he was, King was a weak link in the Civics lineup. His biggest threat was as a base-stealer, but obviously he had to get on base first.

Steve Bond walked Denny King on five pitches.

By now, Steve Bond was fading fast. As Wei-kang Nao strode to the plate, he flashed a panicked glance to his own dugout, then off towards the bullpen, where Henry Heath was throwing furiously, trying to get ready to come into the game. No pitcher, however long they have been playing successfully, ever entirely loses that slight horror when the heart of the order hits the hell out of them, and the manager is already groping for another reliever. It is simple human nature to panic in that situation. And when he threw a hanging curveball as the first pitch to Wei-kang Nao, Steve Bond officially panicked.

This time, it was a no-doubter. Even Raúl García, still depressed over his near-grand-slam, leaped out of the dugout to watch it go. The ball flew over the wall in left, bounding off towards the North Saskatchewan River, as 1,113 patrons erupted and Wei-kang Nao punched the air. A three-run home run, as Nao was met at home by González and King practically mobbing him. 9-6 Edmonton. The crowd was almost delirious. Where the hell did this come from? Even Rick Lewis, at bat for the second time in the inning (facing new pitcher Henry Heath) seemed on cloud nine.

Heath made quick work of Lewis and Dave Garner to end the inning, but you'd have a hard time finding anybody at AGT Field who cared. When Félix Vásquez came up for the seventh and retired Félix Serrano, Chris Lynch, and Donald Farr in order, it was as if 1,113 fans were pitching with him. And when, in the top of the ninth, Dusty Gill forced Serrano to ground into a double play (Garner to Daniels to García) to end the ballgame, the fans of the Edmonton Civics were as happy as they'd been since they'd won title number nine two years ago. A 9-6 final, and all it took was one half of an inning to send the old-timers at AGT Field home happy, content with the knowledge that even a mediocre club could give them one story this year.

The Civics lost the next night in Trail, 3-2. But they then won nine in a row, including a vital sweep against division-leading Billings which opened with a 14-11 slugfest (which included Xiang-Ling Xun's team-leading twenty-sixth home run), continued with an 11-7 win (including Mitch Daniels's twelfth long fly), and ended with a relative pitcher's duel as both Joe Bascombe and Carlos García threw complete games, although it ended up an 8-4 Civics victory. Even García, for all his struggles, was better than the alternative: both bullpens were utterly gassed by the end of the series, and Dave Garner insisted to the few that would listen that he saw substitute second baseman Jen-djieh Che warming up in Billings's bullpen in the eighth.

By the time of their June 28 game against Pueblo, the winning streak was over, but the Edmonton Civics were two games up on Billings and five up on third-place Trail for the division lead. With the Anchors the doormats in the West Division, the table was set for a big night from the Civics.

---

"Batting first for the Civics, the second baseman, number eight, Mitch Daniels!"

Mitch Daniels strode easily into the box, swinging his bat lightly as veteran Ricardo Carrillo rolled his shoulders on the mound. The leadoff hitter smiled over to the hill, waggling the bat over towards the Pueblo dugout. Carrillo grinned back, but the grin failed to intimidate Daniels in the least.

You poor bastard, mused Daniels, tapping home plate and holding the bat over his shoulder. You poor, poor bastard. You'll have no idea what hit you, buddy. Mitch had always been fond of thinking this way to himself when leading off a ballgame. Every batter had their superstitions, and that was his. It certainly seemed to be working out well for him so far.

Fastball, change, slider, cutter, splitter. Fastball, change, slider, cutter, splitter. Fastball, change, slider, cutter, splitter. Splitter. Mitch Daniels went through the scouting report in his head as Carrillo reared back and let fly. It was the splitter, the very splitter that Xiang-Ling had promised Mitch Carrillo would throw on the first pitch nine times in ten. Mitch had just enough time to mouth "you poor bastard" before swinging and tattooing it.

The ball flew, arcing smoothly into left field, and Mitch Daniels got on his horse. If Denny King had hit that, it would be a triple for sure. But Mitch Daniels, at 37 years old, lacked King's speed, and Jason White had played the carom off the wall well. Mitch had to turn on the jets. From the on-deck circle, he just heard Raúl García roaring encouragement through the wind rushing past his years. His helmet popped off as he rounded first. Jason White let fly a strike from left field, and Rafael Vásquez was in good position at second. Daniels went into a slide just as Vásquez's arm came sweeping down to apply the tag, and just as white-hot pain shot up Mitch Daniels's right leg.

It was as though somebody turned off the switch connecting Mitch Daniels to the world. He observed the umpire swinging his arms (safe!), but he didn't notice it. Vásquez, as though not noticing the leadoff batter crumpled in a heap below him, threw the ball glumly to the mound. In the Civics dugout, a few players and coaches stood up, walking up to the rail, their breath caught in their throat, waiting for the second baseman to at least move. He didn't. Movement wasn't even in his mind. All that was in his mind was the breathtaking agony resounding in his right knee, like a million billion shards of hot metal had suddenly exploded at the heart of his joint.

Team doctor Juan Flores was the first man to reach Mitch, bending over, saying things that Daniels couldn't even hear. Slowly, awareness seeped back into his mind. He noticed that he was being put on a stretcher. He noticed that he was saying thing to Flores and to Kelsey Bowden, who met him at the foul line. He noticed Sam Quintal jogging past to pinch run. And he noticed that he kept saying that one word, that one infernal word: "knee, knee, knee."

He noticed that he was being taken back through the visitor's locker room, and that he was being taken onto a waiting ambulance. He noticed the doctors X-raying his knee, glancing between each other, injecting a little something into Mitch's system to take the edge off. And when he finally had the presence of mind to form a coherent sentence, he glanced at the doctor and asked, like a little boy despairing in the existence of Santa Claus, "will I be able to play tomorrow night?"

"Mr. Daniels," answered the doctor, "I don't think you'll ever be able to play again."

The Civics won 5-4. Sam Quintal went 2-for-4 with a double.

Back in the visitors clubhouse, the players just sat for a moment. Kelsey Bowden had just come in with the news, and the mood was sombre. Finally, of all people, Xiang-Ling Xun summed up what every other player was thinking.

"****," he said.

Coming Up: Chapter Five: Slings and Arrows

[Pommpie]

I know it's been a while. Between some computer troubles and general laziness, I have been less-than-able to write. The good thing about being a fledgling story with no following to speak of is that I'm not going to disappoint anybody when I don't write until August.

Chapter Five: Slings and Arrows

"Mired in a four-game losing skid, the Edmonton Civics host the Pueblo Anchors at AGT Field. Joe Bascombe will get the start tonight for Edmonton..."

Frankie Truro fidgeted slightly in his folding steel chair, looking down from the press box to the field. New signing Bob Zasko, brought in on the first of July, was making his debut in centre field after playing a few games in left; a 24-year-old Gold Glove outfielder fresh out of the University of Calgary. Another one of Rich Walcott's Canadian scrubs, signed for the league minimum. At this rate, he'd go next year with three good veterans and seventeen useless kids on his roster. And he's probably expect that to work.

Down on the field, Xiang-Ling Xun fielded a grounder, flipping it over to Carlos Mendoza at second. Setting his feet and taking his time, Mendoza fired a quick strike into Raúl Garcia's glove at first, achieving a perfect faux-double-play on invisible runners. On the hill, Joe Bascombe fired warmup pitches into Ki-tae Yi's glove, the Taiwanese catcher snagging each pitch with the effortless ease so typical of Bascombe's declining fastball.

However, his other pitches were still at least modestly nasty. The Anchors leadoff man José Sánchez was neither the first nor the last batter fooled by Bascombe's surprising stuff: standing in the box on a 1-2 count, a ludicrous cutter flew in, sending Sánchez to the dirt in a heap as he swung and utterly fanneed on it. The modest crowd gave Bascombe the mild ovation due a player whose ballclub had lost four straight.

In the bottom of the inning, Sam Quintal strode up to the plate to leadoff. The third baseman was hitting a whopping .232 from the leadoff spot, and as he swung the timber towards Pueblo pitcher Roberto Espinoza, failure and defeat were already etched on his features, his shoulders turning to head towards the dugout as a fastball flew in.

"Ball one!"

Well, that was a bonus, mused Quintal, steadying the bat over his shoulder once more. When ball two whipped in, he allowed himself a small trace of a smile. When he walked on four pitches, he was quite pleased, and after Raúl Garcia and Xiang-Ling Xun each singled to load the bases, Quintal stood at third with exuberance on his face.

"Commeeeooon, Panchooooo!" yelled Quintal from third, clapping his hands together as Xiang-Ling looked on spitefully from across the infield. Smiling, the affable designated hitter glances over to Quintal and waved, not even the third baseman's meagre statistics damping González's enthusiasm for anything to do with baseball. Even when he lined out to left, he smiled jauntily upon his return to the dugout.

Denny King looked less optimistic as he stepped into the batter's box, swaying his bat as if it were an extension of himself (nervous) and swinging it with all the confidence and power of a steroid user going clean the week before the urine test. From the dugout, ashen-faced supremo Kelsey Bowden looked on, face blank, the sheer blankness of a man knowing precisely what was going to happen. As King lined it straight to Rafael Vásquez at second and caused an easy double play, Bowden didn't even blink.

"Skip?" asked backup catcher Sloan Leighton from the bench, leaping up and poking the solitary manager in the back of the shoulder.

"It's happening again," murmured Bowded. "It's happening again and there's nothing I know to do about it."

Bowden's preferred strategy was inaction. Bascombe buzzed through seven innings with only a single run to his name, and a strong sixth staked Edmonton to a 3-1 lead. But, as though his arm were set to a clock, Bascombe began to fall apart in the eighth. By the time Melvin Stewart came out of the bullpen and stopped the bleeding, the Civics were down 5-3.

Still, for all their misery, the Civics weren't quite done yet. In the bottom of the eighth, Xiang-Ling Xun managed a leadoff walk, advanced on a throwing error that also saw Páncho Gonzalez get to second, and when Denny King strode to the plate, Xiang-Ling took one of the largest leads in baseball.

From second, Páncho looked at the solitary shortstop, a slight raise of an eyebrow betraying his curiousity. At the plate, Denny King spared the baserunner the smallest of glances, swung, and grounded an utterly harmless ball to short. King jogged towards first just in time to see Xiang-Ling fly down the line, turning on the jets and eliminating even the possibility of a throw as the Civics clawed within one.

The next batter was the mighty Wei-kang Nao: a mighty swinger but also a mighty whiffer, owner of 15 home runs and a batting average just north of the Mendoza line. Luckily, Pueblo pitcher Randall Anderson was the perfect mark for Nao: a tired pitcher with mediocre velocity, an assortment of breaking stuff that he largely ignored in favour of firing fastballs down the heart of the plate, and an ERA above four.

Nao tagged the ball into deep right field, sending Pablo Gómez and José Sánchez flying towards each other and the ball. By the time Gómez had played the carom off the top of the wall, Nao was heading across second, and the rather tubby González had already crossed the plate as the tying run, leaping up in joy and high-fiving the entire Civics dugout as he rushed in with typical Pancho exuberance. Gómez let the ball fly in, but the cutoff man merely held onto it as Wei-kang Nao stopped at third, proud owner of a triple.

With Nao's speed, ninety feet was as good as a step, but with mighty whiffers Bob Zasko and Carlos Mendoza due up, that step was seperated by two lousy players. Zasko promptly struck out on five pitches, sending up Mendoza to face Anderson.

Pancho barely had time to yell "c'mon, Carlos!" before Mendoza, as if feeling the spectre of his lack of playing skill, promptly dropped down a rather feeble bunt down the first-base line and ran for the bag. With two out.

Catcher John Smith didn't even run to the ball. Picking it up easily, he fired it almost casually to Jesse Cantrell at first to retire the side. Even Kelsey Bowden, standing in the dugout, was utterly speechless. But one inebriated fan behind home plate had the perfect answer.

"MENDOZAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The failed play sucked the life out of the Civics. Even formidable veteran reliever Melvin Stewart, working on an 8-1 record, was not immune, serving up the winning run in the top of the tenth as Woody Ford laced a single into centre field on a rather juicy slider, scoring Pablo Gómez from second.

The Civics won their next game on a walk-off homer by Pancho González in the bottom of the eleventh, but Edmonton was still mired in their worst slump of the season. The next night against Pueblo, young Canadian southpaw R.J. Yeo got the start for the Civics and had a spectacular night: he threw two pitches, wrenched his shoulder, and left the game. A rogue's gallery of relievers was highlighted by "closer" Dusty Gill, pressed into long relief once again by the beleaguered Kelsey Bowden, throwing four innings, allowing four runs, and taking the loss. Denny King went 5-for-5 in the defeat and wasn't even the player of the game, with Pueblo centre fielder José Sánchez going 4-for-5 with five RBI, two runs, and a homer.

An eight-game win streak in June had been nice, but July was a debacle. Billings and Trail were both flying past Edmonton, and the Civics had dropped to third; the Boise Idahoes had a very real chance of passing Edmonton despite being the worst team in the league all season.

One of the few bright spots had been the annual United League All-Star Game, where the North Division had managed a mighty 14-8 victory over the West Division. However, the Civics had contributed only three players to the All-Stars: Pancho González, Xiang-Ling-Xun, and Melvin Stewart. The original starting second baseman, Mitch Stewart, was still picking up bits of his knee in Pueblo and had been replaced by Barnstormer Pat Morton. Meanwhile, the normally-disciplined Xiang-Ling Xun made three plate appearances and struck out three times, tying the United League All-Star record, Melvin Stewart threw a single inning, and it was González who made the Civics proudest, grinding out a two-for-five, scoring a pair of runs, and knocking one in himself. Closer Dusty Gill was also named, but did not appear.

With the utter destruction of Mitch Daniels and the statistical collapses of Wei-kang Nao, Bob Zasko, and Ki-tae Yi, Pancho González was not only the team's leader off the field but the leader on the field. Xiang-Ling Xun had hit some home runs but was mired in a slump and seldom had anybody to bat in, batting average leader Rick Lewis was injured, and when the team managed to claw out a win, it was Gonzalez who was at the forefront.

Pancho González was, unfortunately, nobody's idea of a star player. Gregarious and popular, certainly. The 28-year-old Nicaraguan was the most popular player in the dressing room and carried himself about with an infectious enthusiasm that not even the sombre Xiang-Ling Xun had been able to entirely resist. He could constantly be found in the community and volunteered his time cheering up children at the Stollery Children's Hospital every year. He lived year-round in Edmonton and, after coming in during the 1992 season from Japan's Yokohama Tiger Sharks, had become virtually synonymous with the Civics. He had won a batting title, was Rookie of the Year in 1992, and had overcome a fractured skull to been a key part of Edmonton's last Liberty Series victory in 1995.

Still.

It was said among long-time United League watchers that one fractured skull had sent González's career downhill. In a game against the Trail Smelters, González had dived out from first base to snag a fly ball, but he dove out over the path between first and second just as a baserunner had gone hurdling past. González's head went from knee to gravel, and it would have been a comic highlight had the situation not been so serious. González, amazingly, recovered and went on to play in the playoffs, with the United League ring he sometimes wore on his middle finger a token of that.

But he was never the same. His first three seasons in the United League had brought OPS of .797, .840, and .971. His .801 the year after his injury was his lowest since his rookie career, and his 1997 was slipping to a career low. His batting average had never been worse as a United League baseball player than it had been since his injury. In 1994, he was considered a solid defensive first baseman, and in 1997, he was essentially a full-time designated hitter. At twenty-eight, Pancho González ought to have been in his prime as a baseball player. He was still an All-Star, perhaps the most important player on the Civics (if not the best), and the only man Rich Walcott could consider genuinely untouchable. But as a 24-year-old, González was considered a lock for the United League Hall of Fame if he stayed healthy and if he managed to avoid interest from higher levels of baseball: the latter being considered a distinct possibility.

In 1996, Pancho González made his regular-season comeback in the same game as Xiang-Ling Xun's United League debut. González went 0-for-4 and Xun homered, one of forty the shortshop would send out that season. González, once the great young star of a skilled team, found himself knocked out of the alpha dog role on a team going down faster than it was going up. And for all his smiles, the murmurings of the United League old-timers and the sight of his own career's declining couldn't help but flap the nigh-unflappable Pancho.

Things just got worse for González and the Civics. Edmonton came off the All-Star break with a four-game losing skid, the nadir a 10-0 defeat against Eugene against Cranes star pitcher Allen Arthur. Only Xiang-Ling Xun and Denny King managed to break up a no-hitter. A win the next night against the last-place Idahoes was followed by two losses: the highlight a 4-3 defeat when Raúl García nailed a solo home run in the top of the tenth and Melvin Stewart lost the game with two runs in the bottom, while erstwhile ace Adam Wallace managed only three and a third and Dusty Gill was forced to throw four.

On July 27, the Civics month was summed up in spectacular style. After practice, Kelsey Bowden surveyed the dressing room and chose that moment to make an announcement to the sombre cast. "By the way, R.J. screwed up his hip this afternoon. So he's done for the season."

The room was dead silent. The next day, Pancho González went to see Yeo, who he found surprisingly bouyant, sitting up in a hospital bed after surgery.

"Yeah, it was my labrum or something. Something in the hip." R.J. smiled at Pancho, who, in spite of his usual exuberance, was peering at the chipper pitcher with something resembling shock. "I was going down the stairs, right, and I kinda wiped out. Tried to grab the bannister, but," with a laugh, he pointed to his still-bound left shoulder. "So I kinda tore something going down, or something. I really don't know."

"Are you on morphine or something?" Pancho asked R.J., voice tinged with horror.

"Nah. Just kinda funny." As if to signal this, Yeo giggled.

Finally, July closed in typical Civics style: a sweep at home to Trail, with the last game being a 6-4 defeat to the Smelters in which mediocre starter Israel Anaya managed to throw a complete game and allow six earned runs. Edmonton was third in the four-team North Division, with only Boise in the rear-view mirror and even they closer than they appeared. Kelsey Bowden was even more thoroughly out of his element than usual, staring out into the field as Anaya yielded another hit, Pancho González more-or-less openly managing the team from behind him.

Things had been less civil in Edmonton.

Coming Up: Chapter Six: The Coup de Grace