[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

[Pommpie]

What can I say? I was on a roll. This chapter, in a lot of ways, practically wrote itself: I like it a lot more than chapter five partially because I think I write a lot better when I do big bits all at once rather than piecemeal as I did last chapter. On the other hand, I only write a huge amount at once when I'm really into the writing. Hrm.

Chapter Six: The Coup de Grace

August dawned with a distinct lack of hope in Edmonton. The Civics, once hoping to take the division, were now so far out of the playoffs they couldn't have hit them with an artillery shot. Both Billings and Trail were looking nigh-unbeatable in the North Division, depriving Edmonton of what remained of their hope. Men like Rick Lewis, R.J. Yeo, and Mitch Daniels, all key parts of the team, found themselves on injured reserve. When Joe Bascombe, whose ERA was rising like a helium balloon, allowed three runs in seven innings only to see the bullpen self-destruct in a 10-9 loss to Port Angeles, it seemed to be a symbol of what was going on with the team.

The bullpen was a serious point of contention on the team. Melvin Stewart, Roberto Sánchez, and Dusty Gill were reliable, but all three had been worn down by Kelsey Bowden's strategy of letting his relievers throw until their arms exploded. In their place stood mediocrities like Tom Colbert (who left the Port Angeles game with a 27.03 ERA), Charles-Émile Sirois, Masamune Okawa, and Félix Vásquez left the team in holes it could seldom escape from. The starting rotation was little better: Wallace and Bascombe were both solid pitchers, and Drees Wolf was at least not utterly brutal. But men like William LaFontaine were too far out of their depth, and despite his reputation as a pitcher, Kelsey Bowden found himself utterly unable to manage his pitchers to best advantage.

The Civics, in short, were doomed.

"You guys are doomed," Michael Baldwin had murmured to Rich Walcott as the two walked down the corridors of AGT Field after the Angels game. Michael Baldwin was one of the most unassuming men you could ever meet: modest height, uninteresting build, rather twiggy arms. But more than one old-timer turned around as Baldwin and Walcott went through the clearing arena, and grandfathers whispered to their grandchildren. It was hard to believe to those seeing him for the first time, but the little man with thin arms and that discrete, greying moustache which had so long been his trademark was the leading batter in Edmonton Civics history.

"I wouldn't say that," Walcott replied, turning his used-car salesman gaze upon Baldwin with a small smile. Baldwin's return look reflected obvious distaste for the general manager, and he immediately distracted himself by waving to one of those gawking baseball fans. The fan's son stood nearby, a Civics hat askew on his head, and when he timidly asked for an autograph, the old shortstop simply smiled and plucked a felt-tipped marker from his pen, making small-talk with the boy and scrawling his little signature beneath the brim. The legend, the fan, and the boy chatted for several minutes, Baldwin smiling the little smile of a man happily making an unpleasant general manager stew for a few.

When the stammering, blushing boy and his father excused themselves, Baldwin watched them go for a few minutes before turning back to the GM, his smile soon fading into its former irritated ambivalence. "I don't know what old man Bowden is doing," he said, quiet voice betraying slight anger, slender frame trembling minutely. "He's killing his pitchers. He's not using his starters. I don't know what he's thinking, having Quintal hit leadoff instead of King, either."

Now it was Walcott's turn to frown. "Jesus, Rainmaker, I offered you the job before I even got Bowden's number. If you want to bitch..."

"Shut up," Baldwin declared, lifting a trembling finger to silence Walcott, "for once in your life, just shut up." Another fan gawked at Walcott and Baldwin, for the little shortstop was glaring up at the general manager with clear loathing in his eyes, finger shaking rapidly as he continued to hold it before Walcott's face. In his playing days, Rainmaker Baldwin had been known for his calm temper and quiet nature as much as the incredible bloop singles which gave him his nickname. The sight of him dressing down the first-year general manager was thus a memorable one.

"I didn't take that job. You know why?" Walcott opened his eye, but Baldwin jutted his finger again. "I knew that I couldn't handle it. I could never handle the stress. It's not like swinging a bat, you have to think about every single thing all the bloody time. And I went down to the Bowden Bowl like I was here, like everybody else. And I knew that Kelsey Bowden wasn't a manager before you ever thought about giving him the job."

Walcott was thoroughly shut up, merely gazing down at the normally-polite Michael Baldwin as if not quite believing what he was hearing.

"You've got a mediocre defensive catcher hitting .200 as a starter. You've got an outfield of castoffs and mediocrities because you're too goddamned cheap to get some talent." At this, Walcott opened his mouth again, but Baldwin kept going. "You've got the two best players this team has seen since me hitting in a wasteland of no power, no contact, and not a lot of walks. And you have the guts to stand here, look me in the face, and say this team isn't doomed."

At this, Walcott could wait no longer, and if anything his voice was even snippier and more acerbic than the legend's. "I want to keep baseball in this town," he said, simply, an icy stare boring into the unflinching shortshop. "I've got a dozen owners staring at the bank statements on the first of the month wondering if they'll have to fold the team on the thirtieth. I've got to keep the names fans recognize so they bother to show up, and you know what? After I do that, it's kinda hard to get the supporting cast together."

Baldwin was unrepentant. "If the manager could arrange this team properly, they might do something," he snapped. "If the GM could tell the difference between 'bargain bit player' and 'random Canadian college kid', they might do something. I played 480 games in the major leagues and I loved every day I played in Minnesota. And you know what? I still come to this little stadium on this little river, because I spent a lot more time here and I'll be a Civic until I stop drawing breath. And now I see that you're running my team into the ****ing ground."

"Hey, if you want to do my job," extending his right arm, Walcott pointed angrily towards the owner's box, "go apply for it. If you agree to work for less than I am, they'll probably take you, too."

Staring up at Walcott for a few moments, Baldwin shook his head and stormed off, stopping outside the large glass doors to sign a program for another young, awestruck fan.

---

"In 754 games with the Civics, he had 911 hits and 107 home runs. He is the team's all-time leader in hits and batting average, a six-time All-Star, winner of the 1988 Royal Bank Batting Award and a three-time Liberty Series champion, a 1995 United League Hall-of-Famer, the Rainmaker, Michael Baldwin."

From the press box, Frankie Truro recited the Rainmaker's prolific resume with his usual calm, velvety tones, but in the stands, the fans rose to their feet as one to applaud the diminutive shortstop as he strode onto the field. Dressed nattily in suit and tie, he paused for a moment to wave to the fans, which merely enthused them all the more. Attendance was at its highest in months, as even the most casual fans trotted out to salute their long-time hero.

Walking onto the field, Baldwin paused to shake hands with Pancho González, his teammate for his last two Edmonton seasons and his partial successor in the hearts of Edmonton's fans. The handshake turned into a hug, the two old friends reuniting happily in front of the pitcher's mound. Melvin Stewart also strolled up, and the two exchanged a few grins and a few words: Stewart had faced the Rainmaker a few times when Melvin Stewart began his United League career with the Billings Barnstormers.

"They never cheer me this loud," said Pancho with a grin as soon as the chat with Stewart was over.

"Don't sweat it, Punch," said Baldwin with his accustomed quiet smile and a little punch on the first baseman's arm. "I'm sure you'll be popular around here someday."

With a laugh, González strolled away as Baldwin walked up to the mound, kicking away some of the dirt and squinting in to Ki-tae Yi for the ceremonial first pitch. Rearing back, Baldwin sent up a little fastball way high and outside, which Yi easily got over and caught. The crowd roared.

As he headed out with a wave of his hand, Kelsey Bowden stopped the shortstop at the top of the dugout. "Nice to see you again, Rainmaker," murmured Bowden, clapping a shaking hand on the shortstop's shoulder.

"Great to see ya, Kelsey. You're doing a great job." Smiling easily, Baldwin soon strolled past Bowden, leaving the manager watch his former acquaintance stroll into the dressing room, stopping to sign something for an awe-struck batboy.

William LaFontaine got the start for the Civics, and as he fired his pitches in, it soon became clear that they may as well have just let Baldwin finish what he started. Allowing a run in the top of the first, LaFontaine soon found himself in his traditional struggle. But, by the end of the first, LaFontaine had settled down somewhat. In the second, he retired Carl Thomas, José Ferrer, and Ernesto Molina, three pretty good hitters, in order. In the third, the top of the order came up and Luis Reyes dug in against LaFontaine.

Reyes was the league leader in batting average, a renowned contact hitter, a man capable of getting a hit off of anybody. But LaFontaine was beginning to fly high, and pitches flew in. A slider coming up on the hands made even the disciplined Reyes swing, and the ball lightly flew to surehanded Scott Deakin in centre, who reeled it in handily.

Héctor Trevino came up next, the left fielder gazing out at LaFontaine with the confidence which came from facing William LaFontaine. Sure enough, on the first pitch Trevino hit a slow roller to Sam Quintal at second. The slow Quintal charged down the turf while the lightning-quick Trevino ran for first, and by the time he got the ball in Trevino was safe on an infield hit.

Then, out came Kelsey Bowden.

"Bowden coming up to have a word with LaFontaine," commented Frankie Truro idly, but in the stands the large crowd was aghast. "What're you doing, Bowden?" yelled one fan as he plucked the ball from the hand of LaFontaine after only forty-one pitches and a single run. Howls of derision and anger greeted the manager, as the once-confident and suddenly-crestfallen LaFontaine slipped off towards the bench, only to be replaced by Tom Colbert and his ERA of twenty-seven.

For Tom Colbert, it was an awkward situation: stepping on the mound even as the home crowd rained boos down upon him. The designated hitter Pancho González immediately leapt out of his seat to meet LaFontaine on his way in, grabbing the young pitcher and thumping him in the side encouragingly, while most of the bench immediately followed González's lead to try and buoy up the dismal pitcher. But Colbert had no such support network, and though he got out of the third unharmed, it was by the skin of his teeth.

Colbert did not last, however. In the fourth, he was hit for three runs, and Melvin Stewart came in. The league's leader in games played, however, was showing the miles, and after only two-thirds of an inning the wheels came off, yielding three walks and three runs in the fifth. Félix Vásquez came into stop the bleeding, but the Civics were already down 7-0 on Michael Baldwin Night.

"Now we need some rainmaking," murmured Sam Quintal from the bench, looking even more despondant than the Civics always were.

30-year-old starter Carlos Miranda was still on the hill for theee Angels in the sixth, and a rally seemed a million miles away. Quintal strode up to lead off the top of the order and managed to foul off three pitches against the hard-throwing Miranda, but eventually yielded a harmless ground-out to third.

Raúl García was next up, and, being a rather feeble swinger, he was an unlikely figure both to be hitting second in the lineup and to ignite a rally. However, García had one important skill: fearlessness. Not even twitching as a Miranda fastball came hurdling into his head, he went down in a heap but soon popped up, strolling to first and sending up Xiang-ling Xun.

The crowd was less than exuberant for Xun, especially when he let the first two pitches by him without so much as twitching. On the third, however, the quiet hitter found what he wanted to see, getting the bat to the ball and hitting a frozen rope into right-centre. García, showing no ill effects from his beaning, got on his horse and managed to get into third without a throw. The crowd was far more animated for the number four hitter, Pancho González, and when González grounded out to second it was all he needed, as García got across to score Edmonton's first run.

So it began. In the seventh, another sacrifice hit by Scott Deakin scored Wei-kang Nao, and though Raúl García more than redeemed himself for his accidental usefulness by stranding the bases loaded, the rally was officially on. Vásquez's pitches were dancing across the plate, and though Kelsey Bowden was showing his normal reluctance to yank a reliever, Vásquez was at least making it work. The Angels got a run in the eighth, but in the bottom of the inning Bob Zasko sent Xiang-ling Xun across on a fielder's choice and then Scott Deakin picked up his second RBI by knocking a single into left and scoring Denny King.

The Civics, however, had got themselves into a hell of a hole, and remained four runs back in the bottom of the ninth. Gregg Payne, Port Angeles's closer-cum-long-reliever, had come in for the eighth, and in the ninth he would face the best part of Edmonton's order.

Sam Quintal strode up and, as if his miserable experience as a leadoff man meant nothing, drove a line drive into centre. On the very next pitch, Raúl García did exactly the same thing, and Quintal slid in safe to third to put runners on the corners for Xiang-ling Xun.

This time, the crowd cheered him raucously, and Xiang-ling casually tapped his bat on the plate as he gazed easily at Payne. Four pitches flew in; three balls and a strike, none of which saw Xun lift the bat off of his shoulder. The 3-1 pitch saw a swing, the ball fouled off towards third. And on the next pitch, Xun stroked it into the no-man's-land between second and the centre fielder, sending Quintal rushing home and García to third on the single.

Pancho González was the tying run when he strode to the plate, and he swung like a man thinking about it too hard. An immense cut at the 1-2 pitch sent González back to the dugout, shaking his head more grimly than usual ("Baldwin woulda hit it!" yelled one fan from the stands).

Denny King, however, was up to the challenge, An easy first-pitch single eked through short, sending García home and Xun to third, with runners on the corners for the third time in the inning. Again, the batter was a great cutter: Wei-kang Nao, a man incapable of doing anything other than hitting for power or missing entirely. He opted for the latter, swinging so hard at a pitch in the dirt for strike three that the bat leapt out of his hands and the home-plate umpire had to duck to avoid a beaning.

With two outs, up strode Bob Zasko. Bob Zasko, owner of a .209 batting average. Bob Zasko, a solid fielder but a hopeless hitter mired in the worst of slumps. Bob Zasko, facing the best reliever Port Angeles could muster against him, who had already sent Pancho González and Wei-kang Nao to the dirt looking stupid.

But, like Raúl García, Zasko had one great asset which could make up for everything: he was patient. Three firm balls flit by him without so much as an eyelash twittering. And when Gregg Payne made that one mistake, Zasko got a-hold of it, and the ball arked easily into right.

"Go! Go!" yelled González from the bench, forgetting his previous melancholy as he leaped up and waved his arms frantically. Xun scored easily from third, walking away without even watching the action behind him. The right fielder, Jeremy Ryan, was a man with a solid if not spectacular arm, but Denny King was one of the fastest players in the United League chugging from first, dust churning up from his feet as Ryan got his hand on the ball.

He didn't even try to throw. King tied the game to an immense roar from the crowd.

Scott Deakin promptly flew out, and in the top of the tenth Vásquez walked out once more. With immaculate ease, he struck out the first two and forced the third to fly out. Ki-tae Yi then led off the tenth for Edmonton. If ever there was a chance for Gregg Payne to get outs, this was it: Ki-tae Yi, Sam Quintal, and Raúl García were not exactly a murderer's row.

Yi walked. When Quintal knocked a double-play ball to Payne, the pitcher promptly booted it to the catcher, who tried in vain to catch Quintal at first on an error. When he walked Raúl García to load the bases, the hook finally came, and José De Jesús walked into face Xiang-ling Xun.

The crowd was entirely on its feet. The team had none out and the two best hitters to try and get one run across. Xun stood in the box, utterly oblivious to everything, and when "ball one" was called, he did not so much as react.

"Ball two!" Still, nothing.

"Ball three!" This time, the crowd leapt up in roars of delight, Yi smiling to Xun from third, but, once more, the shortstop did not even blink, windmilling his bat as if it were the first pitch rather than the fourth.

"Ball four!" The crowd erupted. Ki-tae Yi charged in from third, De Jesús stared on from the mound in shock, and the catcher was met by an ecstatic mob as the Civics won, 9-8. The cheers echoing through AGT Field were unlike anything heard in that park throughout the entire depressing year, a callback to the glorious days when Michael Baldwin was lacing his singles all over the continent, a young Pancho González was the greatest young player in the league, and the Liberty Series was not merely Edmonton's goal but its god-given right. And, in the midst of this final release of jubilation in a season filled with misery, Xiang-ling Xun strode away calmly, ignoring even an offered high-five from an excited batboy, merely walking into the dressing room so he could go home.

Michael Baldwin went back to join the Minnesota Drummers after the game; he was working as a colour commentator for the major league team's radio broadcasts. But the effects from his visit and the win that had accompanied it remained. The next night, Drees Wolf won a nailbiter against the Wild Thing, Bartolo Rodríguez, with both pitchers hurling complete games and the Civics only pulling away with a six-run eighth in a 12-6 victory. The Civics then strode into Billings and took two of three from the division-leading Barnstormers, closing it with a magnificent 15-9 victory in which Ki-tae Yi went deep twice and Israel Anaya was just a bit less terrible than Sam French, who did not even escape the second inning and took the loss.

A sweep of the Boise Idahoes followed, and in the final match Joe Bascombe, Melvin Stewart, and Dusty Gill combined to throw a fairly normal game: Bascombe went seven innings, Stewart one in a setup role, and Gill came in for a one-inning save. This curious experiment in normal managing led to a 3-2 victory, with the number seven hitter Bob Zasko and the number nine hitter Ki-tae Yi providing all three RBI.

The Civics were 7-2 in August, the last month of the regular season. Yet, for all their success, they were still effectively doomed. There was no realistic shot at a playoff spot: the Civics had begun the month simply too far out. At best, they could mar the chances of another team. A sweep in Port Angeles, one of their competitors for a wild-card spot, merely cemented things. But the Civics were still playing some of their best baseball.

Perhaps this was due to the sheer relaxedness which sometimes settles into losing locker rooms. The team had nothing to lose, and the sheer tension of the ballplayers tasked with saving a franchise began to dissolve when this became clear. Indeed, even the most straitlaced players began to let their hair down a bit, as evidenced when Adam Wallace stepped into Kelsey Bowden's office.

"I want to hit," declared Wallace.

This startled Bowden. It was true that, in batting practice, Wallace was fond of stepping into the batter's box just to prove that he could. But he had never swung a bat in a competitive game in his life, and wasn't that good a hitter in practice. "Good for a pitcher" was how Sam Quintal put it, with a rather derogatory smile, "but he wouldn't last a second at the plate." If the team was in a playoff race, even Kelsey Bowden would have laughed Wallace out of the room. But it wasn't.

"Sure," said Bowden immediately.

On October 20, Adam Wallace got the start on the mound for the Edmonton Civics, and threw five innigs, allowing two runs. He also got the start as the team's designated hitter (a rather obscure United League regulation allowed a pitcher to do both), and went 0-for-4 with a strikeout. Sam Quintal was looking quite prophetic.

The next night was the back end of Edmonton's sweep in Port Angeles. Once again, Wallace was the designated hitter, though this time Joe Bascombe was pitching. José Núñes was opposing for Port Angeles, and retired the first three Edmonton batters in order. In the second, Núñes faced Pancho González to lead off, and allowed a long solo home run to the first baseman. Denny King and Wei-kang Nao promptly struck out, drawing Wallace to the plate.

On the first pitch, Wallace managed to get solid contact, driving the ball foul into left field. The second was a casual called strike, and the third a ball, but on the next pitch Wallace again turned on one, driving it foul. The third, likewise, popped up into the stands behind home. But digging in, Wallace peered at Núñes, and as the fastball came in, Wallace swung and smoked the ball, sending it easily into the seats in left field.

From the dugout, Sam Quintal yelled bursts of the most shocked profanity in the English language, and González leaped to his feet in joy, leaping to the top of the dugout before Wallace was at first base. Even Wallace himself allowed himself a little joy, pumping his fist with a grin as some lucky fan ran outside the wall and collected the token of Adam Wallace's first career United League hit. The Port Angeles crowd allowed themselves to indulge in a smattering of boos at the triumphant pitcher, while José Núñes looked on with an expression usually reserved for somebody running over his cat.

Though the Civics ended up getting their lunch handed to them and Wallace went 0-for-3 the rest of the game, there was still exuberance at the bar after the game, where the Civics feted Wallace's feat, unprecedented in Edmonton Civics history.

"Not so hard, is it?" Wallace had asked Xiang-ling Xun mockingly; the shortstop had been dragged out to the celebration against his will, and his sombre demeanour was under attack by the enthusiastic pitcher.

"I mean, you just see the ball, then you hit the ball..." Wallace laughed again, taking another draught from his beer. Beside him, Denny King thumped Wallace on the back, and it was a token of Wallace's good mood that he did not immediately turn around and threaten King with bodily harm.

"If it's so easy," Xun had seat, voice quiet but laden with menace, "let's see you do it twice."

Wallace did, in fact, manage to go 2-for-4 in his next game in Trail, prompting manager Phill Guay to murmur loudly in the press about brushing that pitcher bastard back from the plate a bit next time. Perhaps this rattled Wallace, for he went hitless the rest of the series, though he did manage a pair of run-scoring sacrifices in the third match.

Edmonton's final game of the season came at home, against the Salem Bingoes. The Bingoes were last in the West Division, the Civics third in the North. Neither had anything to play for save pride, and with Joe Bascombe getting the start, he had given the lads something else to think about.

"Boys," Bascombe had said while they were getting changed at AGT Field before the game, "I think this is it."

The others had merely nodded. None expressed any particular surprise: the forced transition from a great pitcher in the Japanese league to a serviceable pitcher in the United had clearly been galling the 36-year-old all season. Once upon a time, he had been the best pitcher in the second-best league in the world, and now he was unlikely to even be the best pitcher on his team. Only Pancho González had anything to say: "why now, Joe? We could sure use you."

Bascombe smiled. "Jesus, Punch. I ain't Joe O'Kirwan, I ain't Michael Baldwin. Maybe those guys could stick with Edmonton after they stopped being major leaguers, but I can't. I've won titles, I've won awards, I've got everything I need, and when I'm done I might go to the Hall of Fame." His smile was wistful, sad, but there was no hint of indecision in his voice. "I want to get out before I outstay my welcome."

At that, even Pancho nodded silently.

The general fan, of course, knew nothing of this. But the attendance on a clear night in Edmonton was better than usual, with the fans showing up to send off their boys on Fan Appreciation Night. Bascombe received his usual polite applause when he was introduced as the starting pitcher, and as always it dimmed next to that afforded Pancho González, Xiang-ling Xun, or even the city's new hero, designated hitter Adam "Home Run" Wallace.

Mario Durán knew nothing of Bascombe's decision, either, or if he did he showed no respect for it. In the top of the first, the Salem left fielder stroked a long home run to straight-away centre, scoring two runs and giving Salem the 2-0 lead. As the ball landed on Jasper Avenue, eyes on the bench flickered to the erratic Kelsey Bowden. But the skipper, showing more poise in one day than he had all season, simply smiled. "Not yet," he said quietly.

The first went by without event for the Civics, but in the second, fan favourite Pancho González strode up against Ronald Tipton. The first pitch was the only one González needed, and he stroked a centre-field homer of his own, even deeper than Durán's, smashing another car window on Jasper Avenue and causing a raucous roar from the fans. Their enthusiasm continued through the strikeouts of Wei-kang Nao and Home Run Wallace, and stuck with Joe Bascombe as he retired the third without trouble.

In the bottom of the third, things opened with singles from Scott Deakin and Ki-tae Yi, but after fouling off six pitches Sam Quintal managed to ground into a double play and seemingly kill things. Raúl García, however, managed to line a double over second, and Deakin scored from third to tie the last game of the season. More runs came in the sixth, when a Wei-kang Nao single scored Xiang-ling Xun from second without a throw. With runners on first and third, Adam Wallace strode forward, waving his bat with easy confidence.

Once again, Wallace tagged a pitch, and the crowd leapt from their seats in delight. But he had gotten under it, and the ball drifted to the left fielder, allowing him to make the snag. Denny King, however, took off from third and scored the sacrifice fly, beating the play at the plate by a mile to make it a 4-2 lead. Finally, in the bottom of the seventh, Xiang-ling Xun delivered the coup de grace: a three-run home run, his thirty-ninth of the season. Only one thing remained.

In the top of the ninth, Joe Bascombe stepped out onto the hill one more time. He had allowed three runs to that point in the night but he had also struck out nine, and the crowd was cheering as if they knew that it was his last inning as a professional baseball player. They didn't. But that's the magic of baseball.

Chris Lynch stared at Bascombe, the leadoff hitter and his formidable .348 batting average forming a mighty obstacle for the aged pitcher. But not mighty enough, as Bascombe sent him down swinging on a cruel cutter.

Mario Durán stepped back in, his old nemesis from the first inning. Bascombe, however, smiled easily. Another cutter sent Durán swinging and missing on strike three.

His entire career, that cutter had been Joe Bascombe's bread and butter. In Japan, it was said no pitcher had ever done more with one pitch. Even in his old age, when after more than a decade of overwork his velocity had absolutely died and his breaking pitches were unable to compete with quick bats, that cutter had always been there to give him the outs he needed. Now, as his body had to stand up for the last time, that cutter was spending what was left of its magic.

Jorge Gonzáles, the Salem first baseman, swung and missed at two cutters from Bascombe. By this time, Gonzáles and everybody else in the building knew which pitch was coming, and when it came, he swung. But it cut just a bit too much, and the ball lifted lightly into the air. Wei-kang Nao drifted in from left, following the ball easily, and making the catch. The crowd roared as Bascombe finished his complete game, and as the Civics congregated to celebrate their season-ending 8-3 win, none outside that happy huddle noticed Nao handing Bascombe that ball and a pat on the back.

---

"Phill Guay will put Trevino aboard intentionally. 2-2, bottom of the tenth, the Port Angeles Angels are one run away from winning the Liberty Series."

From a hotel room in New York City, Mitch Daniels sat on his couch, an icepack resting on his aching knee. He had managed to find an Internet feed of the last games of the Liberty Series, games which the Trail Smelters had seem to have in control. After brushing past the Eugene Cranes in the first round, Trail had taken a 2-1 lead heading home, having controlled their two victories and with the United League victory seemingly in their grasp. But, twice at home, victory had slipped away from them. And now, back in Port Angeles, the end might have been nigh for Mitch Daniels's old rival the Lethbridge Lumberjack.

"Miguel Trevino looks in for the signs" (Daniels, like everybody else, had smiled at Trail's Mexican pitcher Miguel Trevino facing the unrelated Floridian Héctor Trevino, and had frowned in disappointment when Guay opted for the intentional walk), and fires into Carl Thomas... it's a curveball, in the dirt, ball one."

Really, Daniels had no idea why he was listening to the game. His United League career was obviously over. His old American Baseball Association comrades at the New York Sky Warriors were bringing him in for a job interview, and his life in baseball seemed set to continue. But the instant he had heard that his old minor league rival was within an inch of a championship, he had started to tune in. And, from the first instant he had turned on that Internet radio, the Smelters had started to lose the series. It should have been funny, but it wasn't.

"Thomas takes a fastball, strike one." The Port Angeles announcer, Daniels found himself musing unbidden, wasn't half as good as Frankie Truro. He wondered why he cared about that. He had listened to Truro call the United League All-Star Game his injury had forced him to miss, and had quite enjoyed the experience. This guy wasn't nearly as good. He tried to affect the same gentle non-chalance, but screwed it up with a disturbing air of excitement behind his every word.

"Curveball now, swing and a base hit!" There was that excitement. The Port Angeles man was practically yelling now. "Here comes Ferrer from second! He's getting waved home, Ayala gathers the ball and throws home, it's a rocket, he's going to make it! He's going to make it! Ferrer is home! The Angels have won the championship! The Angels have won the championship!" Crowd noise echoed through the small hotel room. "Carl Thomas, the pinch-hitter, with an RBI single in the bottom of the tenth! The Port Angeles Angels have won the Liberty Series! Give the win to Gregg Payne, what a great playoff he's had! For the second time since moving from Victoria, the Port Angeles Angels have won the Liberty Series! Oh, this..."

Leaning over precariously to avoid standing on his bad knee, Mitch Daniels clicked the small 'X' in the upper right-hand corner, and the over-exuberant announcer vanished into the aether. Twisting back into his former laying position, Daniels stared up at the roof, and silently thought.

Coming Up: Chapter Seven: Reloading

[GrimmyDee]

Man, you have a follower. Do NOT stop this! Although, don't burn yourself out either...

I will wait for the quality work you put out. Keep it going man.

[zukes]

If this is the same Pommpie from Eastside days and the Montreal Canadiens (Jan fcuking Bulis) dynasty then you guys are in for a treat. Ranks up there with ckknox for story telling.

And if it is, I am zukes from the SHL, welcome aboard.

[ifspuds]

Wow. Just... wow.

How on earth did I miss this before? This is *incredible*.

Absolutely fantastic read.

[Pommpie]

Originally Posted by GrimmyDee

Man, you have a follower. Do NOT stop this! Although, don't burn yourself out either...

I will wait for the quality work you put out. Keep it going man.

Originally Posted by ifspuds

Wow. Just... wow.

How on earth did I miss this before? This is *incredible*.

Absolutely fantastic read.

You guys are both awesome. :P I was quite happy to write pretty well for myself, but it's sure a lot nicer to know somebody's reading!

Originally Posted by zukes

If this is the same Pommpie from Eastside days and the Montreal Canadiens (Jan fcuking Bulis) dynasty then you guys are in for a treat. Ranks up there with ckknox for story telling.

And if it is, I am zukes from the SHL, welcome aboard.

I hope there aren't that many Pommpies out there. :P Cool seeing you again, zukes. Always great to see that the old SHL guys haven't all been hit by a train.

[Pommpie]

Sorry about the wait: between moving, school, work, and everything wrapped up in all that bologna, I haven't had a lot of time to really sit down and bang out some baseball story. Hopefully I'll be settled in soon and will be able to get back to things: I know both of my readers would be devestated otherwise!

Chapter Seven: Reloading

Every year after the season's end, it was traditional for the Edmonton Civics players to get away from their coaches and trainers and get together at the Bowden Bowl for drinks before the team went their seperate ways, seeking winter jobs, winter baseball, and a contract with whoever their highest bidder proved to be. One night of chatter, reminiscences, farewells and, in a successful season, celebration.

This season, however, had been less successful than most, and with their manager running the old hangout of Civics players for generations, they had been forced to seek alternative accomodation. The bar had, in fact, been a selection of Xiang-ling Xun: named Windows, it was a rather posh joint with bored men in nice jackets and disinterested wives with fake chests openly looking at the bartender's package. It was just the sort of crowd that the shortstop usually hated, and when Pancho González tried to draw Xun out on the reason for his selection while sharing a car, Xun was mum.

When twenty-five minor league professional baseball players strolled into the bar, began to order a massive variety of intoxicating substances, and generally provide the bar with a bit of life and pizzaz that it almost always lacked, however, Pancho began to get an idea.

It was the sort of night that would lead to the police being called if the bar's staff weren't as sick of the usual patronage as Xiang-ling was and weren't quite happy to, after years of being stiffed by a bunch of rich pricks, have the well-paid shortstop and the increasingly inebriated Adam Wallace handing out cash like they were afraid it would light them on fire. Meanwhile, for the first time anybody could remember, Xiang-ling Xun looked genuinely happy, as the handful of regulars still in the building rapidly fleeing. Not all was lost, however; the attractive and charming Dusty Gill accepted more than one business card from a fake-chested trophy wife.

The flowing booze made the mood somewhat less melancholy than it could have been, but there were still some sad farewells to be exchanged. Ki-tae Yi was the first to leave. The catcher had posted a respectable .261 batting average with twenty-two homers in 1997, but, with the owners always demanding a lower payroll, the veteran catcher was deemed surplus by Rich Walcott and his contract was being allowed to expire.

"Got anywhere in mind?" his backup Sloan Leighton had asked Yi as the veteran was on his way out the door.

"Head back to Taiwan, probably," Yi replied, with a small smile. "Sure somebody there could use a catcher." Yi had spent only a single season in Edmonton, and his roots did not exactly run deep. Even his smiling jocularity was being tested tonight: more than once, Leighton had caught the catcher stealing a glance at his watch, and at the stroke of nine o'clock, Ki-tae Yi stood up, endured and dispensed an avalanche of farewells and fond wishes, and walked out of Edmonton forever.

The other free agents to be, however, stuck around somewhat longer. Dave Garner had been in Edmonton for a couple of years and had made some friends there. But the surehanded third baseman was another veteran incapable of providing what Rich Walcott considered important for the ballclub, and his poor skills with the bat had relegated him to only twenty-nine games in 1997. One of the men who had taken his job was also on the way out: Sam Quintal, the veteran Canadian. Neither Quintal nor Garner expressed any clear opinion on their future, and when the retiring Joe Bascombe had asked Quintal what his plans were, the old player had fixed Bascombe with a tired grin.

"Your way's looking better every day, Joe," Quintal answered, patting the pitcher on the back with one hand and downing another shot of whiskey with the other. At the same time, however, Quintal stuck around longer than any of the other departing Civics, remaining hunched over the bar with the rapidly dwindling core group until early in the morning.

Raúl García was the only other everyday player on his way out. In 126 games, García had hit .263 with fourteen homers: respectable stats, especially when combined with García's pace on the basepaths and skilled fielding. He was also due for a big raise, and more than a little tired of comparing Edmonton to his native Panama. He had not been tendered an offer yet by the Civics, and he seemed less than broken up over it.

"You're an important player!" the drunk Adam Wallace had hollered across the bar. "You can catch and run and stuff!" In Edmonton during 1997, these were rare skills.

"Not as important as you, apparently," García had replied sadly to the pitcher/designated hitter, who had received his big extension earlier in the year.

Nick Smart, Israel Anaya, and Carlos Mendoza had played a few games with the Civics in 1997, and all were being unceremoniously let go. Pitcher Roberto Sánchez was also unsigned, but for all his talk about 'testing the market' and 'trying something new', Sánchez had proven more than once over his three years in Edmonton that he bled Civics pink.

"He'll be back," González had murmured to Sánchez's bullpen partner Melvin Stewart. "Guarantee it. Be surprised if it takes a week."

Paying attention, Sánchez's head jerked towards Pancho González. "What was that?" he yelled drunkenly.

"I said you'll be back!" yelled Pancho, his own drunkenness stepping proudly to the fore. "You couldn't leave us, Robbie! You'd go nuts!"

"Shut up!" Sánchez replied. "Shut up! I'm testing the goddamned market, you sons of bitches!" Pancho and Melvin both just laughed.

In time, the night came to a close, and the players began to head for cabs, call friends for rides, and generally scatter themselves into the four winds. As they stood on the curb, Pancho González and Xiang-ling Xun glanced between each other and the street, rapidly searching for the cabs that would spirit the last two Civics away. González lived year-round in Edmonton, but Xiang-ling Xun was heading back to his native Taiwan for the offseason, and was indeed boarding a flight to Los Angeles that very morning.

The two infielders stood in the chilly October morning, silently waiting for their rides to arrive. When a yellow Ford Taurus pulled up before the pub, Xiang-Ling immediately dashed forward, yanking the rear door open and leaping to the back seat like he used to leap into line drives heading for the outfield.

As the door closed, Pancho said, "Xun?" His voice was, unusually for the large gregarious man, quite quiet.

The shortshop paused, leaving the door ajar. "Yeah?"

"Good luck, man."

Xiang-ling nodded, formally. "You too," he said, simply, pulling the door closed with a bit less haste and disappearing into the night.

The next day, United League free agents filed. The most prized commodity was Billings Barnstormers outfielder Bill Williams: the five-tool star was attracting more than one major league scout, but the eight United League teams all had their wallets out to try and bring the superstar to their city. However, they were doomed to be disappointed: at noon, free agency opened, and by one o'clock Williams had signed a winter league contract with the Aguilas Superchargers in the Dominican Republic.

"This is a great chance for me to play against some top players and really improve my game," a beaming Williams had said at the press conference. The message was clear: Williams was hot, and he wanted to prove himself to those big-league scouts that had been tabbing him by spending the winter playing baseball, and maybe spending the summer playing in Boston or Montreal.

October 7 saw the first of the former Civics landing on their feet: Raúl García had gone back to his native Venuzuela, inking a one-year winter league contract of his own. García did not go unmourned in baseball-savvy Edmonton: the sports page of the Edmonton Sun carried more than one letter criticising the departure of the consistent and valuable third baseman. Even skipper Kelsey Bowden reacted, sending García a hand-written letter thanking him for his service and wishing him all the best in Venuzuela. García wrote back with his gratitude, and when the response came in, Bowden made sure to leave it open on his desk just where Rich Walcott would see it.

The next week, however, Walcott opened fire on his own. October 15 saw Roberto Sánchez return to the Civics fold; taking two weeks rather than Pancho's predicted one, but returning all the same. When Sánchez (who had never even left his Edmonton apartment) walked into the Bowden Bowl the night after his signing, Pancho González was in attendance. And he made very sure Sánchez knew it.

"I told you!" the loudly-spoken first baseman had yelled, leaping out of the booth where he was drinking with a few friends and wrapping the slight reliever in an immense bear hug. "I told you you'd be back, you beautiful son of a bitch! You could never leave us, you bastard!"

"Jesus, Pancho!" Sánchez muttered as best he could, given that his face was currently buried in a burly shoulder. "I tested the goddamn market. The fish just weren't biting."

"Try putting the line in the water next time!" González retorted, releasing the pitcher and dragging him over to his booth where, for the next several hours, the two baseball players and their compadres proceeded to get very, very drunk.

However, the major impacts had yet to come. It was only three days later when the next addition to the Civics family came, and his name was rather bigger than that of some popular but ultimately mediocre long reliever.

Roberto Espinoza was everything a United League pitcher had to be. He was young, at only 23 years old, loyal, had a rubber arm, and enough pitches to keep lower-quality hitters baffled. Never really considered a prospect, Espinoza threw an inning and a third in the rookie league and was promptly released, spending the next couple seasons kicking around reserve lists in the low minors. It took the Pueblo Anchors to rescue Espinoza from obscurity, letting the youngster into the rotation in 1996. Espinoza immediately proved he could play this game: he struck out twice as many as he walked, kept his opposing batting averages low, and didn't give up many long balls. The mediocre Anchors made Espinoza one of their most important players in 1997 and he didn't disappoint, compiling a 10-3 record with an even better strikeout-to-walks ratio, an opposing average of .258, and fourteen home runs in 156.1 innings. His 4.32 ERA raised eyebrows, but a fastball in excess of ninety miles per hour, a high-quality curve, and a crippling sinker soon lowered them. Tall, young, and potentially dominant, Espinoza didn't lack for suitors in the United League or in some of the other low minor leagues. However, most of those teams were looking at Espinoza as a pitcher later in the rotation. Rich Walcott, on the other hand, made it clear to Espinoza at the outset: you're number two.

That was all it took.

Espinoza's signing generated unusual buzz in Edmonton, considering that it was baseball and it was almost Halloween. Walcott had the city's attention and he didn't let go. Five days later, the second shell hit: two more Pueblo Anchor alumni found themselves in Edmonton. First baseman Jesse Cantrell had been run out of Pueblo on a rail, nicknamed 'Jesse Cantrun' for his mediocrity on the basepaths and considered possibly the worst defensive first baseman in the United League. The 26-year-old Californian's average was reasonable, scraping out .279 in Pueblo and with a good enough eye to draw a few walks as well. More importantly, he had some pop, knocking out nineteen homers in a pitcher's park in 1997, helping to replace the power already lost that offseason.

Also coming to Edmonton was reliever Pat Nelson, a rather mediocre 21-year-old reserve list pitcher. Going the other way was starter Kichibei Fujita, who had managed to compile an 0-6 record as a starter in 1997 with an 8.49 ERA and fantastically mediocre peripheral stats. The trade could be summed up as an out-of-favour infielder for an out-of-favour pitcher, but the unemotional and unliked Fujita would not be missed in Edmonton. The question of Cantrell's own personality would be resolved later.

The next day, the Civics signed their long-term replacement for Mitch Daniels. Second baseman Michael White had come via the Boise Idahoes, where he had spent two seasons as a utilty infielder. White, 23, was another young player for the rebuilding Civics, and combined a nice ability to knock out singles with first-class fielding at first, second, and third. He had even filled in at short more than once in his career and done fairly well for himself. In the United League, where the roster was tight and the budget even tighter, affordable players like White could be the backbone of a contender for years to come.

On October 27, the Civics wrapped up the month of October in style, snagging veteran Luis Reyes from Port Angeles as a free agent. Reyes was a Gold Glove left fielder by trade with the ability to play centre and right skilfully. Quiet and forlorn, Reyes had a reputation as a prima donna and had never been well-liked at any of his stops throughout his baseball career. But he could play ball: in addition to his defense, Reyes brought some of the best contact hitting in the United League to Edmonton. Reyes could bunt and hit singles all day long, and though his career high in homers was five, his other skills made him a dream United League leadoff man.

However, Reyes's arrival crowded Edmonton's outfield. The Civics had lost relatively few outfielders to free agency, and with Reyes, Scott Deakin, Bob Zasko, Denny King, Rick Lewis, and Wei-kang Nao all battling for four jobs, somebody was going to be the odd man out. By seven o'clock that night it was apparently Nao: the 25-year-old was popular, he could hit home runs, he could steal bases, and he could take a few hits away from the other guy. But he suffered from an appalling lack of consistency, was lousy at just getting on base, and the Civics had both speed and fielding ability to burn in the outfield. So Nao found himself traded to Pueblo, with the Civics snagging young catcher Ángel García in exchange.

On paper, it was a brilliant trade for the Civics. García was a promising 23-year-old backstop who had hit .343 in part-time duty in 1997. He could gun down base-stealers far better than former starter Ki-tae Yi, already had plenty of ability at the plate with nowhere to go but up, and most importantly relieved Kelsey Bowden of having to play the unready Sloan "Groundhog" Leighton as his starting catcher. On paper.

When Ángel García rang up Kelsey Bowden from his home in Pueblo, he displayed immediately how fragile paper could be.

"Holy Christ, man!" García yelled, his Brooklyn accent standing out slightly in his stress. "I just get comfortable in Pueblo, just get my apartment set up for the next year, and I'm told I'm going to play up in the goddamned Arctic? What the hell is this?"

The manager was, to say the least, not used to being talked to like this. Whatever their feelings about Bowden, the veteran Civics had enough respect for his history to treat him politely. But García had no idea who Kelsey Bowden was, had no inkling of the history of the Edmonton Civics, and wouldn't have cared if Rainmaker Williams himself teleported into his living room. All he knew was that he was young, happy, engaged to be married, and now being sent off to, for all he knew, live in an igloo.

"Listen, son," Bowden began, stammering slightly as he tried to catch up to the catcher's fury. García had already rolled on.

"Jesus!" García replied. "I mean, I got a girl here, y'know? We pick out this great apartment, put down the damage deposit, and all of a sudden I'm heading up to Edmonton. Edmonton? Where the hell's Edmonton? And I'm going to play with you no-name pricks in some crappy little cornfield, and I'll be damned if anybody's going to send scouts up there to rescue me either."

Bowden took a deep breath, his voice shaking with something that was not anger. "I've been in Edmonton a lot of years..."

"Oh, that's all I hear. 'I've been here for twenty years, you know'. Maybe you guys should think about why you've been in that craphole for so long. I quit." And García hung up.

When Bowden reported this conversation in a quaking, unsteady voice to Rich Walcott, the general manager had merely nodded and curtly dismissed Bowden. The next day, the coaching staff was informed that García would, in fact, be reporting to Edmonton for spring training as planned. Kelsey Bowden, who now had a starting catcher, did not appear relieved in the least.

The rest of the winter passed fairly quietly. As the Civics slumbered, winter league games occured in the more pleasant parts of the baseball playing world. In Aguilas, Bill Williams had the worst season of his professional life; a wrist injury endured during the United League season failed to heal properly, and by the time Williams had his swing back, it was too late. By the time he and the Dominican Republic bid each other adieu, Williams had hit only .256 and his slugging percentage had dropped .150 from his United League season. Even his traditionally reliable fielding deteriorated because of the injury, and it cannot be said that Aguilas was sorry to see him go.

In November, the Civics made their last move of 1997, signing Greg Hubbard from the Pueblo Anchors to a two-year contract. Hubbard was a third baseman by trade: short and stocky, Hubbard lacked speed but had good baserunning instincts. His fielding was outright bad, and his batting average tended to hover around the Mendoza line. However, the 34-year-old had been ricocheting around the minor leagues for almost a decade and a half, never spending more than a few months out of a job. His great strength was his almost overwhelming power: in Pueblo he had hit a monsterous 39 home runs, and one hit in three had left the ballpark. Like so many one-dimensional power hitters, Hubbard struck out like he was born to do it, but he had fashioned an awfully long and proud career out of his own skill. Old-timers in the Dominican still remembered his 1993 season in Azucareros, where Hubbard had played 35 games, gotten 13 official at bats, and had one hit. Naturally, it was a home run.

As the New Year wound on, a few old Civics began to find new homes. For catcher/first baseman Nick Smart, that home turned out to be home, as the 29-year-old retired from baseball after failing to find a team interested in his services. 36-year-old Sam Quintal, who had spent 16 years in professional baseball ranging from the rookie league to the high minors, joined him on the tenth. On January 20, Ki-tae Yi signed a multi-year contract with the Uni-President Halos in his native South Korea, proudly stating how glad he was to finally be home to anyone who would listen.

As spring training approached, news of the Civics began to filter into the paper. Adam Wallace arrived in Edmonton in early February, with Sloan Leighton following him the day after. With Roberto Espinoza and Ángel García acquired during the offseason, both players found their positions under threat, and both took the chance to work out together and get into shape early. Throughout February, pitchers and catchers began to trickle into the various cities of the league in the approved United League way, arriving when they felt like it with the only iron-clad prerequisite being to be ready for spring training on March 5. But the most important action was happening outside the eye of the sports sections, as Rich Walcott worked the phones. The motley crew of Edmonton Civics owners found themselves bombarded with phone calls from the general manager, desperately urging them to scrape up cash. A general cash call went out among the owners, and a further bank loan was arranged. All this was conducted with Walcott pushing from off-camera, trying to scrape up every dime he could, promising them that he could deliver results that would justify it all. When chairman Kevin Torrett gave Walcott his money, it was with an important proviso: "this had better be worth it, or it's your ass".

On February 5, Edmonton traded speedy outfielder Rick Lewis to the Billings Barnstormers for first-base prospect Nelson "Shock" González and 20-year-old pitcher Yosuke Sakurai.

Later that day, they officially signed Bill Williams to an eight-year contract.

Even Kevin Torrett had to spit out his coffee when that news arrived. Eight years? Had Rich Walcott completely lost his mind? Sure, the timing might be right, as the best player in the United League had played his way out of a major league contract with his mediocre winter league performance. But Williams would surely not be cheap, and when word came of a contract averaging about $295,000 a year, their faces grew even more pale. Only the old-timers grasped what was going on, remembering that the great Michael Baldwin had come to Edmonton in much the same way: an insane six-year contract for a guy who everybody thought was on the back nine of his career. That, the old-timers were quick to observe, had turned out pretty well.

But still. Eight years.

The press room at AGT Field was packed the next morning when Williams was formally introduced, in spite of it being a snowy February in Edmonton with baseball normally the furthest thing from most minds. The former Billings Barnstormer was all smiles, as a man who was making more than most AAA players might reasonably be. For all his skills on a baseball diamond, Williams could be abrasive and had confidence that bordered on cockiness. Today, though, he was in a good mood, and he was making sure the reporters left just as happily.

"Oh, the weather?" Williams laughed even as the snow piled up outside. "I spent two years in Billings, guys," he said with a grin. "After that, this is great. I mean, at least the sun comes out once in a while." He spoke proudly of playing for a legend like Kelsey Bowden, a guy he'd heard tonnes of times about growing up in New Mexico, no small distance from any United League team. He praised his teammates, his ballpark, and even the water that had been set before him. He was the perfect ingratiating professional athlete, and the press ate up every minute of it.

When spring training convened on March 3, the 1998 Edmonton Civics had more-or-less assembled. Fifty players in total showed up for the training camp, ranging from the Bill Williamses and Xiang-ling Xuns to mediocre talents attending on a tryout and hoping to make their way onto the reserve list. Most would be culled before camp was through, and not even established veterans were safe. Drees Wolf was probably the best baseball player in Aruban history and a respected, solid member of the Civics pitching crew. However, he showed up in Edmonton almost fifty pounds overweight, and the new weight took away almost everything he once had as a pitcher. Worse, the newly-fattened Wolf lacked the commitment to get back into shape. Even mild-mannered Kelsey Bowden soon had enough, and Wolf was promptly given his walking papers.

The squad soon divided into two teams for intra-club games. Bowden managed one team and bench coach José Morales took the other. When actual balls started to fly, it began the long process of weeding out who deserved to be there and who didn't. Reliever Charles-Émile Sirois had pitched in twenty-one games for Edmonton in 1997, but the Chatham native found himself beginning 1998 in a far deeper club. Sirois had been pencilled into the bullpen for 1998, but Masamune Okawa had played six games in 1997 and arrived in top shape, determined to take a job. The job would be Sirois's, and the 21-year-old reliever found himself on reserve before camp was through.

Nelson González, brought in from Billings in the Rick Lewis trade, was 21 years old and a raw prospect. The Hawaiian was considered a solid bet to be a United League regular someday, but that day was not supposed to be today, and he had spent 1997 on reserve in Billings. But Shock lived up to his nickname: he arrived in better shape than any other infielder in spring training, made solid contact with the ball, and displayed sure-handed fielding everywhere in the infield. An intra-squad game pitted Nelson González against the starting first baseman Pancho González, and the two Gonzálezes both raked against the split-squad pitchers. Though the infield was crowded, Nelson González was immediately elevated on Edmonton's depth charts.

Of course, the stars were stars. The only questions about Adam Wallace and Roberto Espinoza was who would strike out the most batters: both came into spring training with spots in the rotation assured, and both went balls-out just to prove to the other that they could. Xiang-ling Xun hit home runs as he always had, as if the activity bored him to the depths of his soul. But observers noticed a certain spark in Xun's eye when he crossed paths with Bill Williams, who was hitting in Xiang-ling's traditional third spot and bumping the shortstop down to fourth. The two alpha dogs immediately displayed an inability to get along, but both were men accustomed to taking out their anger on poor, innocent baseballs. Certainly, the few fans left happy and with plenty of souveniers.

The game schedule kicked off on March 5 in Eugene against the Cranes. Luis Reyes, Xiang-ling Xun, Bill Williams, Pancho González, and Michael White all appeared, but it was one-dimensional newcomer Greg Hubbard who got the preseason off on the right foot, going 2-for-4 with a pair of very, very long flies, including a grand slam in the eighth. The spring-training Civics beat Eugene 6-2 on Hubbard's 6 RBI, and the fans were treated to the amusing sight of the slow Sloan Leighton playing an inning in centre field after pinch hitting for Luis Reyes in the ninth.

Indeed, the Civics were flying in spring training, starting 6-1 before dropping two straight in Eugene and at home to Trail. The first sign of trouble arrived during a game in Port Angeles on the 15th: huge left fielder Matilde Ales hit a routine pop up for the Angels into centre. Bill Williams roamed over casually to make the play, the evening allowing him a perfect view of the ball. However, as the ball descended towards his glove, Williams's concentrated faded for a fraction of a moment, and the ball neatly landed flush on his face.

Reacting quickly, Williams lashed his glove out to make the catch anyway and retire Ales. However, his profane cry of pain echoed through the crowd, and he immediately headed towards to the dugout. Scott Deakin jogged in from the bench as a cursing Williams was led into the dressing room, not to return for the rest of the spring training. A fraction of a moment's lapse in concentration had fractured his cheekbone, and he was estimated to miss six weeks.

Four days later, Pancho González left in the second inning of a game against Pueblo with fractured ribs: an injury that left him on the disabled list for five weeks. And four days after that, Xiang-ling Xun caught an inside pitch off his wrist, putting him on the disabled list for two weeks. Finally, just to add insult to injury, Roberto Espinoza caught strep throat. Four of Edmonton's six best players would start off the year injured.

While the injured were sitting and talking, however, Greg Hubbard's bombs were falling. Hubbard led the spring in home runs, to no great surprise: everybody knew he could mash the ball. He also led the spring in walks, tied with teammate Bob Zasko: surprising, but Hubbard had shown he could get on base from time to time. More alarmingly, he was ninth in batting average with .345: for Greg Hubbard, an absolutely fantastic number. This allowed him to rest at a comfortable third in OPS, with the leader being Pueblo's He Liu, a former Eugene Crane who had hit 39 home runs in only 98 games in 1997 with a batting average worthy of his power.

The Civics finished atop the North Division in spring training, with a record of 15-9. But five of those nine losses had come as the injuries had begun to ravage the Civics' core, and it was an axiom of baseball (particularly United League baseball) that spring training success meant less than nothing.

"After all," Kelsey Bowden had mentioned to the troops after their last game of March, a 7-6 loss to Billings, "we led after spring training last year too. And look how far that got us."

The only question was, would this year be different? As Kelsey Bowden looked at his lineup, the names leapt out: Bob Zasko starting in centre instead of Bill Williams. Nelson González replacing Pancho at first. Melvin Stewart pitching Roberto Espinoza's scheduled first start. Xiang-ling Xun who was swearing that, come hell or high water, he'd play opening day, but was currently slated to be replaced by Michael White, with the mighty Jesse Cantrell filling in at second.

He'd seen better.

Coming up: Chapter Eight: The Hurting Heroes

[darkcloud4579]

This is really thorough. Great work indeed. Keep it up!

[Pommpie]

Originally Posted by darkcloud4579

This is really thorough. Great work indeed. Keep it up!

Thanks for the kind words. Always glad to see that somebody's reading.

[307x]

They're just being nice. Nobody's reading. Least of all me.

[Bobble]

Great dynasty. I was all set for a Mitch Daniels/Xiang-ling Xun storyline. I hated to see Mitch go.

[Pommpie]

Well, that only took, what, two and a half months? You know how it is: this chapter didn't precisely write itself and I was hardly ever able to sit down to churn some writing out. Still very much alive, though, and I'm still very much enjoying feebly trying to put this thing together. Hopefully the next chapter will be a bit quicker (so expect it sometime in 2010).

That said, I was still only on page two of the dynasties forum. So... uh... good? Small victories, guys. Let's relish the small victories.

Chapter Eight: The Hurting Heroes

Salem, Oregon was a lousy place to spend Opening Day. The state capital was not exactly renowned for excitement or a consuming passion for baseball. The Salem ballpark, imaginatively named Salem Field, was the smallest in the United League: a decrepit, unpleasant building which reeked of sweaty socks, which had only bench seating for all but the highest-paying ticketholders, and which had an atrocious grass field. The only hotels near the ballpark were roach-infested monstrosities, the beer was expensive, and (sadly for the 20-year-old players) the bartenders actually checked ID. The only consolation for visiting teams was that the Bingoes hadn't been very good for a few seasons, and you could usually hope for a win or two in a three-game series.

Still, some poor bastards had to show up to give the Bingoes somebody to play. This year, the sorry duty fell to the Edmonton Civics.

"My favourite thing about Salem," veteran outfielder Scott Deakin had said as the team bus rattled through the city, "is that you can catch a train to Vancouver. Shame there's no time for that on a road trip." In the seat beside him, R.J. Yeo nodded boredly, listening to his CD player and tapping his finger on his knee.

Turning towards Yeo, Deakin did a double-take when he saw the earbuds in Yeo's ears. "Jesus Christ, R.J.," Deakin cried, jerking the CD player out of the unexpecting pitcher's relaxed grip. "What can you possibly be listening to that's more interesting than Salem, Oregon?"

Yeo sputtered various objections as Deakin pressed the eject button on the CD player, fighting for it with the pitcher even as the lid opened. "Limp Bizkit?" Deakin asked, incredulity creeping into his tone. "Limp Bizkit? Are you kidding me, Yeo? Is this some kind of joke?" Deakin shielded the CD player with his back even as he turned to give an accusing glare to the young pitcher.

"They're not bad," Yeo protested, clawing for the CD player as the larger Deakin successfully kept it away. "Seriously. Their second album's supposed to come out sometime soon and I'm going to be listening to that on the bus too..."

This was a mistake. "Jesus, son," Deakin said, popping the CD out of the player. "I've got to get rid of this before you erase your brain." Lifting the CD, Deakin stuck his hand out the window.

"Do it!" yelled a voice from the back of the bus.

"Come on, Scott..." R.J. said plaintively, but the plastic disc fell from Deakin's hand, smacking across the interstate and rolling off into the distance."

As the bus roared with laughter and Deakin tossed the CD player back to Yeo, the pitcher grumped, "You guys are assholes."

The Civics which started off 1998 were little like the ones which had begun 1997. Luis Reyes, Bob Zasko, Jesse Cantrell, Greg Hubbard, Nelson González, Ángel García, and Michael White were all new to the starting lineup from one year ago. Only Xiang-ling Xun and Denny King remained, with the shortstop successfully browbeating Kelsey Bowden into letting him start in spite of his healing wrist. The starting pitcher, at least, was familiar: Adam Wallace would take the ball for Edmonton for his second consecutive Opening Day. Against him stood another old face in César Torres, entering his sixth year with the Bingoes and at 27 years old just running into his prime as a pitcher.

The start was, at least by the standards of Salem, rousing. Luis Reyes flew out to lead off the 1998 baseball season, but utility outfielder Bob Zasko, in for Bill Williams and the proud owner of one professional home run, hit Torres's changeup on a 2-1 pitch harder than he had any right to. The ball flew out to right field, narrowly clearing both the wall and Yeo-san Ch'on's outstretched glove, to give the Civics a 1-0 lead.

Despite his preseason dominance, Adam Wallace slipped slightly when his turn came up to defend that lead. A leadoff single to Ch'on and a fielder's choice left designated hitter Chris Lynch on first, a tall and lean man widely regarded as the quickest DH in professional baseball. So when Jorge Gonzáles hit a double into centre with Lynch on second, the run was a sure thing. Wallace managed to strike out Kosaku Suzuki on a nice fastball to end the inning, but the damage was done.

"Goddammit!" Wallace had yelled as he stormed back to the dugout. "I hung that curve. I hung it and that son-of-a-bitch Gonzáles was all over it." Grabbing his warmup jacket angrily, the pitcher stamped into his seat as he pulled it on to shield him from the chilly April air. The new Civics around him shuffled away with a mixture of respect and fear: most of them hadn't been around long enough to be used to Adam Wallace's erratic behaviour, and when they noticed Kelsey Bowden distinctly avoiding him they had decided to follow their skipper's lead, avoiding even a glance in Wallace's direction as if he were throwing a no-hitter and not merely swearing at his curveball.

It took Bob Zasko to respond to the pitcher, and he did it in his typically friendly and polite way. "Jesus, Wallace!" the centre-fielder yelled, leaning forward off the bench to fix the pitcher with a glare. "So you hung a pitch. Stop whining and actually think about your baseball for a change." Leaning back into the bench, Zasko mouthed an oath as the other players flickered their gaze between Zasko and Wallace, and as Kelsey Bowden tried to avoid looking at anybody.

The only sound was that of the ball bouncing off of a bat and that of Nelson González charging from third, ploughing into Salem catcher Manny Figueroa and being called out. Wallace almost went purple, his glare on Zasko heating up to such an extent that even the tall centre-fielder was beginning to wilt. It took the end of half an inning to rouse Wallace from his fury, and he and his fielders jogged out to play some defense.

Almost as soon as Wallace retook the mound, leadoff man Ernest Pratt promptly singled. Wallace's curse echoed through the stadium, and parents put their hands over their children's ears.

It's said that you can't pitch angry. For Adam Wallace, however, pitching angry had become as natural as breathing and picking fights with teammates. Pratt's single roused the fury in Wallace, and, with his pitches dancing around (and, often enough, out of) the strike zone, he struck out Manuel González and Yeo-san Ch'on in quick succession, before getting Chris Lynch to feebly ground out to short. Inning over.

What emerged was a classic pitching duel between Wallace and Torres. In the top of the fourth, Torres struck out Jesse Cantrell after Cantrell managed to foul off six magnificent pitches, and Wallace replied in the bottom by striking out the side. It wasn't until the top of the seventh that one side got something going. Torres walked the catcher Ángel García after García survived a 2-2 count by fouling off three pitches, and a fielder's choice left the far faster Michael White at first. A Denny King single moved White to third, and as if sensing a collapse, the Bingoes went to the bullpen, sending in unremarkable 32-year-old southpaw Kimi Abe. Too little, too late. On his first pitch, Abe allowed the speedy King to swipe second, and on his second he yielded a line drive single to Luis Reyes, scoring both White and King and making it 3-1 Civics. Wallace lasted another two thirds of an inning before being pulled for Masamune Okawa, with one earned run to his credit.

In the top of the eighth, the Civics picked up some insurance. Nelson González singled home Jesse Cantrell to pick up his first professional RBI and make it 4-1 Edmonton. The struggling Abe intentionally walked Greg Hubbard before González's at-bat and accidentally walked Ángel García after, leaving Hubbard on third, González on second, and García on first. A wild pitch scored Hubbard and moved the runners, allowing Michael White's grounder to send González home. 40-year-old Simon Bond, a fixture of bullpens around the minors for twenty years, came in to save the rest of the inning, but the Civics had rushed to a lead they would not give up. Masamune Okawa allowed a run in the bottom of the ninth but it was irrelevant, as the Civics won the opener 6-2. In six and two-thirds, Wallace struck out eight, walked two, and allowed five hits to get the win.

There was no night of partying in wild Salem, but the team still looked hung over the next night when they dropped the second half of their two-game set 8-2. Roberto Espinoza became the next Civic to try and shrug off an ailment, opting to pitch through his nasty case of strep throat, and getting lit up like a pinball machine for his trouble as he allowed five earned runs and four walks in five and two-thirds. The only bright spots for Espinoza were that he managed to strike out five Bingoes batters in that time, and that reliever Masamune Okawa was even worse, going a third of an inning and picking up three earned runs of his own thanks to a Manny Figueroa homer before Kelsey Bowden mercifully gave him the hook.

The next day was an off-day, spent taking the long bus ride from Salem back to Edmonton, where the Civics would host the Pueblo Anchors for a three-game set, welcoming back a few former Civics in the process. Wei-kang Nao would be back in Edmonton for the first time since his trade to Pueblo, and former Civic Kichibei Fujita was slated to pitch the third game of the series. Meanwhile, a mob of old Anchors would be encountering their old teammates for the first time as Civics.

The series got off on the wrong foot for the Civics. With R.J. Yeo on the hill you could usually expect a solid outing, but four earned runs in seven and two-thirds was not up to the durable southpaw's usual standard. Meanwhile, while Jesse Cantrell drove in Luis Reyes in the bottom of the first inning, the Civics mustered only one additional run later in the game, and not even a fantastic three strikeout night by former Civic Wei-kang Nao slowed the Anchors down as they took a rather casual 6-2 victory.

The next two nights, however, things began to get back on track. After a three-run six-inning start from Melvin Stewart, the Civics bullpen shut down the Anchors in game two of the series and allowed Xiang-ling Xun's seventh-inning home run to stand up as the winning margin in a 4-3 victory. The next night, the mediocre Kichibei Fujita was unexpectedly solid for seven innings, while Anchor alumnus Yosuke Sakurai allowed five earned runs and didn't escape the fourth inning. Once again, though, the bullpen was lights out. Felix Vásquez and Dusty Gill each threw three and a third, while second baseman Michael White's first home run as a Civic sent the game to extra innings and Jesse Cantrell won the game with a walk-off bomb in the bottom of the tenth.

These two games kicked off a minor streak for the Civics. Pancho González returned to the lineup the next night for a home game against Trail, and while Luis Veya threw a complete game for the Smelters, Adam Wallace was absolutely lights-out, pitching eight innings, striking out nine, not allowing a run, and running his ERA down to a scanty 0.61. The Civics mustered only two runs but, with Wallace continuing to pitch like his life depended on it, that was plenty. Embattled reliever Masamune Okawa completed a splendid night by getting the save without so much as breaking a sweat, and the Civics won 2-0 on their way to a sweep of the three-game series.

By the end of the Civics series, the team was officially firing on all cylinders. Jesse Cantrell was raking the ball: the former Anchor was hitting .433 with three home runs and seven runs batted in, all best on the team. Stars like Xiang-ling Xun and Luis Reyes were pulling their weight. Michael White, usually the ninth hitter in the lineup, boasted a .286 batting average. Catcher Ángel García was perhaps the biggest surprise. His earlier disappointment about coming to Edmonton had by no means receded, but he had managed to hit .318 so far this year. Better, his defense was a big upgrade over the mediocre former starter Ki-tae Yi, and while baserunners had once run wild on the Civics, they now did so at their own peril. On the bench, utility players like Scott Deakon and Nelson González were helping the team both with their bat and their glove. Even the pitching was holding up: R.J. Yeo was finally starting to come around, Roberto Espinoza was holding up, and Adam Wallace was the early favourite for most valuable player.

Naturally, it was high time for it to start to go wrong.

The Civics went into Billings and were promptly swept in their three-game set. In the last game of the series, a 6-5 loss, R.J. Yeo threw six pitches before tearing a tricep muscle and leaving the game. It was the third tear Yeo had suffered in nine months, and the expressions of the team doctors were grim. "R.J.," said one of the medical staff, "might end up having to make a decision sooner rather than later."

"It's really not a big deal," Yeo, enthusiastic as always, had explained to the media after his latest injury. "It wasn't like I tore the same muscle three times or anything, so I'm not overstraining one joint or something. I'm sure I'll be back on the mound before the end of the season." He had grinned at the reporters, but the somewhat shell-shocked look on the team physician's face was far more telling. Excited and optimistic though the young pitcher was, the reality was far more serious that he would publicly acknowledge or even consider on his own. Yeo went on the sixty-day injured reserve and William Lafontaine, who had compiled an 0-6 record with a 5.34 ERA and a .281 opponent's batting average with Edmonton in 1997, was brought up from the reserve list.

Though it was only the first month of the season, the Civics were proving unable to keep a consistent lineup together. Injuries and inconsistency were colliding to make Kelsey Bowden's job far more difficult: Pancho González was back and hitting well with a .391 on-base percentage, but as he tried to get his timing back his accustomed power had not yet reasserted itself. Bill Williams, the best player in the United League in 1997, was still on the mend with his fractured cheekbone, and with Abbotsford native Bob Zasko playing in left the team was losing something like 200 points of batting average. Even after a 2-for-4 night in Billings during Yeo's last game, Zasko was hitting a ludicrous .143, seven points better than starting pitcher Adam Wallace had mustered in 1997 during his season-ending stint as a designated hitter but still almost remarkably lousy. Worse, third baseman Greg Hubbard, allegedly a starting player, was hitting below .150 without his usual power numbers.

In the pitching rotation, Adam Wallace was being Adam Wallace and Roberto Espinoza was living up to expectations, but 30-year-old Melvin Stewart was struggling. Stewart was a solid veteran pitcher for the Civics and had played 66 games in 1997, but his return to the rotation had not yet been a pleasant one.

On April 26, Stewart took the hill against the Port Angeles Angels, looking to put his mediocre starts behind him. His adversary was Halifax native Damien Pedneault, a solid but unspectacular pitcher in his third season with Port Angeles. An average finesse pitcher, Pedneault's splitfinger was renowned in the United League but he was no ace: the perfect slumpbuster for the struggling Civics.

Naturally, in the top of the first, Pedneault embarrassed the top of Edmonton's order. Luis Reyes ground out to second on a 1-1 pitch, Denny King struck out, and Xiang-ling Xun followed Reyes almost perfectly to second baseman Carl Thomas to end the first half of the inning in rapid time. Melvin Stewart, meanwhile, had a little more trouble but got the results: his first out came on a highlight-reel snag by Pancho González as the usually mediocre fielder dove to steal a hit from Port Angeles's leadoff man Dave Cooper. Against Alex Chambers, Stewart got an 0-2 count but then threw three consecutive balls before finally striking Chambers out, and while Mike Miller grounded out to second, it was on an ill-advised cut at a 2-0 pitch.

Stewart had done the job in his first inning, but his expression as he returned to the dugout was less than enthusiastic. Receiving a pat on the back from Jesse Cantrell as the designated hitter went out to leadoff the inning, Stewart dropped himself into his spot on the bench, not even looking up as his warmup jacket was tossed over his shoulders by a bat boy.

"It's not there, guys," the veteran cried to nobody in particular with a smile on his face. Kelsey Bowden looked back from his usual spot on the dugout stairs but didn't say anything. "It's just not there. Jesus, we're going to need some runs tonight!"

Soft-spoken though he was, Melvin Stewart had never been the most confident reliever. Over the years, most of his actual worry had dissipated with his success, but self-deprecating humour at awkward moments remained a hallmark of his. Looking over to Pancho González, technically on deck but spending most of his time chatting at the dugout than warming up, Stewart cracked a smile. One which Pancho returned only reluctantly: he had known Stewart for many years and he'd always suspected that such 'jokes' were merely a cover for a genuine lack of confidence.

"Come on, Mel," González called down, his voice maintaining a false jocular mood. "It's still 0-0. Anybody's ballgame." Outside, there was the faint sound of a crack as Cantrell made solid contact on a pitch, driving it into the gap in left-centre field. A better player would have had a double but for Jesse Cantrell, barely capable of outrunning continential drift, a single would have to suffice.

The pitcher laughed, grinning far too widely and shaking his head as he looked up to González. "Pancho, buddy," he said, and his tone while friendly was also somewhat condescending, like a father explaining to a child why he couldn't play in traffic, "you're a good guy and all, but you're not a pitcher. Some nights you have it, some nights you don't, and tonight I just don't!" Another laugh, as if he was trying to act far more amused than he actually was.

Midway through his sentence, there was an alarming crash off the top of the dugout as Greg Hubbard fouled one off in their direction. Most of the Civics winced, but Stewart seem unaffected.

"Just don't sweat it, Mel," Pancho retorted, over the sound of another ball being fouled off behind home plate. The first baseman had been a teammate of Stewart's for many years, had seen many of these fits, and still continued to try and help Stewart get through them every time one came up. "You can handle things out there tonight. You've beaten better guys than this before in your sleep. I know it, you know it, the rest of these assholes know it..." the collection of assholes in question made no reply, "so just take a deep breath, close your eyes, and go out and jesus!"

This cry had been caused by the sound of either a small nuclear bomb going off or Greg Hubbard hitting a ball with all his might: the sight of Hubbard standing at home, his bat gripped in his right hand and angled over his shoulder as he admired his shot implied the latter. Hubbard didn't so much as twitch as his ball flew, and there was no need to: it was clear the wall in left field by dozens of feet. As a unit, the Civics leapt to their feet to watch the ball fly, and the instant it was past the billboard for Chip's Fish and Chips in left field, the entire team (including Melvin Stewart) burst out in a roar of approval. Hubbard took his slow jog around the bases as the howls of joy from the Civics (and the howls of derision from the Port Angeles faithful) rained down upon him, and was met at home by Cantrell and González, the former high-fiving Hubbard firmly and the latter giving Hubbard a large, awkward but exuberant bearhug.

"Jesus, you hit the hell out of that one!" Pancho yelled as the two scorers retreated to the dugout, before assuming his place in the batter's box.

One of Pancho González's flaws as a baseball player was that he could be a bit of a free swinger: though his on-base percentages and walk numbers were always reasonable, things could get away from him a bit. Sensing that Pedneault was struggling already, González went into the batter's box thinking "home run", and he kept thinking "home run" until his leviathan cut at a perfect splitter twisted him around in futility for strike three.

Angel García, the next batter, struck out looking. However, with two of the Civics best hitters already retired, it was time for the mediocre players to step to the front: Bob Zasko lacked power but he had speed in abundance. A light smack of the ball down towards third was all he needed to get aboard with an infield hit, and when Michael White followed by hitting a liner to centre, it was runners on first and second with the leadoff hitter up.

Luis Reyes struck out looking.

"Come on!" Pancho González roared from the dugout, leaping to the top of the stairs. "Are you kidding me? That was way outside, you goddamned clown!" González's criticisms were lost in a general roar of indignation from the Civics dugout and the sound of the Port Angeles fans applauding their pitcher as he got out of a jam.

"Bastard allowed four hits, two runs, and struck out the side," Xiang-ling Xun mumbled to Pancho as he grabbed his glove. "Maybe you should swing less and watch more." The shortstop was gone before Pancho could come up with a witty reply, and the seething Civics took their places in the field.

Eduardo Reyes (no relation) led off the inning for the Angels, and the Civics frustration at the previous half-inning showed immediately. Reyes slapped a routine grounder to Xiang-ling Xun at short. The mercurial shortshop seldom let his irritation show, but he was a baseball player. Like all baseball players, he had the ability to take something as minor as a missed balls-and-strikes call and let it stew in his head until, trying to make the throw far too quickly, he fired the ball over Pancho González's head and into the outfield.

As the shortstop roared a string of profanity that was as out-of-character for him as the fielding error was, Luis Reyes tracked down the ball and hurried it to second: too late. Eduardo Reyes was on second thanks to the error.

The next batter went little better as Curt Roberts smacked a line drive to first. It was a difficult play and Pancho González dove for it, but what resulted was the worst thing possible: he hit the ball with his glove but not enough to stop it. He merely slowed it down and changed its direction, forcing Luis Reyes (who had already been hustling for the ball) to jerkily change direction and giving Roberts and Reyes more time on the basepaths. Reyes scored and Roberts ended up with a standup double, making it a two-run game.

"I just don't have it tonight, Pancho!" Melvin Stewart called to first with a light grin, in spite of the fact that both hits were due to fielding mistakes.

"Just pitch, will you?" retorted the first baseman angrily, brushing some gravel off his rather ample gut and glaring to the rather smug-looking Roberts at second base.

The next pitch, however, was the sort of thing that could turn an inning around. Roberts was a quick player who had stolen sixteen bases in 1997, and he'd been eying third since he's come aboard. Perhaps he had thought he was facing Ki-tae Yi again, for testing Angel García's arm from home to third was conspicuously unwise. On the first pitch Roberts went, and García almost instantly had the ball in Greg Hubbard's glove: so quickly that Roberts had time to consider turning back. But the hesitation merely destroyed his chance at a lucky slide beneath Hubbard, and he was tagged out easily. The next two batters flew out easily, and Stewart was out of the inning with only an unearned run against him.

Both pitchers got through the next few innings without damage, but neither were exactly throwing darts. Pedneault came within an inch of a Bob Zasko two-run homer in the fourth, while in the bottom of the same inning Stewart had the bases loaded with one out before escaping with a fly out and a fielder's choice. It wasn't until the top of the ninth, with Rhett Martin pitching for Port Angeles, that another run came courtesy the bat of Greg Hubbard: a formidable solo home run to right field, his second long ball of the night and one that, if less impressively long than his first, restored a two-run lead for the Civics. A Xiang-ling Xun RBI single against Martin in the ninth accounted for the rest of the scoring as Melvin Stewart pitched through the eighth before giving way to Dusty Gill. Gill closed out the bottom of the ninth in style: striking out the Port Angeles designated hitter Curt Roberts on a slider to give Stewart a seven strikeout, five hit victory on 104 pitches.

Not bad for a guy who just didn't have it that night.

The win in Port Angeles was the beginning of a miniature winning streak that would take the Civics through the rest of the month. On the 28th, the Civics returned to Edmonton for the first time in nine days to face the Boise Idahoes. Adam Wallace was on the hill and had his worst start of the season: eight hits, three runs, and five strikeouts. Masamune Okawa and Dusty Gill held the fort in relief and the Civics were able to tee off on Idahoes reliever Donald Head to get the tying run in the seventh, and win it in the bottom of the tenth thanks to a Luis Reyes single driving home Pancho González for a 4-3 victory.

The next game against the Idahoes was just as dramatic. Roberto Espinoza cruised through seven innings: eleven strikeouts and no runs allowed. The normally reliable Dusty Gill faltered in the ninth with a 3-0 lead, though, as he allowed two hits and three walks in two-thirds of an inning to let the Idahoes tie the game in the top of the ninth. With extra innings seemingly inevitable, Xiang-ling Xun came up in the bottom of the ninth with two out and two on and nailed a long home run towards the North Saskatchewan River, once again sending the fans home happy in a 6-3 victory. Finally, with William LaFontaine getting his first start of the season, the Civics blew a 4-0 lead courtesy two-thirds of a rotten inning by Felix Vásquez and once again went to extra innings where, once again, a walk-off home run put the game away, with Pancho González doing the honours.

"Three games all going down to the last batter," Frankie Truro had observed with his usual detatched tones as the Civics congregated at home plate and the fans roared after González's homer. "Three games going into the win column for the Edmonton Civics, who run their record to 11-6 and put themselves in position to challenge the Billings Barnstormers for the division." Truro paused to take a sip of water, letting his listeners enjoy the celebratory sounds coming from the field. "The Civics move to Eugene tomorrow to face the Cranes, and Bill Williams will make his Civics debut. As always, we'll have the first pitch for you at eight P.M. Mountain Standard Time..."

As Frankie Truro went into his standard speech at the end of a baseball game and as the Civics filed into the locker room, they could hardly even guess what a bizarre month was coming up for them.

Coming up: Chapter Nine: Chutes and Ladders

[Pommpie]

Bad news, reader: I'm an idiot.

Installing a new Linux distribution on my OOTP machine, I meant to only reformat the root partition, thus leaving all my data intact. However, I realised too late that the unintelligent installation program had no idea what a partition was and was, in fact, reformatting my entire hard drive.

Particularly the only copy of my OOTP story.

Therefore, this story is at an untimely end. I'm sure at some point I'll give another one a whirl. I just need an idea first.

[darkcloud4579]

Well nonetheless, this was a great start and good work. You'll be back and we'll look forward to it when you do.