Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Jazzmosis]

Here we are, Chapter 34. It's late today and didn't come together very well but I think I got everything I wanted to down. Not much else to say.

Stay tuned.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 34: The Surprise Loss

We left July with a 45-59 record, 14.5 games out, and in dead last. The deadline had passed and I had some new faces to deal with. Loyd Gray was a weathered veteran that was signed through 2009, but his bad knees had put the 33 year old in DHing duties - and now, with Delph gone, I was plugging him into third base - a position he hadn’t played for two years. He was born near New York City, and was a fairly quiet player - went out and did his job, and never complained about where he was or why management put him there. His defence at third was poor at best - his rusty play gave him five errors in August as the coaches warmed him back up to play. But what he lacked in defence, he made up for in his offense - which was the entire reason Chadwick had made the trade for him. On a whole, though, he and I didn’t talk that much - the most we would have is a conversation about an opposing pitcher or if he was asking me a question. Loyd just seemed to prefer associating himself with players closer to his age.

Then there was Lester Kibby. This 6'7, 215 pound, 30 year old lefthander was talkative and very easy going, but some of the players would get fed up with him because he would rarely take anything seriously. He studied the tapes and did what was required of his contract, but when it came down to taking leadership he wasn’t exactly the guy everyone looked up to. And his career had been a roller coaster ride in the year, as well. After starting 2007 ice-cold, Minnesota, the team he’d been drafted by, exposed him to waivers hoping to sneak him to AAA, but Cleveland scooped him up. The Indians, baseball’s worst team, kept him and watched as he turned his season around in a no-pressure situation, and he actually went 6-4 with a 3.52 ERA in his three months there - which made him an interesting piece of trade bait - one that Chadwick bit on and tried to rectify our pitching woes. Of course, giving up Giichi ruined that situation. He had just come off a 15 win season in the twin cities, but his ERA was poor (4.93). Now, riding this hot streak, I made it clear that he would be going on 3 days rest likely until the end of the season. He seemed ecstatic about that proposition, telling me I would be very happy with his performance. I found him very easy to joke with, although I quickly discovered that he was tipping his pitches.


To welcome ourselves to August, we lost four in a row. Vasser was handed a tough-luck loss on the 5th, pitching six innings and giving up only 1 run in a game we eventually lost 7-0. However, once Andrzejewski stepped out onto the mound, our luck started to turn around. Loyd Gray hit his first jack as a Diamondback, joining Casablanca and Carlock in a 6-1 home run induced victory. We followed that game with another slugfest victory, and by the 12th, we had won five of our last six. Renick had gone on his typical power outrage, hitting his 23rd bomb and bringing home his 84th man. He was miles ahead of Carlock for the lead, who was trailing at the time with 71.


Once again, we started playing hot-cold with wins. Roberts lost his second game of the season on the thirteenth, going only 4.2 innings for the second start in a row. His walks were uncharacteristically high, as he gave up 6 free passes. I wasn’t worried until his next start, when he only went 4.2 innings for the third time, garnishing yet another loss. However, it wasn’t something I was thinking of.


August 17th, 2007. I was awoken by a series of bangs on the door, like someone was pounding the apartment. I stumbled out of bed and dragged myself to the door. When I opened it, I was greeted by two men in suits, who introduced themselves as “Agent Fullerton” and “Associate Agent Visciano”.

Still groggy and not totally coherent, not to mention just wearing my pyjama pants, I invited them in. “What’s. . . commotion?” I asked, putting on some coffee.

“Do you know an individual known as Katherine Cannelle?” Visciano said, sitting at the table.

I thought long and hard. “I know a Kate. But I don’t know her last name.”

“Ms. Cannelle is a 20 year old female.” They slid some pictures across the table. I looked at them, before realizing who it was. Kate.

“Yeah, I know her. Why?” My nerves jumped into my throat as I spoke.

“We’re with the Witness Protection Program, Mr. Jazzington. We’ve seen her with you multiple times, and she’s now missing.”

“You were spying on us?” I asked, before cluing into what he said. Missing.

“No. Part of our duties is to keep an eye on her, making sure threats don’t come back. We understand you and her started a relationship. Considering her circumstances, I would say that is a bad thing.”

“What?!?” I spat back. “I didn’t even know she was in the WPP until she told me!”

“Granted. That’s not something you openly admit to people.” Fullerton interrupted.

“What are you getting at?”

Fullerton gestured to Visciano, and then took off his glasses and sighed. “We haven’t had contact with Ms. Cannelle about two weeks ago. I mean, at all. We’re wondering when the last time you talked or saw her was.”

I thought, and responded exasperatedly, “I don’t know. . . just over a week, I think. We just got back from a road trip.”

“So you haven’t had contact with her at all?”

“No. Are you deaf?” I shot back. I still wasn’t all back in it.

The two Agents looked at each other and then back at me. “We’ll keep in contact, but we’ve been looking for some time. Haven’t turned up anything. Her roommate says that she didn’t notice anything out of place or anything - she just disappeared.”

“What did she see that makes her so valuable?” I cut in.

“Something terrible. If we lose her, we lose the case.”

“The case is still open?”

“The criminal is still at large. Highly elusive, and she’s the last witness. We figure either she’s gone on the run or he found her.” Visciano said.

“Saw what? What did she see?” I demanded.

“We’ll keep you in the loop, and we’ll let you if we find her. You’ll be the first one we call.” Fullerton responded.

They both walked out as I tried to get answers to the questions that had just bombarded me, but to no avail. All they kept telling me was I’d be in the loop.

I never heard from them again. As for Kate, I found out what happened to her years later.

We lost that night, although my mind was not in the game at all. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened, or where she was.


Meanwhile, the four man rotation was going strong. Andrzejewski improved to 13-6 on the year with a 4.16 ERA, cementing himself as the best starter on the team. Roberts was handed some hard-luck losses, but kept his ERA under 4. And then Kibby, who’d struggled since joining the club and he and Vasser had nearly got into a fist-fight more then once, threw a career game on the 30th. 6.2 innings, 5 hits, 10K’s, no ER or walks. Look picked up his 25th save, and Yong picked up his 100th RBI - on a solo home run, his 28th of the year.

We finished August with a 14-15 monthly record, sitting at 58-74, 13 back, and yes, still in the gutter. We had closed in on Colorado, who was only 1.5 games up on us, so I made our team goal to get out of the gutter.


Hensley, McDonald, Malowinski and I went out to the bars that night, looking to cause a scene. The four of us, apart from Vasser, were the youngest and we were up to no good.

However, while at the bar called Strubs, while Malowinski talked up some girls (poorly) and Hensley and McDonald were playing a drinking game with a group of others, she caught my eye. I had just walked up to order another drink, when I noticed her in the stool beside me. She had been sitting there the whole time, and it was me who had just by chance found her. She gave me a smile as I waited for my drink.

“Hey. I’m Mark.” I said as I returned her smile, extending my hand to hers.

She grasped my hand and pushed her dark hair away from her eyes. “I’m Irene.”

[cubuff38]

Jazz is a stud. Too bad his team blows.

[Jazzmosis]

It's been ten days since my last installment, and I have to apologize for not bring this out on Saturday - it simply wasn't done. However, as this finishes off the regular season, I found so much to write about, that it kept going. I was going to put this as a two part, but as a gift to you, the loyal reader, I'm lumping it all in one. It's quite long, so I hope you enjoy!

Coming up soon: Chapter 35: One Hit, One Month, One Underdog's Tale

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 35: One Hit, One Month, One Underdog’s Tale

I spent the next hour at the stool with Irene. She was stunning, her looks enhanced by the fact that I was drunk. Not that she wasn’t a burner without alcohol, but as typical to me, I would never have found the courage if I wasn’t slowly forgetting everything I did. Her long blonde hair was styled so strands fell over her eyes, while the rest split over her shoulders, some in the front, some wisping behind her back. She told me she was 21 as she sipped on her rye and coke. Her eyes were blue, and she was in college in Phoenix studying business administration. Of course, she was originally from a town in Oregon called Redmond, and had just returned to Arizona for the new school year. I had a hard time remembering everything as the night went on and I took down more and more beer.

Malowinski finally managed to pick up a girl and was the first one to leave, and was soon followed by McDonald. Hensley was going to leave with me, but when he saw who I was with he smirked and left Strubs alone.


“Are you a baseball fan?”

“Of course! Grew up watching it with my father, playing whenever I could find time.”

“What’s your favourite team?”

“I suppose I should say Arizona.”

“Cheering locally now?”

“Not at all. I’ll always cheer for Seattle.” She smiled and gave me a wink.

“The Mariners aren’t doing too well this year.”

“Neither is the Diamondbacks.”

I leaned away. “They’ll turn it around.”

She turned and looked me in the eye. “Why don’t you bat Denniston in the 8-hole and bump Vazquez into an RBI spot?”

I stared blankly at her before answering. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Yes. I watch the games here, and I know exactly who you are.”

It was at this point I realized that I was becoming well known in Phoenix.


The first day of the month was an off-day, but Chadwick called me into the stadium office. I stumbled through the doors, to see him behind his desk, sipping a glass of water. He greeted me with a quick wave.

“What’d you want me in here for?” I asked immediately, trying to be as friendly as I could.

“How was your night?” He asked with a smile.

“Fine, I guess.” I responded. Truth was it was hazy, after Irene I don’t remember much.

“I’ve got to talk to you about something.” Chadwick then continued, his smile fading.

“I assumed.”

“You know it’s September, and that means callups. I’ve already called for Jimenez, who’s been swinging a hot bat, so see if you can work him in the lineup a bit. I also brought up Bruce Cellabos, he’s around for defence. Plug him in the infield too. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I was going to mix it up a bit since we’re out of contention.”

“Oh, there’s one other thing. Denniston at first.”

“What about him?”

“I’ve signed George Abercrombie for September. He’s getting up there in age and was released by Pittsburgh. I contacted him about playing for us, and he’s on board. He should help us in the power department, even though he’s been hitting poorly - he’ll walk a lot, so just give him a fair shake.”

“What about Denniston?”

“He’ll have to give way - we got him looking for power and he hasn’t really delivered. I’m unsure of what to do with him so far.”


I met George the next day. The veteran had been playing in the big leagues since 1991. Last year, he had hit his 500th career bomb, while playing for the Astros. Everybody knew this guy was going to the hall, but after Houston put him on waivers and Pittsburgh dropped him the week before, people thought he was finished. He had been used sparingly by both teams, and after slipping into a 0-24 slump, the Pirates decided he wasn’t worth the contract, and gave him his walking papers. At that time, he had 1984 career hits. Guys that have been in the game a long time understand when their time is up, and great players like Abercrombie understand when it’s over, and will leave gracefully. But you give them a sniff of a milestone, and they’ll player harder then any man on that team, they’ll flex more then any hot rookie, they’ll do anything to reach that elusive number.

“Numbers run this game, and no matter how good of a player you are, if you get close to a milestone and you miss out, you’ll be remembered as the guy that ‘almost’ made it. To have a career characterized as ‘almost’ makes you feel like you should have done something different. That you can’t retire until someone gives you that chance. That number laughs at you, and the fans wait and wait and wait. . . if you never reach it, the fans wait forever, and you feel like you’ve let them down. Every pitch becomes a tease, the ball robs you - nothing else matters in your career, because you didn’t do it. You didn’t make it. So you go out there, and you defeat that number. You light up the crowd, the ball, you succeed in the game. Milestones run this game, and everyone in it.”

George Abercrombie told me that when I asked him about whether or not he was excited about the chance to get number 2000. George never really fit in with the team for the month he played in Phoenix, he didn’t talk to a lot of the players. He gave advice when asked, but a lot of guys didn’t ask for it. Jimenez wanted to, and Denniston talked to him occasionally, but for the most part, the only person that talked with him was me. I listened to him and his stories, and everything he told me was amazing and interesting.

“I was a true underdog when I was drafted. 18 years old out of highschool in Vermont, I was. It was 1989 at the time, my dad was pushing for me to go into construction so I could pay for school - they never had enough money. All I had was highschool baseball, and the rest of the time I would be working. Barely passing my classes, but there were some small colleges interested in me here and there. Then one day, we’re playing some meaningless game against Jefferson High - losing badly, I may add - and I dug in against this fireball pitcher they had. This guy threw gas, let me tell you. First pitch, I swing as hard as I can, make contact, and just cleared the fence. Next time at the plate, I’m back against this guy. He’s walked one of our teammates, but he’s still only given up the one hit to me.” I watched a smile creep across his lips as he remembered his youth.

“Did you take him deep again?” I asked.

He turned to me and chuckled. “I wish. Didn’t even have a chance to.”

“What happened?”

“I dig in, I’m looking fastball first pitch. Most young guys get burned by someone, they want to beat you with the same pitch the next time - it’s cocky, but it’s also about pride. So this guy rears back. There’s scouts everywhere, you can tell this kid’s got a future as a pro-baller. I heard afterwards he was throwing mid 90's. Anyway, first pitch, and the guy drills me right in the shoulder with that heat. I knew it was intentional, and it hurt like hell, and damn near took off my head. I still have the scar on my shoulder from the seams.”

“Wow. Did you charge the mound?”

“I was heading to first - I wanted to be the bigger man, just take my bag. As I’m walking there, giving him a look, he calls to me ‘I was aiming for your head, you bitch!’. Now there’s a line you don’t cross, and taking headshots just because some guy goes deep on you is uncalled for - so I rushed and tackled him. There was this huge brawl, we both got thrown, but after the game a scout comes up to me and says ‘you can hit, kid’. I talked with him for a few days before he convinced me to declare for the draft, and I was picked up in the 30th round. Nobody knew who I was, but I just kept playing. A year in, I got traded to Cleveland when they had an injury. Called up from AA to the majors, and that started it all. I was bad for a few years, but I held on long enough to get the home runs.”

“You caught a lucky break?”

“That’s putting it mildly. I probably never should have been drafted, but I got some good training in the minors. I have a lot of people to thank.”

“When you get into the hall?”

“I’m not there yet, and I may never be. Who knows? Either way I can’t complain about my career. Everything I have I owe to the hotheaded kid that nearly gave me a concussion.”


We continued our hot and cold play, and finally, in the midst of a seven game win streak, Chadwick informed me of a new callup. Jesse Shaeffer, a 24 year old pitcher from Long Island. Had played only one game above AA in his career, and it was an injury start. The Mets, who had drafted him in 2005, had just placed him on waivers to remove him from the 40 man roster. He had almost slipped through when Chadwick put a claim on him. Suddenly, I had a five-man rotation again. He was by no means a big guy - 6'0, 185 pounds, and didn’t throw much over 90. He was anything but a finished product, but after one start in AAA, Chadwick decided to give him a shot.

I met him outside the clubhouse entrance on the 12th, with a player representative. A bewildered rookie, his shaggy blonde hair was covered in sweat and stuffed under a new Diamondbacks cap. He hid his eyes behind sunglasses, and was dressed in jeans and t-shirt. I shook his hand, which was damp.

“Welcome to the big show, Shaeffer. I’m your new manager, Mark Jazzington.”

“I’ve heard about you. And it’s a pleasure.” He smiled widely.

The three of us walked into the clubhouse, the long concrete hallway littered with doors. “It’s all a bit overwhelming at first, but you’ll get used to it.”

“Oh yeah?” He responded, looking everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“I’m sure Gary here will show you around, but for now let’s get you your uniform.” I walked into the locker room, and showed him his locker. “It’s yours now,” I commented, opening the door and pulling out his uniform. “37 alright?”

He just smiled. We made small talk, and I informed him of his start coming up that night, but then I left.


He responded with a jittery effort, 6.2 innings and 5 earned runs, but we picked up the win, although he got a no decision.

But the next time around, he threw a gem. Only walking one man, he struck out 10 - in only his second start! Although there was 4 unearned runs that tallied him with the L, it was good to see what could be the missing piece of the pitching puzzle fall in place. He finished the year without a win, but in 5 starts, he ended with a 3.06 ERA and a 1.24 WHIP. And as the only righthander in the rotation, he was a welcome change.


But the real story was Abercrombie’s chase. I had been giving him a lot of playing time at first, and he was inching closer and closer to 2000. On the 26th, he rapped a single in the 3rd to bring his total to 1999. Denniston started the next two games, but in pinch hitting, Abercrombie whiffed once and grounded out the second time.

The 29th came, and there was four games left in the season. One hit in four games was possible. There was so much pressure, and the crowd knew this was the last home game as well. He got the start. Everyone wanted to see it happen. First at bat, he walked. Two flyouts followed, and in his last at bat, he struck out. He would have to do it in San Diego, where we were playing spoiler. We had clinched the gutter, after Colorado and San Francisco both got hot enough to stay afloat. We were playing near .500 ball for the month, though.

We strolled into San Diego, but they threw a left handed pitcher up. Denniston got the start. With a 2-1 lead in our favour heading into the 8th, the Padres switched pitchers and put righthander Chris Fewell on the hill. Casablanca singled to lead off the inning, Renick hit a fly ball that moved him to second, Kenneth Carlock singled. Vazquez got into the plate, which put Denniston on deck.

“Denny, get back here. George is pinching for you.” I called. Abercrombie looked at me for a moment before getting up and putting his helmet on. “Righty on the hill. It’s your time.”

Vazquez swung at the first pitch and popped it up, meaning that Abercrombie would have to dig in with no practice. He didn’t even get to the on-deck circle, he just walked straight up to the plate. Fewell had yet to throw a ball, just 7 straight strikes. And he was one out from getting out of a tough jam.

I leaned against the fence and clapped as George dug in. Other teammates were watching - we all knew he was one hit away from history.

The first pitch was a 76 mile an hour curve that went inside. Ball one. Then a changeup outside. Ball two. A slider low. Ball three. I signalled to the third base coach to let him swing. A gutter pitch was coming, and Abercrombie had power to boot. Fewell wound up, kicking his leg out and delivering a fastball down the tank. George swung, the bat smacking the ball into the seats - but foul. 3-1. Fewell got the sign and wound up again, delivering the pitch. A slider - George swung, but the ball dove under his bat. Two strikes.

Carlock would be running on the play now. The crowd was on their feet. Abercrombie, the veteran, stepped out of the box. He wiped the sweat off his brow, and stepped back in.

“What’s he going to throw?” Renick asked me.

“Changeup - I think. Fewell doesn’t tip his pitches. Besides, he’s just a September callup, I’ve never seen him throw until now.”

Fewell nodded, checked Carlock at first, and did a slide step to the plate. Changeup. Abercrombie swung, the bat breaking on contact. It was interesting to see a bat break on a changeup, but it looked like Fewell was trying to get him inside. The ball popped into the air, over the firstbaseman’s head, and too short for the rightfielder. It looped, hanging in the air. Damian Barrientos, the second baseman, dashed after it.

“Drop! Drop! Drop! Drop!” Was all I could hear in the dugout. Barrientos dove as the ball spliced away from him - and hit the grass, just out of reach.

The dugout erupted in cheers as George hustled to first. Number 2000. He pumped his fist in a rare show of emotion, and got a handshake and a hug from the first base coach.

The loudspeakers came on. “Ladies and gentlemen, that there was George Abercrombie’s 2000th career hit.”

A pinch hit, bloop RBI single. And he did it in a Diamondbacks uniform.


He was asked after the game by reporters if he had achieved everything he wanted to as a player.

“I don’t know.” He responded. “I’m just happy I ever got to play.”

That was George all over. I only knew him for a month before we went our separate ways, but I told myself I’d never forget his stories, his advice, and his milestone hit. Quiet, but played the game with heart, and taught me an important lesson. Even underdogs can become something.


He was elected into the hall of fame on first ballot after retiring. Of course, he went in as an Indian, but when asked what team he would have gone in as given the choice, he said. “I loved Cleveland, but I’d go in as a Diamondback. I thought it was over when Pittsburgh released me, and then the only call I got was from Arizona. I dedicated number 2000 to my family, and to the manager that gave me the chance. I’d definitely play under Mark Jazzington again. There’s more to baseball then just numbers, and he understands that. That’s why I’d go in as a Diamondback.”


We finished the last month 14-15 and 73-89 on the year, narrowly avoiding 90 losses. We were 11 games adrift of first and in the gutter, but it didn’t matter. They say baseball is numbers, talent, and heart - and the best players have all three. But what about managers? There was something to be said for managing with heart. And what George told me as we departed for the final time just confirmed it.

“You’ll go on to great things, if you believe you can. You’re the underdog, just like I was. Believe you’ve got it, and it’ll come.”

[GoCubsAndJays]

Oh man, Jazzy meets a girl who really knows her stuff when it comes to Baseball.

Better be hearing more of her in the future.

[cubuff38]

I agree, I really liked that girl. It is too bad another season ended in that fashion, however; also good to know that Jazzy is well-liked.

Watch out world, next year is the D-Backs year.

[cibl commish]

Will be fun to see how it goes with this girl

[jaykno14]

I have a feeling that "The Jazz" will be with this girl longer than the girls he has been with in the past.

[Jazzmosis]

Sorry to inform everyone, but Jazzington will be delayed possibly another week. In Saturday I'll be out of town for a baseball tournament, and with the work I've been doing I've come home far too exhausted to do any writing or playing of the games. But I have next week off, so I'll get back into the swing of things and pump out another chapter.

Sorry for the delay everyone - but Jazz has not died, I'm just sorting out the nuiansances of my own personal life right now.

[Jazzmosis]

Hey everyone. It's been far too long since I blew the dust of Jazzington's story, and despite my hectic lifestyle right now, I've managed to get the next chapter out after such a long delay. I'd introduce this, but I'm sure we've all forgotten where he was. See if you can figure out the chapter title's significance!

Coming shortly: Chapter 36: One for Three of Mark Jazzington

Dust off the cobwebs, pour yourself a victory glass, and prepare to enjoy Jazzington's career after his extended vacation!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 36: One for Three

The playoffs started four days later. The season had not gone my way, but I had another year to turn it around. Chadwick had not said anything to me since the final day, even though I had seen him in the stadium.

Arizona had some key players going to free agency - Magglio Casablanca, Ronnie Fleisher, and the one that was hardest for me to say goodbye too: Chris Look.

Since making him a closer in 2004, he had been my greatest success story. As the only closer I had ever worked with, he had been a steadfast of consistency and dominance, piling up 127 saves in four years, which gave him a total of 144. That alone put him in a tie for 22nd in the all-time saves list. Twice I had seen him go to the All-Star game. He had risen from the ranks of a left-handed middle reliever, and after thirteen years of nothing special, whenever reporters or fans talked about dominating closers, his name was in the list.

I saw him clearing out his locker on the second day of the off-season. At first I stood in the doorway, silently. I wasn’t good at saying goodbye, and this farewell certainly was one I never wanted to say. I considered just walking away, but he noticed me before I could do anything.

My former closer’s voice was energetic, although his eyes told a different story. “Mark! Glad you made it.”

“Hey, Look.” I responded flatly, forcing back any possible emotions that I could reveal in my voice.

“I’m going home to Florida this winter. Spending some quality time with my wife. Are you seeing your folks?”

“I don’t know. Probably not. I’m pretty settled in around here. Met a girl here too.”

“Cool, man.” He smirked. “You meet her at a bar?”

I returned his grin. “People meet people in other places?”

“She know baseball?”

“Does she ever,” I responded quickly, “so much that it scares me.”

“Then hang on to her - my wife knew a lot about baseball too.”

I smiled and cracked a joke he and I had hundreds of times. “Dude, your wife is hot! Tell her if she ever wants a night with a young stud, she knows who to call!”

Look laughed while picking up his away uniform from the locker hanger. “Yeah, she’d probably do you.”

He and I shared a good laugh for a moment.

“So, is this it for you?” I asked.

“Not at all. So long as I can throw the ball, I’ll be pitching. Besides, my wife wouldn’t let me retire now.”

“Wouldn’t?” I repeated. “I always thought they’d want you to be home.”

“My wife loves me and what I do, so she supports me. Couldn’t ask for a better woman.”

I nodded. “I suppose so.” I excused myself for a moment to go to the bathroom and returned to see Look closing his locker and picking up his bags. I took one from him, and he and I walked out of the locker room and into the cold, concrete hallway. “When’s your flight?” I asked.

“In three hours.” He paused just as we reached the clubhouse exit doors and walked into the street. “I just want to thank you for giving me the chance at closing. The last four years playing under you have been without a doubt my favourite.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I just said anything. “Mine too.”

Just as a cab pulled up and he began to load his stuff in the trunk, he turned to me and extended his hand. “This isn’t goodbye. This is just the 7th inning stretch.”

I took his hand and shook it firmly. “It’s not going to be the same around here without you in the ninth.”

Just as he sat in the back seat, he smiled. “Check your office.” The door closed, and the cab pulled away.

I stood on the sidewalk in the middle of the October day, watching the cab until it left my sight. Then, I turned slowly and sauntered back to my office. When I opened the door, lying on the top of my desk was a signed jersey from #18, Christopher Look. A small note accompanied it: This belongs to you more than it does to me. Chris.

I framed that jersey and it sits on my wall to this day.


The first round of playoffs completed around mid-October. That’s when I got the first of my two unexpected calls in the month.

“Hello?”

“Jazzy! What’s going on? Still binging at the bars?”

“Dewberry, you son of a bitch! What’s new?”

“A whole lot, to be honest. But let’s start with your life!”

I ranted about the girl I met, the season, and Look for a while before asking again about him.

“Last season wasn’t everything. Tampa Bay dropped me, got signed by Oakland, but never got the call. Talked with the wifey, and we’ve decided to hang ‘em up.”

“Really? What are you going to do now?”

“Spend time with the wife, raise the kids, do all the things I’ve tried to avoid with baseball.” He chuckled his characteristic chuckle. “You’d think I’d be able to play until 85.”

Smiling widely, I responded. “There’s always coaching jobs.”

“I’m two to three steps ahead of you, Jazzy! I’m gunning for your job!” I then heard Dewberry’s characteristic laugh through the phone.

With Dewberry and Look gone, I had lost the closest friends I had made in the first shaky year. Good friends are hard to come by no matter where you live, no matter who you are. But when you find them, you hold on to them. It wasn’t that even when Dewberry didn’t play for me that we didn’t talk - but now he was completely out of baseball.


I had made a conscious effort to spend some time with Irene, even though we had only met at Strubs as opposed to setting up an actual date. A few times I had offered to take her to my place, but she had graciously refused. After a few meetings, I finally called her up and asked her out. It was a stumbling, nonsensical rant that I was known for so well.

“Hey, is Irene there?”

“This is Irene. Hey, Mark.”

“Hel- how’d you know it was me?”

“You always ask that, despite the fact that I’m the only owner of the phone.”

“I suppose so, but never hurts to check.”

“Anyway, what’d you call about? If it’s about Strubs, I’ve got a paper due so I can’t come out tonight.”

“No, no. It’s not about that. I just wanted to ask you something.”

“Well then. It’s about time.”

“About. . . what?”

“Nevermind.”

“No, what?”

“Just ask.”

“Ask what?”

“Your question.”

“Oh right! Well, I just was wondering, that, well. . . I like you a lot, and I was just wondering that if you would want to go out with me. If you don’t, then that’s totally understandable so it wouldn’t be a big deal or anything. Actually, forget I said anything. I don’t know what I’m trying to say here.”

There was a brief pause before she answered. “Not very good at this, are you?”

“. . . .No.”

“I can tell.”

“I guess so.”

“Yes, Mark.”

“Yes what?”

“The answer to your question is yes. I will be your girlfriend, if that’s what you’re asking me.”

“Oh. . . um. . . yeah.”

Once again, I pulled out my class and smooth moves to get yet another girlfriend.


Three days later, I was called into the office by Chadwick. He greeted me with a robotic handshake and offered me a seat. I sat and looked at him as he shifted his weight and sat across from me.

“Here.” He handed me some papers. I was just about to read them when he got to the point. “We’re letting you go.”

I looked up from the documents. “What?”

“Concordian and I thought it would be best for the team if we found a new manager.” I didn’t respond, caught in shock. “We are just looking out for what we feel will help the Diamondbacks continue. Those papers are a voiding of the next year on your contract, and we will not announce this to the public until after the playoffs. That should give us to the maximum of October 26th. Obviously, that is in two days. Please sign the document to indicate you understand the situation. Otherwise, this becomes a legal mess, and I’m sure you don’t want to go through that again.”

“No.” I coughed out. I took the pen and scribbled my name at the bottom of one the papers and handed it back to him.

He reached over the desk to take the paper back. “I’m sorry things didn’t work out for you.”

I got up. “I’ll show myself out.”

[GoCubsAndJays]

That sucks...

Hopefully he lands a job to manage wherever Look goes.

[jaykno14]

Glad to see that this story is back. I'd be willing to put money on it that he will end up with Look AGAIN... :-)

[Jazzmosis]

I'm back, with Chapter 37. It's not quite as long as the former few chapters, but it's setting up what I want to happen, and it seemed a right time to end it. So stay tuned, it'll be up shortly!

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 37: Hopeless Opportunities

I suddenly found myself unemployed again. It was just as I walked out of the stadium, my face covered in a red tinge of anger and embarrassment that I questioned how the game I loved so much could be so cruel to me. Twice I had been slapped in the face by owners that simply did not want to put any faith in a young manager. I could understand Canon hating me - he made his thoughts clear from day one. Concordian, on the other hand, hardly ever talked to me. He always spoke through Chadwick in order to avoid media presence - I later learned this was because if anything was said that blew up in his face, his GM had said it - and thus, he could push the blame onto someone else.

None of this changed the fact that I didn’t have a job. The only plus I could see was that the Diamondbacks were paying my supposed 2008 salary in a lump sum, which to them was nothing, but for a 22 year old, getting 358 thousand dollars in one shot left me with a lot of opportunities. If I spent my money wisely, I could survive for three or four years without a job on that cash alone. From my previous four years of management, I was sitting on approximately half a million dollars in the bank, and that was bumped with the lump sum cash I had ‘earned’.

I got in my car and drove back to my apartment. I immediately told Hensley the news, and how it was likely that our time together would be discontinued sometime in the offseason. I then informed the landlord, and my father via email:

Hey dad,

I got fired - again. Well, I suppose this was the first time since Florida just didn’t renew my contract, but it still feels the same. I don’t know what I’m going to do - I know there’s a bunch of managers that didn’t get their contracts renewed, most notably Minnesota. I’ll look around for minor league managerial positions too, but I’m not too hopeful. This could be the end.

Mark

I got a prompt response.

Hello son,

I wouldn’t worry about getting fired. These things happen in life, and baseball can be a game of numbers sometimes. From the sound of it, you’ve still got some chances around the league, and I’m sure with your major league experience, that you could at the very least get a coaching job - maybe pitching coach? The papers around here have been raving about you since you got into the majors. Don’t give up hope all together - there’s five open managerial positions at the big-league level, so you should give each one a shot. You’re young, and maybe a rebuilding team would be willing to take a chance on you for long-term. You’ve worked well with young players, and pitchers tend to play well for you. Give it your best shot. Here at home, you know you have our support.

Senior.


I then called Irene. We had been dating for a week, and what I was hoping could be an actual good relationship looked like it was going to be destroyed. Needless to say, everything was falling apart.

“Hey, is Irene there?”

“No, she’s dead.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll call later then.”

“What do you want, Mark?” Her voice was very bubbly.

“I don’t know how to say this. . .” I started.

“You’ve already asked me out, and I said yes!”

“It’s not that. This isn’t a good phone call.”

There was a brief silence. “You want to break up?”

“Well, no. . . but I don’t think I have a choice.”

More silence before a response. “Explain.”

“I don’t have a job in Arizona anymore.”

“What? I thought you were signed for two years.”

“My contract was voided and they just paid me in a lump sum. I have some good cash right now, but no job. And I can’t sit around and do nothing until this money runs out, so I’m going to have to look for another job.”

“They fired you and gave you the rest of your money?”

“It was an old contract I signed with Daniel Eastwood just before he left for Kansas City. Concordian wanted me out last year but while he was hiring a new GM, Eastwood signed me to that contract. Now, it comes to nothing. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Well I can tell you one thing. This is no reason to break up.”

“But there’s a chance I could be moving out of Arizona. I don’t want this relationship to go on in vain.”

“We’ll see when that time comes. Now if you want to break up I obviously can’t stop you, but we should at least see how this goes. Are you leaving Phoenix right away?”

“No. I have to get some interviews first.”

“Then we’ll see how it goes. Besides Mark, why would I break up with a baseball manager?”

“Cause he sucks?”


The conversation got a lot more light-hearted from that point, and in the end we agreed to try and make it happen together. Although we had only been a couple for a little more than a week, we had become very close and she certainly knew baseball. My father had always told me to find a girl that liked baseball, because ‘they’ll understand when you start ignoring her because of the September stretch.’


The playoffs ended in the White Sox’ favour, after knocking down Milwaukee in six. After that, I discovered a startling fact. There was more than just five teams looking for new managers - there was eight major-league managerial positions up for grabs. Obviously Arizona was one of them, but that meant I had seven chances to stay in baseball.

With a renewed hope, I started typing out my resume.

[Jazzmosis]

The next chapter will be late, as my next few weeks will be hectic: Bringing in Canada Day over the weekend with a few friends at his cottage, then I'll be out of town most of next week for a baseball tournament. Jazz will get a bit dusty, but he'll be back! I guarantee it!

[Jazzmosis]

Hey everyone: Jazz is still not done, as I've been away for the entire week (work and play related.), but I've managed to start the chapter. I'm once again away for this weekend (baseball related), and I have a pretty busy schedule ahead of me for the rest of the month, but I WILL get this chapter out next week. That's my promise to you. Sit tight... I'll make this one very good and very long for my readers that have been waiting for Jazz to get his career back on track...