Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 38: Money Gone, Winter Meetings, a Chance Opportunity


I spent a few weeks sending out as many applications and resumes as possible. Here I was, 22 years old, four years of managerial experience, and I still had little-to-no clue how to properly obtain interest from General Managers in my services. This wasn’t a fast-food job, or some job some jackass wearing a suit would apply for. I wasn’t going to be sitting in a cubicle from 9-5, I was going to be in a dugout, deciding the future of a group of talented players.

I began to consider getting an agent, since it would help to have someone that knew the nuances and financial backbone of the game better than myself. That would have to wait right now, since I still had to get a new job. With my resumes getting no attention, I decided to take a new approach.

Winter meetings. All the GMs and owners would be there, agents would be flocking. It may be chaotic, but deals would be dropping all over the place - it was my chance.

It took me a few days of searching and some convincing of Irene to let me go instead of spending the weekend with her and her family, but December 12th rolled in and I got in my car - it was a seven hour drive to San Diego, given the traffic. I’d have flown in, but then I would need to rent a car, and that under-25 restriction was still in place for renting. I booked a hotel that was two blocks from the meetings, and took off.


I arrived in San Diego at 9AM, December 12th, 2007. After getting lost twice trying to find my hotel, I checked in at 11:30 and headed down to the winter meetings. The convention centre it was being held at was spectacular: Just from the entrance doors, the roof extended hundreds of feet into the air, and diamond chandeliers hung down, while tables and chairs littered the perfectly polished wood floor. Microphones were dabbled on the stage, although nobody was near them at the time I arrived. People bustled from table to table, conversing with anyone within earshot, others drank from clear cups, while some ate food from the catering tables placed throughout the hall. Most people wore suits, or at least a dress shirt and pants. I stood at the door, wearing jeans and a white tee shirt. I looked like I had just got off a construction job, as my eyes were red from being awake so long, and my entire body ached as I forced myself not to slouch.


The second I tried to take another step, I was stopped by a security official. “You can’t go in there.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“It’s for registered delegates only.”

“Oh. Where’s the registration table?”

The security official pointed. I thanked him and walked over to the registration table.

“I’d like to register for the Winter Meetings.” I said to the clerk behind the desk.

“Your name?” He responded, looking at my attire with a puzzled expression.

“Mark Jazzington.”

He typed some things into the computer. He then looked back up at me with a sorrid face. “I’m sorry, you’re not on the list of delegates announced for the meetings.”

I looked at him. “I was a late addition.”

“There’s nothing I can do, sir. We’re just given a list and we check people off from it. You had to register for this last month.”

I leaned in close, feeling the sweat on my face starting to tingle. “I need to get in there.”

“I’m sorry sir, there’s nothing I can do.” He responded, blinking slowly.

“Okay fine.” I shot back, and fiddled with my wallet. I pulled out 20 dollars and slid it over the counter to the man. “Now, can you do something?”

He looked at me, giving me a glance that would freeze most criminals on the spot. “What are you doing?”

“Just get me in there.”

“Sir, if you’re not on the list, then you cannot get in. I can’t alter the records. I’m sorry.”

“Fine.” I spat back, and stormed away from the counter. I once again approached the main entrance, and was once again stopped by the same security official.

“Did you register, sir?” He asked politely.

“No.” I responded.

“Then I still can’t let you in. And if you keep persisting, we’ll have more issues on our hands, like possible criminal charges.”

I pulled out my wallet again, and put 50 dollars in his hand. “I need to get in.”

He looked at the money and back at me. “I still can’t let you in.”

I put another 50 dollars in his hand. “How about now?”

“Sir, this is illegal. I should report you for this.”

I sighed heavily. I had expected some kind of altercation, but I was going to get in there no matter what - I was prepared to pay my way in. I had roughly two thousand dollars in bills scattered throughout my pockets, which was proving to be a good idea even though I was a walking bank robbery waiting to happen.

I reached into my pockets and pulled out approximately 500 dollars, and placed it in his hand. “Just let me in.”

The officer inspected the bills, and shuffled his weight slightly, seemingly more willing to reason with me. “I’m not sure if I can. . .”

I put another 100 in his hand. “Now?”

“Well, maybe. . .”

Another 100.

“Perhaps, let me check with my supervisor.”

Another 100.

“Alright, I guess you’re good. Next time, just remember your identification, sir.” He stepped to my side, leaving a clear path into the hall. I thanked him and stepped inside.


It took me 900 dollars just to get in the hall, so I had to make this trip worthwhile. I wandered for a moment, finding the team GMs, and I immediately went in for the kill. I had wrote down which managerial jobs were available, and my first stop was Minnesota.

“Hey there.” I said, extending my hand to the Twins GM.

“Hello.” He responded, returning my handshake.

“I’m Mark Jazzington, I’m here about the open managerial position.”

“Oh, are you? I haven’t heard anything from your agent regarding your interest.”

“I don’t have an agent. I represent myself.”

“That explains that. But how did you get in here?”

I stalled for a moment before answering. “I registered.”


I explained my interest in working for the Twins, the Angels, Athletics, Cardinals, Cubs, Phillies, and Pirates before finally I got kicked out. I tried to bribe my way free, but this security guard wouldn’t take my money.

I spent the night in the hotel before packing up my stuff and driving home the next morning. I was exhausted, had lost a lot of money trying to bribe my way into a job opportunity, and hadn’t eaten in awhile.

I collapsed on my bed in the apartment I was going to lose in 18 days and then once again be homeless, and slept for a while. I was awoken by the phone ringing, which I groggily answered.

“Hello?”

“It’s Irene, Mark.”

“How about that.”

“I’m moving to Chicago.”

“Have fun. . .” It then hit me. “What?”

“I decided to take a transfer course, and it’s offered at the college in Chicago. I decided to take this chance.”

“Oh. I guess this is the end then?”

“For now. We’ll keep in touch, I promise.”


She hung up, and I just dropped the phone on the floor. I rolled over, but the phone rang again. I rolled back and scooped it up. “What now?”

“Hello, Mr. Jazzington?”

“Speaking.”

“I’m Richard Oberg, General Manager for the Chicago Cubs. Would you be interested in an interview for the open managerial position?”

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 39:Wind, Weather, and a Bloody Arm - 14 Days up North

I quickly snapped out of my morning grogginess to agree to the interview. It would cost me a plane ticket and a few days in the windy city, but it also justified my insane trip to the Winter Meetings. I immediately rushed out the door to Irene’s house - I wasn’t going to call her to tell her this, it had to be done in person. I was so excited that about my chances I took her out to dinner at the best restaurant in Phoenix. However, while I was out with her, I missed two more calls. One from Philadelphia, and one from Minnesota - both interview requests.

When I got home the next morning, feeling pretty good about myself and what was going to happen in my future, the next two chances made me realize that there was a chance I could be choosing where I worked next season. Of course, there was also a chance I would be completely unemployed. Regardless, I set up interviews with all three - all in January. I wouldn’t have a home at this time, so on December 29th, I threw virtually everything I owned into a storage unit just outside of Phoenix.


Hensley was also moving out - he and McDonald were renting a place out for the 2008 season. I said my goodbyes to all my friends I’d made in Arizona over the last few years, as the four of us - Hensley, McDonald, Malonwinski, and myself - went out to the bars for one last time - and we all got hammered. Irene had left for Chicago December 27th, leaving me single once again - but when I woke up alone in my empty room on the day I was moving out, I felt good (and hung over). My first interview was in a week, in Philadelphia - followed by my second one two days later in Minneapolis. And finally, I would head to Chicago for the 13th day of 2008 for my interview with the Cubs.


I rented a hotel room in Philadelphia and left my car in a garage I’d obtained in Phoenix - everything I owned was in a city I didn’t even live in anymore. All I took with me was two changes of clothes, spending money, my phone, and a suit. I ate out every day in Philadelphia, and on the seventh, I headed to my interview.

I was nervous. I wanted to make a good impression right away and get a job offer so if I flailed on the other two, I would still have a job. I was close enough to walk to the stadium, but in the snowy, icy weather, I managed to slip and plaster my face on some hard ice - of course, I was wearing the suit when this happened. I had grazed my arm bad enough to make it bleed, so I began to hope the black sleeves would make it unnoticeable.

The interview was fairly standard, and like usual, the question of my age arose. One would think that having four years of actual professional experience would make age a non-factor, but this was baseball. If you were young, chances are that you were a player. The youngest manager before me was a 38 year old in 1975 named Walter Bronbiden. I had beat him by 20 years. It seemed that with my youth, came the distrust or disbelief that I was capable of managing a team, or holding any authority position. I couldn’t chase my reputation, or at least not at this time.


My next stop was Minnesota. They had been in contention for five years, and gone to the playoffs for the last three. The GM made it very clear that he was in it to win, and he needed a manager that wouldn’t back down, that would keep his players in the game for 162 days. When I asked him what convinced him to contact me, he told me that my ejection record in 2004 raised his eyebrow - that it showed I was willing to fight for a team.

Truth was, although I was passionate for those calls to go in my favour, that record really became a joke when I was matching it 80 games into the season. In the end, it made me wonder the kind of boss Minnesota would be if he was interested in the fact I was tossed so much more than any of my credentials. Regardless, if it was the only job offer I would get, I would take it.


I then moved on to Chicago. The first thing I did was call Irene from the airport - I hated to admit it to myself, but I’d missed her while I was out - and I hadn’t talked to anyone I knew for nearly a week, and she was the friendliest face I knew. Also, the best looking one I’d seen in a long time. I took her out for dinner, and while I ranted about my two interviews, she just listened and smiled. When I finally shut up, she told me about her college experiences - most of which I found amusing. She was having no problems meeting people, which didn’t surprise me - hell, she was hot. Her course was great, and she was finding more opportunities for work in Chicago than in Phoenix - but she missed the weather.

Being Canadian, the weather was fairly normal, but the wind really annoyed me. The fact that I couldn’t go outside without having snow blowing in my face ten seconds later, or garbage, or slipping on ice, or having a bitter, cold chill run down my spine.

I took her back to her apartment, which she was renting out with some other roommates that transferred from Phoenix with her. I was just outside her door, kissing her goodnight, when it happened.

“Good luck on your interview tomorrow, Mark.”

“Yeah, have a good day of class and binge drinking yourself.” I winked. “I’ll call you afterwards?”

“Sure thing.” Her face suddenly changed from a smile to a serious expression. “Where are you staying tonight?”

“A hotel, probably. Why?”

She shook her head and grasped my hand. “That won’t do, just stay here the night. My roommates don’t mind.”

“Well, I don’t -” I was half way through protesting when I clued in on what she meant. “You know what? Sure.”


I woke up the next morning in her bed, naked. She was gone, but she’d left me a note:

Mark, just letting you know that I’ve gone to class, so that’s why I’m not there. Good luck with your interview, hope it goes well.

There was a large gap.

And thanks for last night - we woke up Christina.

Irene


I smiled, as I started to put on my suit again - the right arm was still bloodstained since I hadn’t bothered cleaning it, but the jacket covered it. Besides, this would be the last day I had to wear it, so I didn’t care.

I cursed my way through the wind as I went to the stadium, and my face had turned red from being pelted by snow. My hands were frozen, and my suit was covered in snow - and I had taken a taxi to the stadium! This had all happened in about five minutes.

I met the General Manager, who shook my frozen hand. Pain shot up my arm, causing me to cringe. He then noticed the blood under my sleeve. “What happened to your arm?”

“I slipped and fell - it’s okay though.” I squeaked out, wiggling my fingers slowly to get feeling back. The pain had been so intense it made my jaw feel numb - thus causing me to slur everything that ended in ‘s’.

The interview itself was very in-depth. He told me everything. The team had lost some key players, and had played at .500 for the last three years. The fan support had dropped, especially with the White Sox dominating baseball just across the city. Nobody wanted to come to see the Cubs play, and as a result, they were unable to keep players - but they lacked the farm strength to rebuild with blue-chip prospects. What he expected out of his manager was to manage the team well - he didn’t expect to contend this year - and he would have kept the old manager, but Marshall Jalen had moved on to head the Angels.

I told him I was a player-oriented manager. I was not going to play favourites, I was going to put the best player out on the field regardless of contract. Egos were not important to me.

My hand had just thawed out when the interview ended. Turns out, the GM had a firm handshake, which shot pain back up my arm.


I spent the week with Irene, before heading back to Phoenix to pick up my things on the 23rd. I was sitting in my car, just after talking to Hensley in the driveway, when the call came.

“Hello, Mr. Jazzington? This is Robert Drake, from Minnesota. I’m calling to offer you a job.”

But then, two hours later, another call came through. “Mr. Jazzington, this is Joseph Caesar, the General Manager of the Philadelphia Phillies. Would you like a job as manager?”

And as I mulled over the two for a day, each with interesting contracts, I got another call on the 24th while eating at a fast food restaurant. “Hey there, Mr. Jazzington. It’s Richard Oberg from the Chicago Cubs. Want to manage this club?”


I couldn’t believe it. Three job offers in two days. As I sat in the booth at the burger joint, mayonnaise running down my arm, hamburger in one hand, the phone in my other, a smile crept over my face. For the first time in my career, I could choose my job.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 40: It

I called Hensley, asking him for advice.

“Go for the most job security, man. Have you been told the expectations?”

“From two of the teams. One has a serious chance to go to the playoffs.”

“Then go to that one.”

“I don’t know. If they don’t go, then I’m screwed again. I’m really thinking of job security here.”

“Well, whichever offers the most money would make sense. . .”


I mulled it over for a day, calling anyone I knew and asking for advice. My dad told me to go to Philadelphia. Hensley was suggesting Minnesota. McDonald told me to go to Philadelphia. Irene told me to do what feels right. The reality was I was living in my car again and I had a maximum of two days to get back to all three with a choice before they moved on to another manager. I had already called the three teams and said I had other offers, and that I would get back to them by the 27th.

And now it was the 27th.


I had spent half the day looking over the teams and how they looked. Minnesota was solid all around, with only a few gaps. They had money to burn though, which meant they could solve their problems with free agents. Philadelphia was at best a .500 team, but they also had a lot of money. However, it was a veteran team and I had discovered in my four years that the younger players were more willing to listen to me or accept my decisions. Chicago was a mess all over the place. They had very little money to offer to fill their many holes. Their pitching was questionable at best, and their offense, while decent, lacked leadership, and they had a lot of players that were better suited as utility guys or platoons that had everyday roles. However, they offered the strongest farm. And the least money in a contract. And the General Manager had asked for a .500 season. Last year they did exactly that, but everyone had said they’d over achieved. I tended to agree, since before then, they hadn’t finished above 5th in the central for the last six years.


One thing was for sure - I didn’t know any of the players on any of the teams, save one: Antonio Vargas on the Phillies. He had played under me in Florida, and was not a pitcher that would make an impact - although, he had turned out a career year in 2007. Regardless, when I was in Florida, I never really got to know him - he just took his turn in the rotation, and that was it. Not a reason to make any career decision.


There was a lot riding on this decision - pressure I had put on myself. I figured I would have to perform well for my new team, or else I could find my managerial career finishing much earlier then I would want. It was always my ambition to be a player, but I was no where near the major league level - and as a manager, I was learning how to put lineups together - when to play it by the stats, and when to go on feeling. Now, just as I felt like I had the hang of it, it was time to perform. The last four years suddenly felt like a blur, as if it was only a few days ago that Roy Pickering was in my home town, talking to me. And when I looked back on it, what were they thinking, giving an 18 year old a managerial job? Maybe if they put me in R ball, managing young players, or even as a pitching coach, I could understand. But the major league club? The talent, the pressure, the egos? It was easy to see I was overwhelmed. It was a miracle that club only lost 89 games. I would have easily sent them to a 100+ loss season if it wasn’t for some leadership from players like Dewberry and Look. And now Dewberry was no longer playing, and Look was in Cincinnati.

In many senses, I was alone. My close friends remained in Arizona, but it was me that was leaving them. I had my sights set on 2008 in Arizona, watching the younger players develop into stars while the established players did the usual. Renick had been resigned - Andrzejewski was anchoring a solid pitching staff - McDonald looked to take over the Closer’s role. Some 20 year old rookie phenomenon named Cole Aitken had destroyed the winter leagues with a 10-0 record and a 0.67 ERA in relief. I knew that team was going to be good - but the building I felt I played a part in, the building I did with that team, was lost. Now it seemed like they were ready to break out, but I had been removed from the equation. I felt like the work I had done was going to be credited to another manager. That fact alone hurt more than getting fired. It was like I was going to be forgotten in a flash. When I realized that, it threw everything I thought I knew about this game into question. Did I have the skill to manage 25 players? Did I have the patience? Did I have, in one word, ‘it’?

‘It’ was something mysterious, something mystical about baseball - often it was given to prospects that made a serious impact in the major leagues - the ones that really turned out to be something. When a player is in the minor leagues, they live in the world of ‘it’. They have the talent, they have the skills, most have the will. . . but do they have it to last in the major leagues? Some players would take the challenge and meet it head on. They would get that callup into the bigs, and they’d never be sent down. They’d play hard, perform well, and they would have their name remembered. George Abercrombie had ‘it’. Legendary players like Joseph DiMarco, Walter Mayflower, and pitcher Cybert Youngston had ‘it’. They’d never be forgotten.

But could ‘it’ transfer to coaches or managers? Some managers would be remembered - Jose Torrencio lead his team to six consecutive championships in the late 80's and early 90's. But out of every manager, he was virtually the only one people would say had ‘it’. In a sense, you had ‘it’ if casual fans remembered who you were for accomplishments, and not blunders. ‘It’ for a manager was nearly impossible. But ask any of them, and they’ll all want a taste of ‘it’ - one championship, a playoff series, a successful career record - all I wanted was a good season to get me started - a season that people would say “he didn’t disappoint”. Nobody thought I had ‘it’. I was running on pure potential, and owners, general managers, and fans alike were getting tired of waiting for that potential to come out. And so was I. I was hoping, as I picked up the phone to tell the team I had chosen I would accept the contract offer, that this was a step towards ‘it’, and not the nail that finished my career.


The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

I was about to hang up, when I heard a voice on the other end. “Hello?”

“Is this Richard Oberg?” I asked.

“Speaking.”

“It’s Mark Jazzington. I’m just calling to let you know that I have decided to accept your contract and come manage the Chicago Cubs.”

[Jazzmosis]

And now we've caught up. The next chapter is humming along nicely, it's two pages long already and there's still a whole lot more to come. As for the season, I'm 103 games in, just starting August. Only two months to go, and then I can start writing up again!

[mikev]

Wow, Jazz.

I just read the whole thing. Your writing has definitely gotten better and better as you've gone on. Really a great read, and I look forward to continuing the story.

Especially hearing what happened to Kate.

[Jazzmosis]

Oh, I haven't forgotten about Kate... don't you worry.

Thanks for the praise - I've been feeling that it's improved over the (brutal) writing I began with...

[Jazzmosis]

Good news, everyone! I finished the season just today, so it won't be long until new chapters come! Maybe, just maybe, I'll have a new chapter out by Saturday...

[Todorojoz]

Or...maybe not.... maybe next week?

[Jazzmosis]

People, you'll never guess what magic has occurred! A rare occurance happened where I had some "free" (ie: Refusal to study enduced) time, and I started typing out a new chapter... well lo-and-behold, it's COMPLETE!!! After a near 3 month haitus of chapters, Chapter 41 is complete and ready for readership! This doesn't start the chapter, but 42 most CERTAINLY will. This is more of an introductory chapter to the new team, the new surroundings, and a few thoughts here and there. I promised you Jazzington would not fade into obscurity, and I've come through (eventually).

Chapter 41: Open Door... Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 41: Open Door

I was thrilled. My dad was thrilled. Irene was thrilled. I was moving to Chicago, to manage baseball’s unluckiest club. It was as if this job and I were meant to be together. I had been extremely unlucky in my first few years of managing - and despite my failures, I seemed to have a cult following. Just like the Cubs.

The first hurdle I had to get over with myself and some friends was why I was going there. Hensley pointed it out first.

“Tell me you’re not taking this job because of Irene.”

“Man, we’re not even together right now.”

“Bull**** you’re not. You’ve been in contact with her the whole time. Man, you gotta remember that you’re there to manage a team, not to be closer to your girlfriend.”

“I picked this team so I would have job security. Girls come and go. . .” I drifted off. Not girls like her.

Hensley just gave me a look. “Whatever you say. Just go for yourself - nobody else.”


My dad gave me such a similar lecture that I could’ve sworn that he was just reading a transcript of Hensley’s conversation.


Regardless, I packed up whatever I could and headed towards Chicago - for the first few days I was planning to crash at Irene’s place, but I would immediately start looking for an apartment.


A few weeks drifted by, and although I had found an apartment for relatively cheap rent, I didn’t unpack before I had to head down to Florida for 2008's Spring Training.


I arrived in Gainesville, Florida, on February 13th, 2008. It was one day before the first call for pitchers and catchers. I was surprised when the first pitcher there was a young reliever named James Popham. The native of New York City was drafted by Oakland in 2001 out of highschool, but only pitched once for them in 2004 before getting released the next March. Chicago got him to sign in a minor league contract - which resulted with 72 games at the major league level. He’d stuck ever since, and now, the 25 year- old with short blonde hair was looking to rebound after a 98-game, 4.95 ERA season.

What made him so valuable I never would discover - he topped out at 89MPH, and a lot of scouts and commentators said his stuff wasn’t that good. What he did do well, was keep the ball down. As I watched him start to throw to a catcher, I didn’t see much to be impressed about. He was just a workhorse, thrown in situations were one or two outs were needed - and as a result, he piled up appearances and innings.

I then met veteran pitcher Wesley Zang. He was a big man, with a good arm, but it was clear he was starting to falter. Although his career had been nothing special, with a career record of 85-95 and an ERA of 4.57, since signing with the Cubs in 2005 he’d thrown over 200 innings every year, and avoided injury. He was a nice guy, but he’d yet to earn a ring and at 36, and his time was running out. I heard rumours from other players that he didn’t think he would get one in his career, because he played in Chicago. Of course he would never admit to it, but when approached, he skirted nervously around the question.

As the week went by, I saw a very different set of people come in - a very different attitude compared to my springs with Arizona. There was many more young players - and there was a sense of optimism. This was a team that was transferring to a youth movement, and there was a lot of open roster spots on the parent club. Only three pitchers were guaranteed on the club - 39 year old Dalton Cook, who’d lost basically anything that made him valuable as a pitcher last year, but he had 247 career victories and a 3.71 career ERA - that and he would refuse a minor league assignment, and the front office didn’t have the financial freedom to release him. Chicago was only the third team he’d ever played for, and he’d never stepped into a game from the bullpen. He was chasing 250 wins, which in his opinion, would “guarantee” him a hall-of-fame entrance. Despite his good-natured attitude, I found it hard to use him in a lot of games.

And Ji-Ku Koan, a 26 year old Japanese pitcher that had been turned into a starter when Chicago claimed him off waivers last year - and the result wa a 14-5 season in 20 starts. Too bad he didn’t speak English, because he always walked around with a friendly smile on his face and seemed very approachable. He was also gigantic, standing 6'4, despite weighing only 190 pounds. It was comical to see him with his translator all the time, who was at best 5'5.

The final guarantee was James Popham. He wasn’t explicitly told he was on no matter what, but it was fairly obvious. The rest was up for grabs.

I also met Dave Dolman, a 25 year old reliever suspected to take over the closer role - but when I saw him throw, I decided to give it to 27 year old Zackary Smith. Dolman, I decided instead, would be my everyman in the pen. As it turned out, Dolman and Popham would be the solid figures in my bullpen, and would make a combined 177 appearances.

There was a decent share of power on the club as well, with leftfielder Bartolo Guasch returning after a career year in which he hit .351 with 26 home runs and 118 RBI. He’d signed a relatively cheap extension in the offseason, at 5.8 million for another 3 years. I would look to him to anchor the offense. He was a tall, lanky Costa Rican who had played 11 years in the majors, debuting at 21 years old. Even as a pencil-thin batter, he wielded such a quick bat that he managed to find a way to hit 171 home runs in his career. In addition to his power, he was a key threat on the basepaths, stealing more than 30 bases for the last three years in a row. And to complete his 5-tool status, he was renowned for his defence in all three outfield positions, and he sported a dangerously strong throwing arm. In a sense, he was the embodiment of what managers dreamt about having on their team.

The rest of the faces blended into one, but it became explicitly clear in the early stages of Spring Training that this was not a contending team - Benjy Lamar, a 25 year old righthander, was entering his third full season and was almost assured a spot in the rotation - and would likely be the number #3 guy, even after a 7-11, 5.21 previous year. The muscular guy introduced himself to me immediately, and openly expressed his desire to be in the rotation. “I’m not going to lie - last year was a disappointment, but I want to be a part of this rotation.”

“Then impress me.” I responded with a smile.

The staff, with the exception of Wesley Zang, was all under 28. It seemed that a lot of journeymen had headed to Chicago with the hopes of cracking the starting rotation - the general manager had been very open to the media about the openings this team had. But despite the .500 year, it seemed that this team was a few years away from contention. I looked down into the farms and saw promise, mostly in the pitching department, but only a few guys looked like they could be guys to shape a team around - and by the time they were ready, the veterans that still produced would be long gone.

I distinctly remember standing in the dugout in the Gainesville park during an exhibition game, watching waiver claim hopeful Coy Kass give up hit after hit after hit. As the inning dragged on, I took my hat off to run my fingers through my hair worriedly as I thought to myself: What have I gotten into again?

[Y0DA55]

Good to see this one back!

I think playing the season in advance defanitely helped with the flow and I am sure it will help with the storylines.

[Todorojoz]

YEA!!! Great to see good ol´mark back in it! Now we need to start whinning for the next chapter! ...

[The Funk]

Great stuff Jazz, this really is getting better and better!

[Jazzmosis]

Once again, I feel like a tease, dropping just one chapter after a long wait. Bear with me, I've got 6 essays, 1 in-class final, one presentation, 1 take home exam, and 3 finals in 3 days coming up in the next few weeks, so I haven't even started writing the next chapter. I can absolutely guarantee there won't be a new one until after December 12th, but that's when everything is over.. and I'm excited to get this back on track, and don't think I won't.

Stay patient, people!

[The Funk]

You've brought it to mind and made me impatient now.

[jjguards]

wow i haven't read this in months and now got caught up lol
you should patent and publish this, this is good stuff

[Jazzmosis]

Thanks JJ, but it definitely needs a lot of cleaning up before it's publish-worthy. That, and it to be complete. I'd want to rewrite a lot of the earlier story too.

HOWEVER, like I promised: The next Chapter is ready! My exams are over, I've got a free month, and I intend to pile as much as I can into that month into this story. I want to get caught back up to where I am in the game, but I'm still 5 months behind!

So coming up in a few minutes: Chapter 42: A Surprise of Jazzington's (soon to be epic!) tale.

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 42: A Surprise

It would only be fitting that the first game of the season sent me back to a place I had become very familiar with - Phoenix. Chicago opened up its season with a three game set against Arizona. The team had been finalized only three days earlier, on the first day of April. On that day, seven open roster spots were decided. Among the spring training elite was 22 year old Jose Morales, who scooped up the final slot in the rotation. He’d never seen a game above the AA level. However, that uncertainty was trumped by 21 year old Mexican reliever Basil Dominguez, who had gone through a roller coaster ride. He had been drafted the year before by Detroit, spending only 62 days in AAA (where he was first assigned due to organizational dearth), made his major league debut September 23rd, 2007 for the Tigers, getting one out and facing one batter before being pulled - which cost him a total of 34 days on the major league roster. In January, he was accidentally placed on waivers by the organization - which resulted in the Cubs scooping him up. The ordeal was not very publicized, but from what I had been told was that he had the same name as another pitcher in Detroit’s AA team, and when they tried to remove that Basil, the organization mixed up and put the now-Cubs pitcher on. The mistake went unnoticed until the claim was processed by the commissioner’s office, and by then it was too late. And although he was far from a complete pitcher, or even major league calabur, the black hole of talent in Chicago had given him the opportunity to pitch once again at the big league level. I decided to try and break him in easily, but it never worked that way in baseball.

However, the first series was a surprise - Koan and Zang propelled the team to tight but effective wins, and in the third game, I flexed my growing managerial muscles with a 7-5, 14 inning marathon victory. Being known for the unconventional, I called for a squeeze play in the top of the 14th, which scored the go-ahead run. While our team shook hands, I turned and saluted the Phoenix crowd, which was met by a chorus of boos.

I had been looking forward to seeing Hensley again, but he had been sent to AAA to start the year.


The Cubs shot out of the gate to a 6-0 opening week, which put us in a tie with Houston and Florida as the only undefeated team. The three of us all lost on the 11th.


I still didn’t really know many of the team - I had only spent some time with Dolman - who had been mashed in a game recently. He and James Popham seemed to hang out a lot, but I accredited that to the coincidence that they went to the same highschool. Of course, six games were nothing to gauge a team on, but I was thinking these guys would become my setups - they both seemed to compliment each other.

However, Dolman was inconsistent - and I discovered that a few weeks into the season when he would strike out the side, and then go and give up five earned runs. None of that seemed to matter though, as the starting pitching absolutely carried the team through the beginning - and on April 21st, I saw the Cubs on top of the standings, nine straight wins reeled off, and a 15-1 record. Koan, Zang, Lamar, and Morales were all undefeated.

During the night, after the 15th win, I stepped into the clubhouse. The energy immediately absorbed me - the young guys were mingling with the veterans as if they had known them their whole lives, players were laughing, slapping backs, and smiling. When the door made a resounding thunk as it swung back into the hinges, the team turned to me. I didn’t know who said it, but I heard “There’s the big man himself! Grab him!”

I was mobbed by some of the players, my body soaked by the water cooler, my eyes covered by a hat held to my face, and I was whisked off my feet, eventually to have ice poured down my pants, a bottle of beer stuck in my mouth, and then within seconds I was thrown, full uniform, into the hot tub. The sensation of hot and cold made me want to throw up, but when I finally realized I wasn’t being held, I burst forth and ran into the locker room, where everyone was acting as if nothing had happened.

“Who did that?” I demanded.

Nobody answered.

“I want to know now, or I swear I’ll get you all fined!” I fumed, looking for guilty faces. “Look, I know we’re all excited about this hot start to the season, but I’m not going to take practical jokes - I’m not a player, I’m a manager, and despite my age I want to be treated with the same amount of respect you’d treat a manager of 50 years old. I want to win - if we’re going to piss around all season, let me know and we’ll play in the Bush leagues.” I paused to gather my breath. “Now, who did that?”

Lamar, Guasch, and shortstop Jacques White stepped forward.

“We’re sorry, Skip. . . we just got a little carried away, that’s all. We haven’t had a hot start like this in my entire career.” White said, his voice reserved and apologetic.

“Guys,” I motioned for the whole team to crowd around. “You need to be taught a lesson. Everyone, dump these three into the hot tub and spray their street clothes with ice-water.” I smirked. At first, the team stared, dumbfounded. “Well, what are you waiting for? Do it!” I commanded, grabbing a hose.

The rest of the team suddenly clued in. The look on the three players face’s was priceless as the team surrounded them, and carried them off to the hot tub.

“Hey, if we’re not going to have fun doing this, what’s the point in playing?” I yelled as the team cheered loudly.

As the pseudo-celebration raged on in the clubhouse, I walked out the team exit onto the street, only to be met by a girl throwing her arms around me and pressing her lips against mine. I struggled for a moment before getting her off of me. I, still dazed, looked at the girl before realizing who it was.

“Hey Mark, guess who!”

“Uh, Irene? Why are you in Milwaukee?” I responded without thinking.

“I’m on an assignment here, but I figured I would come by and visit you before I had to work.” She returned.

“Oh. . . yeah?”

“I’m surprised there aren’t more girls tossing their arms around you, stupid. Haven’t you heard? You’re being praised as the hottest thing in Chicago right now!”

I was still in partial shock, so my responses took some time. “Oh. . . right. . . yeah. I don’t read the headlines anymore.” The wind whipped up, sending a chill throughout my body. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” She asked, locking her arm against mine.

“The guys’ll razz me pretty good if I take you to the hotel. . . so how about dinner? I was told there’s this nice place not far from the stadium.”

“That sounds good.”

And then it happened, like it so often did in my youth. The clubhouse doors burst open, with Lamar standing in his soaked street clothes. Beside him was James Popham, who was holding a roll of duct tape and smirking. And beside him was Zachary Smith.

“There he is!” Lamar shouted with a smile, shivering abruptly from the cold wind.

I looked at Irene, and quickly slipped her my hotel room keys. “325 Berkshire Drive,” was all I could squeak out before the three grabbed me and dragged me back into the clubhouse, their laughter echoing throughout the concrete walls as I watched the doors to the outside close. Irene giving me a puzzled look was the last thing I saw before my eyes and mouth were covered by duct tape.

[mikev]

Glad you're back!