Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Y0DA55]

Heavy stuff here...

[Jazzmosis]

For all those wondering..

I'm still writing - the next chapter is nearly complete, I'm trying to properly balance story and the team, which is proving to be kind of a dry read (at least the team part is). I may even write a bunch of chapters at once to drop at some kind of regular interval (remember when I did that? Yeah me neither). I've finished the season and again it provided a ton of thrills and chills, so there's alot to write about once I get out of the always-boring offseason spiel.

But yes, there's a real storyline in Jazzington's personal life that I've been developing for a while. The last chapter was something I'd been wanting to get out of the way for a bit. Everything that happens after kind of just makes sense. I swear, sometimes this game just giftwraps the plot for me.

Stay tuned.. shouldn't be long.

[Jazzmosis]

Here I am, dropping Chapter 55 for you (before I head off for another random adventure). This covers a lot of ground, taking the story pretty much through the offseason. It almost reads in two separate parts (in fact, it does, so if it's kind of cut apart, then I apologize - this was the most flowing way I could try to tie the two together (based on timeline, to which I have stayed true save the Free Agency period). This just personally feels like an 'inbetween' chapter. However, that's all I'll say, and I'll leave it to you.

Coming up in a bit: Chapter 55: Goodbyes and Hellos of Mark Jazzington!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 55: Goodbyes and Hellos

My world spiralled away from me from that point. The weeks that followed consisted of me breaking down on multiple occasions, my arm bandaged, which made me realize how little I could actually do, telling Irene’s parents of what happened, and of course, the single worst moment in my life - delivering Irene’s eulogy at her funeral.

All of her immediate family was there, as expected. Friends, a few co-workers, and many other people I’d never met sat in the seats, all dressed in black. I had tried to back out of the eulogy, but her parents asked me to, insisting that it would have been Irene’s wish. I had reluctantly agreed, but finding the words to say about a 23 year-old taken too soon just seemed impossible to write. So, on the day of, I decided to speak from the one thing that had brought us together in the first place.

I stepped up to the podium, in a suit and tie - the same clothes I wore whenever I had to make a public appearance for baseball. I looked out at all the sombre faces, which varied their eyes from Irene’s casket to me. I cleared my throat, feeling the sweat slide gently down my neck, and I opened my mouth to speak.

“We each have people in our lives that affect us for the better. They welcome us into their life, and we learn and love them for it - but no matter how hard we try to forget it, that time is limited. We just hope that time isn’t shorter than what we all experienced with Irene. When I met her, I was just a nobody in a bar, struggling to find myself at the end of a bottle - or at least, hiding who I was behind anything I could. She gave me her smile, and I was hooked. Irene was the kind of woman someone like me could confide in - you could tell her anything and she’d make you feel like it was everything or nothing, all while reminding you that you were special. I tried so hard to become more like her, to get close to her. Her eyes used to light up every time I showed up on her doorstep, and she’d greet me with that gorgeous smile. I found myself loving every inch of her being, hoping the feeling I got around her would never go away. . .” I paused, holding back a sob as I felt my eyes water up. “I’m sorry,” I stammered briefly.

“She was. . . Irene was perfect - and I loved her and love her still. I was going to marry her. . . that’s why I took her on that trip. . . and here I am now, forced to say goodbye like the rest of you. . .” Tears streamed down my face as my emotions pushed themselves to the forefront. “Why do happy hearts break so hard? Here I am. . . here we all are, just left with memories of the perfect lady. . . and just take those memories, and hold onto them - so long as we do that, Irene will always be with us, and we’ll never be alone.”

Unable to continue, I stepped away from the podium and walked to her casket, and gave her my final goodbye.

As the visitors walked by after the funeral, I sat in my new car, the driver’s door open. I wiped the tears from my face over and over, just looking over at the fresh grave of my lost love. I took a moment to rest my head on the wheel, closing my eyes as all the memories of Irene and I flashed across my eyes - her smile, her hands, holding her, the first date, the times just watching movies. . . and I felt a sad smile come over my face amiss the tears.

“Mark?” A voice called out, snapping me from my trance.

I turned to look at the figure standing beside my car - a woman, who looked similar to Irene. . . very similar. My hopes rose as in my delusion, I thought it was Irene. “Yes?”

“I’m Blaney, Irene’s sister.” She said.

“Hello.” I responded, my heart sinking back.

“Thank you,” she said, putting her arm on my shoulder. “Back at the house, some of Irene’s things are lying around - things that myself and my parents think would be best left with you. Do you want to come by and get them?”

I looked at her, this mini-Irene, just thinking of how much she reminded me of her. She was a little shorter, and noticeably younger, but still, it was Irene. “Um. . . I don’t think I’m in much condition for that right now. Is there a better time I can come around?”

She paused for a moment. “How about you take our number?”

“I’d never remember to call. I’m also on the road a lot, so it’s tough for me to say for sure when I’ll be in town. How about I give you mine so it’s easier for me to come when it’s convenient for both parties?”

“That might work.”

I gave her my number, bid her farewell, and eventually left the cemetery to go home.


During my recovery, the baseball team I still piloted made some changes. A 28-year old third baseman was claimed off waivers named Clifton Simoneaux - he would likely end up backing up Harshaw, although his better power would give me more options. On February 3rd, Michael Butler was dealt to the Yankees for a new first baseman named Justin Schnabel, although a hot pitcher was included in the deal that was only 23, and would headline the AAA staff for the year. That was Willie Chaffin.

Spring training began in mid-February, and I found myself in Florida, meeting up with a lot of familiar faces - Koan, Gonser, and Lamar were the first to show up. Dolman and Popham followed the next day, as well as a stronger Cole Aitken.

The Cubs made a move only a few days into the pitcher/catcher call, signing veteran outfielder George Martinez to a 3 year deal. He was signed to cover the lack of thunder in the lineup, especially since talks with slugging one-bagger James Clough seemed to stall, and rumours of a huge offer by Baltimore looked to stifle the modest one of Chicago.

However, the payroll continued to drop as spring training continued to call players in - just one day after Melvin Beauvais reported to camp, he was dealt to division rival St. Louis for backup outfielder Ira Hull and one million dollars. The final two moves came just before spring training games began, one fixing the issue of a crowded outfield. Lawrence Dechant, at 37 years old, was placed on waivers in an attempt to get him to AAA, but was claimed by Tampa Bay, who seemed willing to gather up his steep seven million dollar contract.

The final move brought an old face back, one by the name of Aaron Delph. He was now 30, and even when he played for me in Arizona in ‘06, his play was spotty - but again, he was a power bat, and cheap, which is what Oberg was trying to do.

When it was all said and done, Oberg had achieved exactly what he set out to do - he lowered the payroll from 53 million to an MLB-low 38 million.

The dilemma was then raised - I had three third basemen, and nobody to play first. Each of the men deserved a starting role, and Hull even warranted consideration. So after talking with all four, the battle began for two open spots. It wouldn’t end up at all how I imagined, but it did raise an interesting March, coupled with the staff’s work.

Meanwhile, the pitching staff was still suspect, with only Koan as the established ace - however with him missing two months from the last season, and Lamar’s ERA being well lower than his other years, I wasn’t feeling too confident. At the very least, the rotation was the most decided part of the team - although not totally set in stone, the rotation looked to be Koan, Morales, Lamar, Zang, and Guillen/Kass. The newcomers that were hopped up to the major league level the previous year all looked to play a full year in the minors to develop more - both pitchers, Stefan Takeo and Jeremy Ibrahim would end up spending the entire year at AAA or below.

The bullpen was looking sharp, with guys like Cole Aitken showing up looking more fit than ever before.

Of course, Oberg liked to roll the dice, and plucked a young pitcher off the Rule-5 draft that had seen a full season of starting. He was likely just a mopup guy for me, but had swingman potential. Past what I had been told immediately, which was “he K’s a lot of guys, but walks a lot too,” I didn’t know what to expect. Raymond Sipple was his name, and he turned out to be a pleasant surprise. I was most impressed by his attitude when I first met him, though. Instead of trying to prove he belonged, he embraced this new organization as a challenge.

“There’s a reason I was picked up, isn’t there?” He said to me during our first conversation. “I know this is my opportunity, and trust me, I don’t ever plan on going back to the minors again.”

Although he would make the team, battling right to the last day to win the job over a surprising showing from Dannie Dones, who would end up posting a low ERA in spring games with surprising command, Sipple was slated to the pen.

Popham had spent the offseason rehabbing his injury, and looked as sharp as ever in the exhibition games - his mechanics had been altered somewhat to compensate for the strain on his arm that had come from pitching a heavy load last year, but he had just gotten better from it. I was originally intending to lighten his appearances throughout the year, but he would end up leading the team in appearances.

His counterpart, Dave Dolman, seemed to go hot and cold - typical of his springs, I was told. The team fully expected him to have a slow start and turn it on when the weather warmed up, but something simply seemed off about him - he would go from simply unhittable in one game to being unable to record an out in the next. Although most people wrote it off as exhibition “who cares” syndrome, I suspected a bigger problem - but I needed his arm, and I figured to use him in a tandem with Popham.

Hickman spent the whole spring mashing the cover off the ball. I had already told him well before the year even passed that he was going to be my leadoff for the next year, although with the addition of Hull I considered platooning them.

That, luckily, wouldn’t last long.


Spring games came to a close, with most of the expected team being placed on the roster. The first base situation didn’t ease at all, with no player seeming to stand out, and each butchering the position defensively.

Meanwhile, I had also been wanting to teach Harshaw to play short, especially following the terrible spring Paul Dekker was having both offensively and defensively. Although I was advised to play Dekker full-time, my final decision on the opening day starters had left me with my smoothest hitter squeezed from the lineup - so I decided he was adept enough at short to take over the position. Dekker was furious, but I had grown to love Harshaw’s calm style of play that there wasn’t a doubt in my mind of him being capable to play the position. First base would consist of the backup catcher Gonser playing with Aaron Delph, while Clifton Simoneaux had shown the most defensive chops at third, which coupled with his more-powerful-than-the-others offense, won the starting nod.

I had spent hours and hours deliberating with my coaches and debating with myself over what to do, and the lineup just seemed to make the most sense. I was wary of how some of the pitchers would fare with the decreased defence, and how the only player in the infield that who’s position was safe would play. Aaron Taylor wouldn’t disappoint me at second, but the rest of my plans wouldn’t even last two weeks before I would go back to the drawing board.


Just before the first game, which was scheduled for April 4th in Pittsburgh, I headed out towards Irene’s family’s house, to finally take them up on their offer and pick up some of the stuff they said I’d want. I hadn’t forgotten Irene at all; just the opposite. She filled my every thought, and as much as I had been trying to move on for the past two months, I couldn’t stop thinking about how different my life could be right now. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back to relive the horror of losing Irene by seeing her stuff so soon, but I had convinced myself that if I didn’t, I’d regret it forever.

However, what happened there, and what it brought out, I could have never predicted.

[kenyan_cheena]

Great stuff, especially the eulogy. And a nice cliff hanger to leave us all craving for more.

[Sdpm100]

Yeah, the eulogy was really good - it got me a bit emotional reading through it (although I am like that anyway).

Also I get the feeling we're going to here more about Chaffin.

And as for the cliffhanger, it'll obviously be interesting what happens next (I have a couple of ideas of what could happen, but they'll probably turn out to be wrong )

KUTGW, Jazzmosis

[RoyalsBlue]

Wow!

To borrow a phrase from Jack Buck...Pardon me while I stand and applaud!

Just read through this and it just keeps getting better and better. Nice job, Jazz. Look forward to even more of this.

[Jazzmosis]

I swear guys, this is the last chapter before I get back to baseball.. I keep telling myself to hurry this along, but there's too many words and too much story to simply skim over before baseball starts up again. But I have finally got everything out there - and after this, it's baseball. I promise.

As for this chapter itself, I don't really have much to say about it - other than hey, it's early! Infact, only two days later! Don't get used to it, though - this was just a stroke of inspiration, driven by a desire to play the game again and not allowing myself until I write the whole season down (you see how agonizing it gets for me, since I end up waiting like 3 months to play the game again). But either way, this chapter probably raises more questions than in answers. But those will be answered in later chapters, I promise. So without further ranting, in a few minutes, I'll drop Chapter 56: Remembering of Mark Jazzington.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 56: Remembering

I made the two hour drive to Irene’s parent’s house, feeling a little nervous. My mind screamed to turn back and just forget the pain, but my body and my heart wouldn’t let me turn the car around. I walked up the front steps of their house, my eyes scrambling to take myself away from what I was about to throw myself back into. I noticed the garden was neatly kept; the cobblestone pathway leading to the front door; the tightly cut grass across the yard, and the flowers just starting to sprout. The house was no mansion, but it was clear that they had done a lot of work to it in the suburbs. I rang the doorbell, and the first to answer was Blaney, whom I’d met at the funeral.

“Hello again,” I started.

“Hey,” she responded quickly, eyeing me up and down. “Come on in.”

I walked inside, taking off my shoes and observing the hallway. I was given a brief tour of the home by the three, making small talk, before we eventually got to the issue at hand.

They took me up the stairs to her old room, which I’d never seen before. “She lived in here until she moved out to Chicago at 19,” her mother started. “She would come back and visit rather frequently, even up until the accident.”

The room was designed to Irene’s character - there was an attempt at organization, but save a few spaces that seemed to be neatly arranged, the rest was a bit of a mess. A few pictures of her and her friends from college and highschool lined a bulletin board over her dresser. A desk strewn with papers laid in the corner, the papers covered in scribbles from her classes - I picked up one and read it casually - a news report on the Chicago Cubs from the first round of the playoffs.

“The Cubs rode a glory season, playing against all odds and injuries to reach the playoffs - many fans thought that it was the year of the Goat -how long has it been since the faithful have seen a team to give them hope? A team stacked with rookies, rookies like Cole Aitken, Basil Dominguez, Jose Morales, and others. Manager Mark Jazzington didn’t take the orthodox route there, playing hard to the final game, putting the best team out there - and even allowing some of the veterans like Wes Zang to play through the twilight years uninterrupted. Credit goes to both the young team and manager for finding the winning combination - but they all saw that it took a little more to get by the giants of the east - formidably, Jazzington’s old team. Florida flexed it’s strengths over Chicago in the first round, putting together everything Chicago only had in spurts in the season - clutch hitting, great pitching, and the long ball - to sweep the loveable losers out quickly. So we once again look forward to the next year, hoping that this team can find the fire in the bottle that propelled them to the playoffs for the first time since 1945 once again.”

I folded the paper up and put it in my pocket. I ruffled through some other papers, and found a picture of Irene and myself. And the memories came flooding back.


The setting was in California - Irene and I had flown out there for our 6-month anniversary. The team was there early last year, so after a day game Irene and I went out to dinner, where I had arranged a special meal with the cook, who just happened to be McDonald’s brother-in-law. I gave her a kiss and the meal was brought out - her favourite. We ate together overlooking the San Francisco coastline, and at the end, I asked for a picture from the waitress. She took it - and it came out to be the perfect shot of Irene and I - and her favourite picture. We sat together, the moonlight reflecting off the water, giving an image of an underwater moon just to the left of us. The city lights of Oakland illuminated the dark sky, sharing it with the stars - but even with all of the mood in the background, Irene was wearing a magnificent sky-blue dress, her long hair gently floating overtop her shoulders. Her smile stole the limelight from the picturesque background, and left hand on the table was shadowed by my right hand on top of it. I wore a white shirt with a black tie, and long sleeves. I always figured I looked goofy with my smile, but when it was coupled with Irene’s, nobody seemed to notice mine.

We were together.

And now we were torn apart.


I snapped back to reality reluctantly, my eyes snapping open to place me back in the bedroom. My eyes were wet from the tears I had been holding back, and the smile faded from my lips as I sat on her bed. Her parents and Blaney had left the room, and very suddenly I felt very small and alone. My heart raced briefly, more from the emotions than fear. I stood up, wiped my eyes, and left the room to find her parents.

“Can I keep this picture?” I asked, showing the photo.

They returned a pleasant, but seemingly forced smile. “Of course,” her mother said. “You may take whatever you want from her room - we figured that some things would have a special meaning for you.”

I thanked them, and pushed myself back up to her room, once again facing the memories. I found a few things that held some significance between her and I. I was about to leave when I found Blaney at the door. “Can I talk to you for a moment?” She asked innocently.

I agreed and we walked outside after I thanked her parents for allowing me to come. “What’s on your mind?” I asked, suspecting I knew already.

She fidgeted for a moment. “I miss my sister.”

I watched the tears well up in her eyes, and then felt them do likewise in my own. “So do I.”

“It’s hard to talk to anyone about it, too,” she continued between quiet sobs. “None of my friends have been through this - they just don’t understand.”

“What about your parents?” I responded in one breath. I was doing my best to be strong for the young girl, but I could feel that it wouldn’t happen.

“They miss her too,” She sobbed, the tears now streaming down her face, “but Irene never. . . confided in them the way she did with me.”

My curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

“She told me a lot of things that she wouldn’t tell anyone else - about her life, and what she wanted, and other things.”

“How old are you?” I asked, my interest raising in what the girl knew.

“19.” She replied bluntly.

“Okay. What did she tell you?”

“Just things - some important, some just normal. But I know she didn’t tell anyone else these things. And I’ll never have that again, and I have all these things and secrets she told me and she’s not here anymore. . .” She stopped for a small sobbing fit. “And I don’t know what to do. . . should I just forget them?”

Before I could respond, she stepped into me, putting her arms around my body and squeezing me into a hug. I hugged her back, and told her it would be okay. I didn’t know what else to do - the young girl, just a little shorter than Irene, reminded me so much of her that I nearly believed she was, once again. For a moment, as I held Blaney as she sobbed into my shirt, I remembered the moments I held Irene just the same way. Lost for words to say, feeling the tears once again start to slide from my eyes, I just held her for what seemed like an eternity.

When we finally broke apart, we briefly looked into each other’s eyes before both looking away. “Would it be okay if you and I talked from time to time about Irene?” Blaney asked hopefully. “Just so I have someone that understands.”

I nodded. We said our goodbyes, but it was certainly not for the last time.


I made the drive back to Chicago, and placed the picture on my desk, just the way I imagined Irene would have. The plane heading out to Pittsburgh for opening day was heading out in just a few hours, so I started to gather my things that I’d need for the week-long road trip that opened the 2009 Cubs campaign.

Just before I left, I looked at the picture again, and allowed myself to remember her in a good way. And I flashed back to the past again.


“Mark, where are we heading?” Irene asked in a bubbly voice. Her hair bounced behind her as I jogged with her pacing behind me.

“We’re almost there, I promise!” I replied cheerily, feeling the crunch of the grass under my bare feet.

We reached the top of the small hill - more like a mound, really - and stopped. I pointed up towards the sky, which glowed between the gap in the trees. “Oh, Mark. . .” She stammered. Up in the clear sky, a flash of stars seemed to dance from right to left, one after the other. “What’s happening?”

“I always told you I’d move the stars for you if I had too,” I smiled dumbly to counter my cheesy line.

She looked at me and gave me a light push. “Really.”

“No. . . it’s a meteor shower - the first one in 20 years.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I thought this would be the perfect spot for us to sit and watch it,” I said, and we shared a kiss.

“I love you, Mark.”


And I came back to reality, standing alone in my apartment. I smiled to myself, pushing the pain back down. “I love you too, Irene,” I whispered, before closing the door and heading to the airport.

[canadiancreed]

you know, I am quite surprised that I've never read this.

Truly a blemish on my dynasty enjoyment record. Good show

[PBL Commish]

another good write

[Jazzmosis]

Here I am again, up with another chapter of Mark Jazzington. I think you'll like this one - it's 8 pages long! Although it doesn't cover a whole lot of time, there was so much to write, and lookout, there's actually BASEBALL in this one (I know, here I was turning it into a real-fake-autobiography-life-drama story), so for all of you that have waited for the Cubs to get back in the saddle with Jazzington as their warhorse, wait no more!

Coming up: Chapter 57: A New Name to the Same Face

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 57: A New Name to the Same Face

As expected, I threw Koan to start the season off. His expectations were doubled since his stellar stats of the previous year, but despite a quality start and six strikeouts in six innings, the offense did not get anything together, and we dropped our first game, 3-1. Although it didn’t affect us, Pittsburgh’s opening day starter tore his rotator cuff in the third inning, and would wind up missing the entire season.

However, the first few games seemed to be the opposite of last season - instead of pouncing out of the gate strong, we fell flat on our faces, and after our first three series, our record stood at 2-6.

During those eight games, the team saw the danger of inconsistency. The players went hot-and-cold from game to game, and most found themselves with averages under .200 at April 13th. In fact, there was only two players that did not disappoint at some point during this early-stretch - Aaron Taylor, who was hitting .314 from various spots in the lineup, and Popham, who had thrown 4.2 scoreless innings. In the pitching’s defence, they were also consistent - consistently terrible. Only one of the five starters had an ERA under 7, and none had thrown past the sixth inning.

The errors piled up rapidly, which contributed to the losses and high-ERAs - something that secretly Oberg and I knew had nearly carried the ‘08 Cubs into the playoffs. This year, however, our fielding percentage was a dismal .961, last in all of baseball.

I placed the blame on the inconsistent play mainly on my lack of decisiveness, particularly at first base. The eight games had seen three different players make appearances there, and as a result the players weren’t sure whether or not they’d be playing when they showed up at the park. Worse off, the first base dilemma effected the rest of the field - I was stupidly platooning Hull and Hickman in centre, and also shuffling Ira to first in the middle of games to attempt to get him to learn the position. Meanwhile, the quiet Justin Schnabel could defensively handle the position, but was far-less than stellar at the plate in the spring, and that carried into the season, him hitting a paltry .161 up to this date. Delph had started about half the games at first thus far, absolutely butchering it - he hadn’t made a registered error, but couldn’t get to the bag in time for double play attempts, didn’t have the quick hands to keep the ball from getting into rightfield, and simply wasn’t in enough shape to properly handle the position - and as a result, I routinely bumped Simoneaux out of the game when shuttling Delph to third to keep him comfortable. Cuddy, my all-around defensive player, was adept at playing, but at 36, was not a good enough player to start, and his career average of .246 was not impressive. He ended up only starting eight games at seven positions in the 87 games he played - so as much as I liked having the defensive freedom in late games, he was nothing more than a backup.

I walked into Oberg’s office on the night of the thirteenth, just after getting swept by Pittsburgh, feeling a little exhausted and down.

“Mark,” Oberg started, twirling a pen in his hand. “We’ve got to talk.”

“I assumed as much.”

He stared at me very seriously for a moment before continuing. “How long are you going to juggle these players around?”

“Sorry, I’m just trying to see if anyone can handle first base - I know that you, Andy (Ernest Anderson, who was the infield instructor), and I went through this at the end of the spring, but frankly, nobody merits the job full time.”

“Fair enough,” he responded dully. “And what about Harshaw’s slow start? Compared to Dekker’s?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I’m not sure. Johnny’s not hitting well,
but -”

“.115.” Oberg interrupted quietly.

“ - yeah. But he’s just learned a new position, and by the end of the year, I know he’ll be his normal self. Dekker’s still young to the game. And in all fairness, he’s never held a full-time position before. I don’t know, I just feel that Harshaw still has the spot over him.”

“Perhaps. Also, is something wrong? You haven’t exactly had your usual intensity.”

Everything that Oberg was saying - all of it - I knew was true. I was playing favourites, leaving the lineup in limbo, and I had simply been out of it during the games. Oberg was well-aware of Irene’s death, so there was no need to bring that up - and even though it was only eight games into the season and this GM was quite possibly the most understanding man I’d ever work for in my career, I looked him straight in the eye, and gave the most convincing tone I could. “No, I just need to figure out what works best for the team. Don’t worry about me.”

I nearly convinced myself, even. Oberg, on the other hand, was sharp, but wouldn’t press the issue. “Well, we’ve got an off-day tomorrow, so we’ll take the rest and hopefully things will clear up better by then.”


It didn’t take long. Oberg called my apartment and told me he’d solved my problems. Although it was left on my machine, he was very specific. And he was absolutely right - this deal nearly solved all my problems - nearly.

During the offseason, Oberg had set his sights on picking up a power bat - and although he had scooped up George Martinez to overtake Dechant in right, Martinez was basically a cheaper version of him. He didn’t hit for much average, didn’t walk a whole lot, but could absolutely pound the ball when it was in his wheelhouse. His defence was highly suspect, something that he was criticized heavily for - and it would definitely affect us in this year, with his abysmal .947 breaking a 53-year old record for players with more than 1000 defensive innings at one position. Guasch was still the big bat in the lineup, and after coming off a career high in walks, pitchers had simply decided to pitch around him at all times - with the lack of protection in the lineup, he didn’t figure to hit as many out this season. Thus, Oberg had tried to get the biggest bat on the market, a first baseman named James Clough. He’d mashed 81 home runs over three years with Anaheim, and was closing in on 200 for his career. Best of all, he was right in his prime, at only 30 years old.

The negotiations had gone well in Oberg’s favour during the offseason, but just before he was landed, Baltimore came in with an out-of-left-field offer and signed him - for just a little more than Oberg had wanted to commit, given that he still had Dechant’s salary to deal with.

But that was then, and things had changed over the last month and a half. Oberg never took his eye off of him, and Baltimore had expressed a need for a good young catcher. And just two weeks into the season, the first trade was made - James Clough, and his 42 million, 4-year salary would head to Chicago - and backup catcher, 28 year old Justin Gonser, with AAA relief prospect Freddie Bradshaw, and Justin Schabel, went to Baltimore. Delph and Simoneaux would start a very brief platoon at third base, and Hull would no longer have to play first, the platoon continuing in centre for approximately another week.

I questioned the move at first, between my jubilation and excitement. I wondered how picking up such a large contract would fit into Oberg’s cost-cutting plan, but he explained that the Dechant claim opened up a lot of financial freedom - and even with Clough’s large contract, the payroll was still 5 million lower than 2008's.

That was just the first move, however. No player would be untradeable over the next few months.


But I had talked to Blaney a few times over the phone, and her and I agreed to get together to talk on the off-day. She drove down to Chicago to meet me, and we went to a quiet restaurant that I had befriended over the last year, before I showed her my rather untidy apartment. We spent most of the time in public talking about Irene - but just the happy memories. Both of us had the pain of the bad memories at the forefront, but seemed to silently agree to just remember things that made us smile.

She had said that she wanted to tell me some of the things that Irene had told her in private about our relationship, and there I discovered some tough things to swallow, secrets that made losing her just that much worse.

Although we had discussed moving in together previously, we had both decided it was for the best of both our interests if we didn’t at the time - I was on the road a lot, Irene was busy with her degree and internship at the local television station. However, Irene had told Blaney that months before her death, she had wanted to move in together more than anything. Each time the subject had been brought up, she had wanted to just say yes and try fate - we had been together over a year, and the way both our lives were heading, it just seemed the right thing to do.

This was hard to take, as I felt the same way. Last year had been a thrill on the field, but Irene had been my steadfast when I wasn’t working - and the times we had spent in my apartment were simply unforgettable - they were the memories I clang to every time I stepped in the door.

As Blaney continued to tell me about Irene’s thoughts, coupled in with her own memories, we were getting closer and closer. We sat together on my couch, the TV in front of us showing a black screen - the window on my right overlooking the rest of the city. The moonlight shone down overtop the city lights for the crisp, cool breeze that always ran through Chicago. Blaney reminded me so much of Irene, so much that the more she spoke, the more I saw Irene. She looked me straight in the eye as she spoke, seemingly analysing every micro-reaction I had to the words that came out of her mouth.

There was a pause before it happened, as the moment played out like it was a bad romantic movie. We stared at each other, our voices trailing to a silence - and both leaned in and pressed our lips together, my hand scooping her neck gently as we embraced. Her hair danced between my fingers, and her hands wrapped around my shoulders as she returned the kiss in one motion. I was so delusional at the time, I sincerely believed that it was Irene - Blaney even kissed like she did. I simply lost myself in the moment, both filled with despair, passion, and mistaken identity.

Things quickly escalated past that. Afterwards, after reality seeped back into my head, I left - but not before Blaney and I agreed to meet again soon, and continue our phone conversations. My emotions were mixed - I was ashamed for letting myself go as far as I had with Blaney - but excited at the same time - and not sure if it was Blaney I had feelings for, or if it was still me assuming she was Irene.

This dilemma affected my managing - although Koan had settled down, with Zang putting up a string of impressive starts afterwards, the rest of the staff was on a short leash - in all of April, Lamar made it into the 7th inning only once, Guillen was on-and-off every start, and Morales only pocketed one win. The bullpen was a saving grace, except Dominguez’s brutal 9.95 ERA, and Dolman’s typical brutal opening month. Meanwhile, Hickman had pushed himself to a 12 game hit streak by April 24, which put his batting average at an astounding .414. Needless to say, he had earned his full-time position by that point, which he would carry for the rest of the season.

However, others simply were inept with the bat - George Martinez was hitting less than .200, Delph’s average had faded from his hot start, and Cancio was hitting a paltry .229 with no home runs. What concerned me most, though, was Harshaw.

Last year, at April 27th, he was hitting .432. But now, he was hitting .183. He was playing shortstop adeptly if not spectacularly, but the cries had started for Dekker to replace him. I refused outright, both to Oberg and the press.

The team had stumbled out of the gate at this point, to the tune of 8-12, placing us 4 games back from the hot-start Pittsburgh Pirates. But Oberg wasn’t done dealing. That night, he made the first of two surprising trades that shifted the direction of the team.

[mikev]

Awesome chapter.

I could have sworn I was subscribed to this, but I guess not. Consider it done now.

[Y0DA55]

Originally Posted by canadiancreed

you know, I am quite surprised that I've never read this.

Truly a blemish on my dynasty enjoyment record. Good show

CC, shame on you for missing this one... it's defanitely a good one.


Hooking up with her sister? Oh boy... I don't know if this can lead anywhere good.

[Jazzmosis]

Oh yes, it's been nearly a month but Jazzington is back. . . I've had some insane pile of a month that's seen me fall behind on everything ever, but I've finally desginated some time to get this story back going. I never had nothign to write about - just no time!

And yet, in a few minutes you'll be reading Chapter 58: Saving Myself...

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 58: Saving Myself

I was called into Oberg’s office the morning of April 28th. All around the lower levels, there was media gathering in the press room, making it painfully obvious that something was going on. “What’s going on down there?” I asked nonchalantly as I was offered a seat and a glass of water.

“I’ve made a move - did it last night, actually.”

I looked up. “Who?”

Oberg took a long sip of his water and looked me straight in the eye. “I traded Harshaw.”

“What?!?” I screeched, nearly slamming the glass of water in my hand. “Why??”

Richard cracked a huge smile before bursting out laughing. “Relax! I was just yanking your chain. Harshaw’s still on the team.”

“Then who’d you trade?”

“Benjie and two AAA guys. For a young pitcher.”

“What team?”

“Heard of David Delaney?”

“Of course, we faced us about a week ago. You got him from Cincy?”

“Seems he wore out his welcome there. He hadn’t thrown well at all, and they called me asking if I was interested. Turns out they had an interest in Lamar. The rest is business.”

“What does this do for the team?”

“Apart from lowering some more payroll, basically Delaney bumps Lamar in the rotation. However, I thought I’d brief you before the press conference. I’ll do most of the talking, but you may have to field some questions.”

“Well at least give me his stats!” I cried as I got up.


He joined the team for the game the next night, but wouldn’t start until the first of May. As I shook his hand upon our meeting, I remember thinking that he seemed taller than when I had seen him on the mound, but was friendly nonetheless. He was a year older than Lamar, but had a similar career at this point. Both had career seasons the previous year, although while Lamar was 16-12, Delaney was only 9-12. The biggest difference was that Delaney was touted as not reaching his potential while Lamar had simply performed beyond expectations. David was once a prospect people said would rival hall-of-famer Robert Salcedo. However, his slow development hindered his favourability - and even though he’d been in the majors for nearly two complete years, his only full season of starting was the previous year - and his complete lack of command had simply doomed him. What Oberg hoped was that he’d find himself a home in Chicago. Myself, I wondered if he was really the answer that this team needed, or if he was simply a small upgrade over Lamar. Either way, shaving another 2.5 million off the payroll sat well - the cheaper players didn’t have an ego yet.


However, a second meeting with Oberg laid out the situation with Harshaw - with Dekker hitting better and touting a solid glove, Oberg told me to push aside my loyalty to last year’s sensation. I refuted as long as I could, but I knew I was basically pushing the issue. I asked that Harshaw get just one more start and if he struggled, then I’d play Dekker. Reluctantly, Oberg agreed.

I chose not to tell Harshaw of this, as to not put pressure on him. Just as it turned out, the game was a nail-biter. The game was tied 1-1 in the bottom of the ninth with one out and the bases loaded when he stepped up to the dish, 0-3 on the night, hitting all of .174. The crowd cheered him on loudly, hoping to see him get the hit he needed to start the wheels moving. He worked an 2-0 count before getting a pitch he could hit - a cutter on the outer half. He bit, swinging as the ball turned further off the plate. He reached as far as he could, one hand letting go of the bat as he did.

Last year, he would have fouled it off. This time, though, his bat swung under the ball, and whiffed around as he stepped forward to keep from falling flat on his face. The momentum of the swing twirled him around. He ended up stumbling to the ground, landing on the seat of his pants, looking rather foolish. However, his face told a different story. He was grimacing, and his hands reached for his ribs. I raced out with the trainer to see what had happened.

“What is it?!?” I asked in a huff.

“My ribs! My ribs burn!” He coughed out quickly.

The trainer went to work on him, as I continued talking. “Did the swing do it?”

“Probably made it worse.” He responded.

The trainer and I helped him up, getting him off the field. I wanted to find out what he meant by ‘worse’, but I still had a game to manage. I sent Ira Hull into the game to pinch hit with a 2-1 count.

He roped the first pitch he saw into centerfield, and the game was over. As the team mobbed each other at the plate, I rushed in to see my shortstop.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hurt.” He responded.

“What did you mean ‘worse’?”

Harshaw sighed to himself, as he undoubtedly was thinking of the proper way to word what he was about to say. I trusted him to tell the truth - it wasn’t in his nature to lie. “I tweaked them in the spring - but I didn’t want to lose time to learning short, so I played through it. I hoped it would get better - it didn’t, but it didn’t get worse either. Just in the spring, I took it easy on my swing to not aggravate them. I figured my defence was more of a priority.”
I stared at him for a moment, admiring him for his commitment to the team while simultaneously wanting to scold him for not telling me about the injury earlier. He was almost entirely right, however. I wanted him to learn short, and knowing about his ribs earlier would have put him back for weeks, likely put him to the minors to learn, or worsen the player-time situation I already had.

Either way, the fans crying for Dekker to get the starts would get their wish - Johnny would miss six weeks recovering. To replace him on the roster, Waldo Kolodziej was welcomed back to the team again after his stint last year.

He too, would play a big role in the team’s direction.

We finished the month 11-12, scooping up three wins in a row to close out the month. The ERA was settling down after the atrocious first two weeks, going to 4.37. The bullpen had started its changes, with Dominguez shuttling back to AAA after a brutal 9.95 month, replaced by Dannie Dones, who would be sporadic in his appearances. Popham’s role was shifting, as his ERA was 1.83 for the month - he would become a tandem of dynamite setup, pairing with Dave Walton. Aitken, meanwhile, picked up 5 saves with a 3.38 ERA.


I had been meeting up with Blaney nearly twice a week since our encounter. We shared memories most of the time, between her confessions of what Irene was truly thinking about life, and our relationship. Each new fact I learned only drew me closer to her. . . but in reality, it wouldn’t be long until I snapped back to the planet and found myself lying next to Blaney. Irene’s confessions were the things that I felt kept me together inside.

But just the opposite was happening all around me. I was living Irene’s life through her sister, and sleeping with her only made me fall deeper and deeper into the warp. I had her pictures all over my apartment, and each step I took on those floors gave me visions of her in the place with me. Happy memories, sad memories, any memory - it kept me from believing she was truly gone. I couldn’t deal with her death at the time, and I had simply transferred that and reflected it with Blaney.

Meanwhile, this was affecting the team. I had simply not budged on anything, not changing lineups or playing bench players unless I absolutely had to - but during the games, I was off in my own world, the baseball game in front of me merely a distraction easily avoided by my thoughts. The team was playing just at .500, looking like the one-off of last year. We started May on a 5 game losing streak at home, at one point in one game the team blowing the lead 5 separate times and yet, I never did anything. In my downfall, I had pulled the team into my abyss, and now both were sinking - I needed saving, but it wouldn’t come from anyone but myself.

My guilt over sleeping with Blaney for nearly a month triggered it. I knew I shouldn’t have from the beginning, but I had always just brushed that guilt aside for the moment. But after a 1-7 start to the month, my top priority was seeing Blaney on the day off - and I realized there that I was in too far.

It didn’t hit me all at once - rather came as a slow drip on my drive to her place. More and more of my guilt told me why I had to stop - my pessimism built - my pride fell - and reasoning made its move. I knew when I reached her driveway that I needed to move on - not forget Irene - but say goodbye and push my life forward. As for Blaney, I needed to distance myself. This was my best chance, possibly my only chance to do this properly.

She answered the door, giving me a hug that I returned faintly. She grabbed my hand and rushed me to her room, locking the door. “I’ve waited for you. . .”

“Me too,” I responded quietly.

“What do you want to do first?”

I looked at her soft features, and started. “Talk. We need to talk. I - we can’t do this anymore. I’ve been wanting to love Irene as if she was still here, but she’s gone - and I’ve just been pretending that you’re her. I just can’t lie to myself anymore.”

There was silence for a moment, and when she replied I could sense tears would soon follow. “I. . . understand. . . I just. . . I know why Irene loved you so. And I feel like I am too.”

“You can’t be - you don’t even know me. You just know the Irene-part of me.”

“But. . . who can I talk to? Who understands this feeling better than you and me?”

“I share your grief, we’ve both lost something precious to us - but that’s the only feeling we share.”

“But. . .”

“I’m sorry,” I stood up, wanting to leave before things became more difficult. “We can still call from time to time, but we both need to move on alone - because we can’t do it together.”

I went for the front door, knowing she’d follow and try and stop me. I managed to get in my car and turn the engine on before she reached me. My window rolled down, she reached her arm in and grabbed mine, looking me straight in the eyes with the same intensity Irene did. “If you’re leaving for good, please promise you’ll call if I do too. . . so I have something to hold onto.”

The words didn’t make sense, and were broken by sobs. I put my free hand on hers, which gripped my arm tightly, and promised I would.

I drove home, vowing there I wouldn’t forget Blaney or Irene, but to never fall back into the loop I was in. I was going to get a new apartment; I was going to put away all the things of Irene - I was going to think about the baseball team I managed. We were below .500. . . that blew my mind. Things wou