Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Jazzmosis]

Here we go with the next Chapter of Mark Jazzington... we're approaching 50 pages (100 in a novel format), which is the longest active story I've got running (I've got other projects, but they're stalled for this one.)

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 15: Arm-peace, or lack of it


Full of confidence, we hammered our way into May. The months started off against Florida - how fitting. We slumped a bit, losing the series two games to one. I was booed by the fans when I came out to make a pitching change. Personally, I thought it was amusing. That’s the thing about the average fan: they’re uninformed - I didn’t leave Florida because I necessarily wanted to - it was because I wasn’t offered a job!

From May 7th to May 9th, Arizona made history with Houston. After routing the Astros for the first two games (13-1 and 16-9), we had collectively scored 39 runs. The MLB record was 44 runs for a three-game set. We lost the next game 6-0, but effectively broke the record by one run. And just like that, another star was added beside my name in my brief career. I never will attest to these records being anything of serious importance, since anyone can make up records in baseball and say someone is on the verge of breaking it.

Although these tiny etches were being made, the greatest achievement of the month was undoubtedly that which happened on May 12th. We were in Cincinnati, and clinging to a 6-5 lead in the bottom of the ninth. The ever-steady Look had given up two singles, and just like that, the losing run was on first base. Erwin Higa, a short, 30 year old Dominican rightfielder who had a reputation as a weak lefty hitter, dug into the box. He was in the midst of an 10 game hit streak, and had the chance to put his team on top for good. Look went 2-0 on him before piping a pitch.

Higa turned on it, roping a line drive back up the middle, just over Look’s head. The ball seemed to fly in slow motion, as I watched with a grim expression. Just as it was about to hit the grass in shallow centrefield, Dominic Rodriguez came out of nowhere, extending his glove in a diving grasp. His body slid across the grass like it was ice, and I watched in amazement while he twisted his back as Casablanca broke for second base. Without even trying to get on a knee, D-Rod threw a knee-high strike to second, which Magglio snagged for the out at the bag. Not skipping a heartbeat, Casablanca leapt into the air, turning his body around, and hurling the ball as hard as he could to Moreno at first. The runner had been caught between bases and was sprinting back for the bag. In a play that was the definition of ‘bang-bang’, Moreno grasped the ball as the runner (Cirilo Solis) made a hard slide. Moreno tumbled to the dirt cutout, but held his grasp on the ball.

Triple play.

The players mobbed each of the heroes of the ninth inning, as I sat in the dugout with my jaw hanging open.


The rest of the month was fairly uneventful. We continued our dominance of the NL, holding the best record but also with San Francisco hot on our tail.

We gained some stability in the bullpen when Santos Moya signed a 2 year, 2 million dollar extension. His ERA at the time was the lowest next to Look’s. Meanwhile, the starting pitching was weak, but Giichi was undefeated and Yorikazu Yo****ora had been pitching like a champion.

My life was getting considerably better. The media was slowly beginning to change its opinion of me, and in one article I even got praise.‘It seems like the one year of constant mistakes in Florida has taught Jazzington what not to do - and he’s made a statement in Arizona so far.’ Odd praise, but praise nonetheless. People were surprised about Arizona’s NL-leading record, and surprise ascension to the top. Everyone was waiting for the bubble to burst - there were rumours and reports flying everywhere about how we couldn’t keep up this pace. Both San Diego and Colorado were fighting to stay out of the cellar after such a big 2004. They were easily within striking distance.

However, on my time off between games, I had started to go to strange places. I wasn’t aloud in bars - despite turning 20 on May 28th - the happiest day of my life. No, my destinations ranged from the occasional nightclub to small apartments with a band playing inside. I was unsure of myself. I loved baseball and I was becoming more confident in my ability to manage, but my life, since breaking up with Lacey, had turned into work - so I began to visit places, to develop interests. Every so often I’d see my picture show up in a tabloid or on an internet news blog as “what did Jazzington do this time?”, but I was just bored and a little lonely.

The fans love to see their stars, and managers play a crucial role in getting them to perform. I never became loved, but I was building a reputation - incredibly slowly. When managers get hired or fired, fans will react with things like “He was a good manager” or “I’m glad he’s gone.” It may be all they talk about in terms of your skills, but at least you had recognition.

Unlike some young baseball stars, I hadn’t risen to fame or cult followings. I was just the guy everyone doubted. ‘Too young, too inexperienced, not enough sense for the game, runs on luck rather than talent’, I heard it all. The media was still negative towards me, but not as frequently. Given how the team was playing, they couldn’t find a whole lot to bash - but they were unwilling to give me any credit. It was always the players controlling me according to them. That was somewhat true, but when I wanted to pull a guy or make a change, for the most part the players didn’t argue.

I had met some girls here and there and gone on a few dates since leaving Lacey. I was surprised at how much I missed her, but I refused to go back. I had moved on. I got the distinct impression that a few of the girls I’d dated were interested in my ‘large sum’ of money I was pulling in. It was more money than I’d ever seen, but it certainly was nothing to retire on.

It was bound to happen, though. I’d been cruising around so often, meeting so many girls and pushing away my shyness, that someone came to me.

I was sitting alone at a small restaurant while a band played live, when some girl approached me.

“Hi, you’re that. . .um. . . manager guy, right?” She said, smiling.

I looked back at her with an awkward expression. “Depends on what you’re talking about.”

“For the, like. . . baseball team. Um. . . Diamondleafs or something?”

“Diamondbacks.” This girl annoyed me. At best, she was 18, with short blond hair and a giggly, plastic face. “I manage the Diamondbacks.” I looked back to my plate.

She giggled. “Yeah. Um. . . you see that girl I’m sitting with?”

I glanced at her. “No. I haven’t been looking at other customers.”

She smiled and played with her hair. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pointed across the room to a collection of girls sitting together.

“What about them?” I asked, mildly interested. None of them were particularly bad looking, but I just didn’t care. I just wanted to eat my chicken caesar wrap in peace.

“The one on the left saw you on TV.” The girl giggled and smiled.

“Lots of people see me on television.” I replied quickly, with impatience in my voice. I hadn’t paid much attention to the girl.

“Um. . . she thinks you’re cute.”

I stopped in mid-bite, and looked up to the giggling girl before me. “Okay. Can I eat now?”

The girl twiddled her hair nervously. “Will you talk to her if I send her over?”

Sighing and dropping my hands to the table, I caught eyes with the giggling girl. “How old are you?”

“We’re all 18 or 19.”

“You don’t look it.”

“Everyone says that - I’ll send her over. Her name is Caroline, but we call her Carla.” The giggly girl hurried back to her friends’ table, as I took a large bite of my wrap, relishing its flavour that I had been denied during the whole conversation. It was delicious.

Sure enough, this girl came to my table. She had long, straight black hair, was wearing clothes a little inappropriate for a sit-down restaurant, seemed to be average-sized, and had deep sea green eyes. She almost reminded me of Lacey. “Hi.” She greeted, sitting down across from me.

“Hello.” I responded bluntly.

“I’m sorry about my friend. . . she’s a little crazy.”

“Noticeably.”

She laughed. “I guess she told you my name?”

“Yeah - Carol...yn?”

“It’s Caroline. Caroline.”

I gave her a good look for the first time. She was definitely the best looking of the group. And I don’t know how it happened, but we actually had a decent conversation. She wasn’t nearly as annoying as the other girls, who I could hear giggling the whole time.

Just as I was about to leave, I felt her hand press against my quadriceps. I didn’t think much of it until I got home, and felt something in my pocket.

Her phone number.

[Dougiestyle]

Boooooyeah!

Jazz with the ol' smooth moves.

Love this chapter, as I have loved them all. When I get my OOTP running, I shall return to my Moneyball-esque GM dynasty, which you inspired me to write.

I always look forward to your chapters.

[rallymonkey1982]

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

“Yeah - Carol...yn?”

Classic.

[Tib]

Watch out for this girl, Jazz. If she can put something in your pocket without you knowing, she can take something out without you knowing.

[Jazzmosis]

Originally Posted by Tib

Watch out for this girl, Jazz. If she can put something in your pocket without you knowing, she can take something out without you knowing.

Someone's predicting future events!!!

Originally Posted by Dougiestyle

Love this chapter, as I have loved them all. When I get my OOTP running, I shall return to my Moneyball-esque GM dynasty, which you inspired me to write.

Thanks - good to know I'm inspiring others - it's a mini-dream come true! (Seriously.)
--

A few notes: Sorry about the sensoring halfway through one of the player's name, It's Yosh¡tora. Turns out the board's software sensors the combined four letters, not just the word alone.

Also, a bit of a clarification: I've got a lot of comments on AIM, MSN, etc etc about whether or not this character is me. There are similiarities, but the character I'm writing about is not supposed to be me as an individual. I realize the names are similiar (Jazzmosis, Jazzington), and the first names are the same (Mark, Mark) but that was just because when I originally started the dynasty, I never intended for it to turn into this... if I was planning to start the managerial mode as a story, I'd have probably chosen a better name.

[FastLane]

...people hate it when you get that wrong...

...I dont know if you were paying homage to the comedy genius of Brain Regan, or if that was coincidence, but it got me to spray Mountain Dew on my monitor when I read it....

Still Great Stuff, Jazz...

[Jazzmosis]

Originally Posted by FastLane

...people hate it when you get that wrong...

...I dont know if you were paying homage to the comedy genius of Brain Regan, or if that was coincidence, but it got me to spray Mountain Dew on my monitor when I read it....

Still Great Stuff, Jazz...

I was wondering if anyone would pick up that reference... I love Brian Regan.

[Jazzmosis]

Here we are, another Saturday, and another Mark Jazzington. This chapter focuses heavily on the season because nothing eventful really happened in the game.

In case anyone is wondering, I've started to simulate most of the games except for a few that I like, such as important games against rivalries. The others against poor teams or teams not closely connected to the story I usually sim and then read the logs to find things. It's a slow, slow process.

Anyways, Chapter 16 coming up.

Side note: This post also represents my promotion to AA!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 16: Chip Takasagi and the Best of the Best


We had finished May with a 15-14 record, tying us with San Francisco for the lead, and putting us one game ahead of Los Angeles. The NL west was getting crowded, with last place San Diego only 5 games behind. We sat with a 32-24 overall record.

Eastwood started June off right, getting Giichi to agree to a 3 year, 14.1 million dollar extension (4.7 million a year). There was also a slight shuffle in the pen, as Chad Bolick and his 10.13 ERA was sent down to make way for 29 year old Scott Hennessey.

And much to my shame, I had called Caroline. I didn’t understand why - her friends were annoying as hell, she seemed shallow, was obsessed with looking excessively beautiful, and just seemed. . . well. . . fake. Essentially, she was everything I wasn’t attracted to. But something was there - maybe it was just because I was too nice of a guy to never call someone after they gave me their number. Or maybe it was because she had a killer body.

I had called Dewberry, who was still without a team. It almost sounded like he was ready to hang up the spikes - he was having a good time with his wife and kids, and had made hints that he was going to stay with them. I joked that he was giving up his ‘avoid-his-wife-lifestyle’, but he chuckled and told me to not count him out of the game just yet. I discovered what he meant, long after that call. Jerrold always had tricks up his sleeves. Always.

The games had become stale. There was no nail biters in May, nothing to get me fired up. I had only been ejected once - I felt so ashamed. Sure, we were winning, but I was managing calmly. Things had been running far too smoothly, I needed a game that put me back in the swing of things. That game came to me on June 3rd. We were playing the Giants, losing 5-4 in the bottom of the ninth. Moreno started things off with a one-out single, and hot corner fill-in Harland Morales walked. The crowd was starting to warm up. Another backup, Ronnie Smith, who was filling in for injured Michael Gongora, dug into the plate. The first pitch ricocheted of the catcher’s mitt, and the crowd roared as Moreno and Morales scooted up a base. I clapped. I was starting to get that feeling in my stomach. I was starting to sweat again. I loved that. San Francisco drew in their infield. Smith grounded out to the first baseman. Two down.

Now, I’m going to ruin the end by saying we won. And in most stories of epic journeys, it’s the hero that strikes the final blow, but not in this situation. The guy that won this game will never be remembered for his offense. His name was Anthony Morford, and he was the D’backs catcher. He was on his way to his best defensive year, and at 25 stood to have many more on his way. But his bat was weak. Whenever people speak of him, nobody remembers this moment. But for him, he called it the finest moment of his career when it happened. I spoke to him years after his retirement, and he told me that it was still the best. I’ve always found it funny that such small things in baseball can be so important to the players that lived them. It was an 0-2 count, and Morford was trying desperately to keep us alive. He fouled off a few balls. The pitcher, Rich Benarch, threw a devastating splitter. I only know that from watching the tape afterwards. The ball literally bounced in front of the plate, and Morford was chasing. It was probably the luckiest swing in the history of baseball - Anthony looked like he was going to swing right over the splitter, but the ball bounced back up, and hit Morford’s bat square in the barrel. If I hadn’t watched the tape I wouldn’t have believed it myself. But it happened.

The ball wasn’t a home run - Morford didn’t have that kind of power to knock a 82MPH dirt-ball over the fence. Instead, the ball was roped past a diving second baseman into shallow right-centre. Moreno trotted home easily, and Harland decided to test his luck against the outfield-assist leading centrefielder Norman Squier. Morales was not a quick runner, nor was his decision wise. He was beaten by the ball at the plate by about four or five steps, but San Francisco catcher John Shiner bobbled it. The baseball scooted to his right. He grasped it with lightning quick reflexes and dove in front of Harland at the plate, resulting in a cataclysmic home-plate collision. Morales’ helmet went flying and the gloves in his back pocket even were jarred loose. Shiner’s mask actually broke, pieces of the cage and the hat hurtling through the air. For a brief moment, their bodies mingled together, and it became impossible to tell them apart. It actually would have been quite sexual if it wasn’t for the fact that it was two men trying to save the game for their respective teams.

In the end, Shiner fell onto his back and literally sprung Morales up into the crisp, summer air. Morales hit the ground, scrambled back, and tapped the plate. The ball lay in the dirt beside a dazed Shiner. We had won the game 6-5, and Morford was game-winning hero.

Throughout the month, Thomas Westra and Anthony gained the reputation as the twin killers - both had a plus 50 runners thrown out percentage. No two catchers on the same team with 100+ at bats each had ever thrown out 50% or more would-be base stealers in a season by June. Back in 1976 two catchers from Cincinnati had come close with 45% and 51%, but it was simply unheard-of.

On June 10th, I found out that we were tied with San Francisco (still) and the Chicago White Sox for the best record in baseball. The next day, both teams lost and we won. We were the best team in baseball. The interviews flooded in that night, for two reasons. The usual hate-spouting media actually opened up and told me that I had gone back to .500 as a manager at 114-114, and to tell us we were indeed the best team. It was a great day for me. One interview in particular sticks out on this day, because it was done by the same reporter I had slammed last year in Florida.

“Mr. Jazzington, a word?” He asked amongst the crowd.

I looked at him. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

“Yes, we’ve met. Back in Florida.”

I searched my mind for a name. “Who are you?”

“Chip Takasagi.” He paused. “You and I got into an argument over your ejections last year.”

It all clicked. “Ohhhh, of course!” I quickly realized that this could be a repeat. “What do you want?”

“I just want to tell you that you’ve reached .500 as a manager again. Congratulations.”

“Um. . . thanks.”

“How does it feel? You’ve calmed down considerably since last year.”

“Well I didn’t know about this until you told me. So it doesn’t matter to me what my record is, as long as the team plays well.”

“Granted.” Chip scribbled on his notepad. “How does it feel to be the surprise team of 2005?”

“It feels like June 11th. There’s still a lot of baseball to play,” I responded. “I’ve long learned that nothing in baseball in safe.”


It wasn’t the best or most important conversation, but it was a change to the last time I spoke to him. Now I’m sure you would all like for it to turn into a great friendship and find out that he became a publisher and helped to publish what you’re reading, but no. I never saw him again after that. I just remember his name and those two conversations.

And all good things don’t last for long. We started to slide as the end of the month came along. Eastwood had seen enough of Deivi Saloman and his 2-6 record coupled with a 8.76 ERA, and he was released. To replace him, 22 year old James Vasser was called up. In AAA, Vasser had gone 10-2 with a 4.13 ERA. This also gave us 3 left handed starters with Yorikazu Yo****ora, Manuel Torres, and him. Vasser was a solid talent, but nothing to depend on. A 5'11, 180 pound American born pitcher with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a serious attitude problem, James was a major headache in the clubhouse. He actually complained to me that he wasn’t getting enough ‘priority starts’. In a sense, he was a more in-your-face version of Luis Guerra. A lot of players didn’t like him because he thought he was god’s gift to baseball. I couldn’t believe it. This guy was not ready for the big show and was at best a #3 or #4 starter with his top game. This was his first major league call-up, and he was complaining about priority starts as if he was a 10 year veteran. I would have complained to Eastwood, but I knew that nobody in AAA was capable of filling in other than Benjamin Sizer, who was injured. So we all had to live with this kid’s attitude.

On the 23rd, I was ejected for only the third time. Fortunately, I was holding true to my ‘at-least-one-ejection-per-month’ record, which now stood at ten months. At least Yorikazu hit his first home run. I congratulated him - through his translator.

On the 27th, Vasser finally got his first start. He pitched 4.2 innings, giving up 7 runs - 6 unearned. He complained endlessly on the bench when I pulled him about how ‘terrible’ this team’s defence was until Morales got tired of listening and told him to shut up.

And remember Scott Hennessey? He made an immediate impression, pitching in 10 games. His ERA was 0.00. His innings pitched was 11. And his WHIP was a phenomenal 0.34. He’d given up 2 hits and 2 walks all month.

We finished June at a mediocre 13-13, 45-37 overall. We’d slipped from the NL West lead, and sat 3 games behind San Francisco. Worse then that, Colorado was only 1 game back from us.

However, a great distraction came along known as the All-Star Game. Ken Giichi and Dominic Rodriguez had been called, and one other guy. I pleaded with Eastwood to tell him personally, until he finally agreed.

I ran like a schoolgirl down the corridor and found the player. “Guess what?” I said, tapping him on the shoulder.

He turned and looked at me. “What’s up, Jazz?”

“Welcome to the NL All-Stars, Christopher Look. I hear it’s your first visit.”

[Tib]

Very nice. If I may say, your writing is getting better and better.

[Jazzmosis]

Originally Posted by Tib

Very nice. If I may say, your writing is getting better and better.

Wow, praise from Caesar himself! Thanks Tib, I'm just glad people are reading it...

[The Funk]

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

I had called Dewberry, who was still without a team. It almost sounded like he was ready to hang up the spikes - he was having a good time with his wife and kids, and had made hints that he was going to stay with them. I joked that he was giving up his ‘avoid-his-wife-lifestyle’, but he chuckled and told me to not count him out of the game just yet. I discovered what he meant, long after that call. Jerrold always had tricks up his sleeves. Always.

Yeah, this is a great paragraph, very nicely done! And really good finish to the chapter.

[Jazzmosis]

Sorry for the slight delay - last night I had my last exam and went on a bender afterwards... so another chapter of Mark Jazzington will be up soon, right after I'm done formatting it.

Of all the chapters, I think this is my favourite. It's quite long, however. I was going to post it in two sections but I just couldn't find an appropriate place to split it up! So, as an early Christmas gift to you, my readers, I'm posting the chapter in it's entirety. Hope you enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 17: The James Vasser Files


Look was so excited for his first All-Star Game appearance, that he called almost everyone he knew. He bought over 40 tickets, inviting all of his family, his friends, and even his neighbours. When it was all said and done, he had spent well over four thousand dollars. He invited me, but I graciously declined. For me, the All-Star Game was a time to go home and relax. The game was in Tampa Bay. I didn’t want to go near Florida anymore - I had left a lot of bad memories there. I would usually meet with the coaches and discuss lineups and the pitching staff, but that was always near the end of the break.

I watched the game on TV, however. Dominic Rodriguez went 1-3 with a double, but didn’t do much. Giichi pitched two innings (4th and 5th), striking out two and walking one. And in the 8th, Christopher Look stepped onto the mound. He pitched flawlessly, striking out one on the way. However, for the second year in a row, the AL won. The final score was 2-1.


On the last day of my break, I finally caved and asked Caroline out. She accepted. . . unfortunately. I kicked myself over that one afterwards because I still didn’t know what I saw in her. We had been talking for awhile and had spent a little bit of time together, but never without her aggravating friends tagging along. She was in the middle of her ‘summer’ job, and getting ready for her first year of college in Chicago. Her job wasn’t much of one, since she was afraid to do anything that may get her dirty but hated to anything boring like filing. So she babysat. It didn’t make enough money to get her into college, but her parents were very wealthy, and if she needed something, she got it. It explained why she bought a new outfit every week. And she always wanted to go shopping with me. Whenever I gave up and agreed, we would be there for hours. Hours. And she’d always find her friends just ‘coincidentally’ shopping at the same time. Fortunately, I had baseball as a gigantic excuse/distraction to avoid her. Don’t get me wrong - she was nice, and had some smarts - she wasn’t completely unbearable.


The month started out poorly for the Diamondbacks, as we dropped our first 8 of 10 and slipped to fourth place. San Diego was red-hot and had streaked to within a game of San Francisco. Meanwhile, Colorado sat two games back while we floundered, falling to six behind by the July 12th. Things got worse. That night, James Vasser was scheduled to make his second career start, and he was letting everyone know that it would be a gem.

“Hey, Harly!” He called down the clubhouse hallway. I was in another room, but could hear everything.

“It’s Harland, rookie.” Morales shouted back.

“I’m feeling a gem coming tonight!”

“Good.”

“Not good, great! This is just the start, so long as you ass-bags don’t field like **** again,” Vasser bellowed arrogantly. Everyone could hear him, and he knew it.

“Shut up, rookie.” Morales called back.

“Jesus man, I hope you’re not playing third tonight, cause your fielding blows, man!” Vasser was obviously trying to push buttons at this point. I got up, and opened the door to see James strutting confidently and shirtless down the hallway.

Morales stood near the change-room door, and a few other players were coming out to see what JV was spewing this time. Santos Moya, my most trusted reliever, Hennessey, and Antonio Moreno were the first out the door.

“Oh, Maury!” Vasser called. That was his pet name for Moreno. “Do me a favour and catch the ball at first tonight!”

“Are you asking to get your ass kicked, rook?” Hennessey yelled. He was used to Vasser’s jackass-like nature, as they had both played in AAA earlier in the year. I had heard rumours from Ben Sizer (the only other callup so far in the year) that Scott had already decked James back in Wichita, AAA’s home city.

“Shut up, Scott. I’ve taken you before, I’ll do it again!” Vasser yelled.

Morales took a step forward, but Moreno put his hand on Harland’s shoulder. “He’s not worth it.” Antonio whispered. “Just let him run his mouth.”

Let me get one thing clear - James Vasser was not a tall, muscular ball player. He stood at 5"11 and 180 pounds. He was similar to Hennessey, who was 6"1 and 190. However, the powerhouse of the group before him was Santos Moya, who had yet to say anything. Moya could crush beer cans on his forehead (he sometimes did that to impress Latino girls at bars) and stood 6"3 and a whopping 222 pounds of pure muscle. The only two players that outweighed him were Yong Renick (235) and David Baeza (230), who also stood the tallest at 6"6. Just for reference, the thinnest guy was Ronnie Fleisher at 165 pounds and 6"2.

James Vasser reminded me of those small kids from high school that disturb the piece and start fights to assert their manhood. I suppose it was because they felt inferior because of their size. Vasser wasn’t sort by society’s standard, but he was one of the smallest on the club.

All of that was on the backburner in my mind, as I was currently wondering where the hell the other coaches were, not to mention security. I found out later that the coaches were talking with Eastwood upstairs. I had to handle this myself.

Vasser continued to heckle.“**** Scott, you wonder why a 30 year old man was in AAA? Cause he sucks! Were you called up when you were 22? **** no, cause you’re not a talent like me.”

“**** you, Vasser. The only reason you’re up here is cause there’s nobody else to take #5. If you are so good, why the **** are you the fifth starter?” Hennessey yelled back. Things were going to get ugly soon. James Vasser against 24 Diamondbacks? It wouldn’t surprise me.

More players were filling the halls. Daniel Armendariz, Ken Giichi, Michael Gongora, even Yorikazu was checking the situation out as his translator rambled everything that was being said. Don’t know why you would bother.

Aaron Delph stepped out from a different room. “Jesus Christ people, shut the **** up!”

Voices started yelling back and forth, and Hennessey looked ready to club Vasser. I stood watching everything, hoping it would die down. There was no way I could stop Hennessey and Vasser - maybe one, but not both.

Finally, all hell broke loose - between my own team - for the second year in a row. Hennessey rushed JV, and tackled him. Vasser somehow parried the attack and stayed on his feet, and the fists started flying. Everyone in the hallway, myself included, rushed to separate the two. Moya grabbed Vasser and pulled him off Hennessey, while Gongora and Yorikazu’s translator held Scott back.

Vasser wasn’t done. James turned and decked Moya directly in the nose, getting him to release his grip. He then ran and did a flying kick into Hennessey’s stomach, knocking all three of them to the ground. For such a loudmouth, Vasser sure could give as good as he got. Armendariz and D-Rod both sent punches at Vasser, only to have him duck one and deflect the second. He then landed a flurry of punches on both D-Rod and Daniel and dropped them to their knees. I found out later that James was a black belt of karate. Yong Renick and Baeza both rushed JV, but failed. Blood was being spilt - none of which belonged to James. Many of the players lay on the ground, stunned and hurt, and other players started to back off. They were coming to the realization that Vasser was more skilled then they were. I had never seen so many men fended off by one person before, but I knew what I had to do. I had taken karate all throughout my youth, and was a brown belt. I hadn’t practised in nearly a year, but nobody else could stop Vasser, who was still attacking.

“Vasser!” I yelled as loud as I could.

He stopped, turned and looked at me. “You want some too, skip?” He smirked arrogantly.

“Someone, get security and medical help. Fast. And get some of these guys off the floor.” I waved my hand, and saw a few of the players rush off. Others that were attending to the hurt started to drag them out of the way. “James, I’m giving you one chance and one chance only. What you’ve done here could be considered assault. Either go tell Eastwood what you’ve done, or I’ll be forced to deal with you myself. And you don’t want that.”

I couldn’t believe what was coming out of my mouth. When it came down to a real fight, I’d always shied away. I had one advantage in this situation, however - James didn’t know I could fight.

“Skip, Scotty attacked me first. I acted in self defence!” He replied.

I thought about it, and he was right. The players had attacked him first, except Moya. “I don’t care. You decked Moya, kicked Hennessey when he was being restrained, and have kicked the living **** out of most of the guys. All because you ran your mouth. I will not have this kind of atmosphere in my clubhouse.”

“****, Skip. . . maybe if you played me more like I deserve this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Bull****,” I yelled back. “I play you as you deserve, just like every other player here. I’m not going to give you special treatment.”

“Fine, Skip.” Vasser turned and drilled Scott Hennessey in the stomach - again. He wasn’t even doing anything that time. “****er.”

That was the last straw. I dropped my lineups sheet and rushed Vasser, who turned and stopped my punch. He and I went at it, trying to hit each other but constantly blocking our blows. Finally, after nearly a minute of fighting, all the players watching silently, I caught one of his punches. It hit me in the face, but I managed to grab his wrist with my hand and twist. He fell to the ground, as I held his arm high.

The security came through the doors along with paramedics. I stood there, James caught under my grip, my foot on his shoulder, hand holding his left wrist. “I’ll break your arm, so help me, James. And you need it to pitch. . .” I looked at the security officers. “You have cuffs or something?”

“Yeah.” One replied.

“Good. Cuff him, and take him to Eastwood’s office. He’ll deal with him there. Hennessey, when you’re fine again, you go too. I’ll be up in a minute.”

Vasser was cuffed and hauled to Eastwood to explain the situation. Medics attended to Moya, Armendariz, D-Rod, Renick, Baeza, Delph, and Gongora. JV had knocked a lot of guys around. Luckily, none were seriously injured. Moya had a gigantic bruise on his face, and others were cut and bruised themselves. I was no exception. I don’t know what surprised me more - the fact that Vasser had taken on so many players at once, or that I had beat him. I received many, many thanks from the players when I returned from Eastwood’s office.

Hennessey and Vasser both received team fines of a whopping 100 thousand dollars for player misconduct, which was an agreement for them to not get suspended by the front office. Eastwood told everyone later on to keep the ordeal quiet, but given the amount of bruises that were visible, the media eventually got a story out of it. Vasser was fined again by the MLPA for 30 thousand, and the MLB suspended Hennessey for two games for inciting the riot. The Diamondbacks were the laughingstock of baseball for a few weeks and many newspapers and television stations tried to get their hands on the security camera footage, but Eastwood and Concardian pulled some strings to keep that out of media hands.

The month didn’t go smoothly, as we had wounds to heal as individuals and as a team. Our play suffered, and we struggled to stay with San Francisco and San Diego.

James Vasser made a few starts, and pitched well. On the 22nd he went 7 innings, giving up only 2 runs, but received a no decision. He immediately complained of run support. He hadn’t changed, despite the ordeal.

There was a bright spot in this dismal month, however. Yorikazu went 4-0 with a 3.00 ERA in July, giving him a 11-5 record - the team lead in wins. By comparison, Giichi had struggled and lost four in a row.

The trading deadline approached. Eastwood pulled off an amazing deal, sending Daniel Armendariz and his 5.95 ERA (6-10 record) to Boston for first round selection Michael Hensley. He was the 9th overall selection, and got an immediate callup to the majors. The starting pitching was the problem, and Eastwood had done a great job to drop 8.8 million of salary and pick up a fantastic young pitcher.

Hensley was 22 at the time of his promotion, born in late 1982. He was born in Rochester, New York - not far from where I used to live. He was average height for a baseball player, strong, and very well-natured. Possibly one of the easiest guys to get along with. Better yet, he was nearly my age, and I could associate with him.

He made his major league debut on the 31st, to close out the month. Vasser thought he should have pitched and made it clear, but since his arrival Hensley had been warned endlessly by every player about him. He had a great debut, pitching 7 innings, giving up 6 hits, 2 walks, striking out 7, and giving up only one earned run. We routed league-leading San Diego, 14-4.

We finished July a dismal 12-13, 57-51 overall. We sat in 4th, 5 games back from San Francisco, who had a 1 game lead over San Diego (thanks to us). Dominic Rodriguez lead the team with a .376 batting average, third best in baseball at the time, to go with his team-leading 25 steals. Gongora lead the rest of the offensive assault with 22 home runs and 83 RBI’s after 108 games. Manuel Torres took over the team lead in strikeouts with a paltry 84 in 120.1 innings, while Giichi had only 53 in 135.1 innings pitched. His era was a less-than-impressive 4.99.

I had been ejected twice in the month, tallying a disappointing five for the year.

Around the league, the story of the year had become Philadelphia, who had gone from the worst team of 2004 to the best of 2005, leading the NL East by nine games over Atlanta with a 66-42 record.

I was enjoying my year, as Eastwood had asked me to make .500 and we were in contention. I couldn’t but help but wonder how long we could ride this bubble.

[cubuff38]

That fight was probably the most fun I have ever had reading one of these dynasties. I don't think I've posted yet, but just wanted to let you know I am one of your devoted Saturday fans.

[WWBL Commissioner]

Good stuff Jazz. Between you and Tibb I am getting alot of great baseball to read. keep up the good work

[jaykno14]

This is a really good thread. I just read the whole thing and you have really good writing skills. Keep it up, and I can't wait till Saturday!

[benchwarmer]

Indeed a well writen Dynasty. Keep it up!