Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Jazzmosis]

Yeah, Jazzington seems to get the good-looking, large breasted women... or so the story goes I've actually been trying to make Mark Jazzington develop away from myself.. I was seeing too much of myself in this character, so since Arizona he's been a developing man.

Although the amusing thing in the game is that when I broke up with Carla (1/30) and ran Free Agency, when I came back, I checked my personal life and it said "RELATIONSHIP with Carla".. I was like, "what the hell??" I look at my personal diary.. and sure enough...

1/30: I broke up with Carla today. I just didn't like her anymore!
2/4: I met this lady, her name is Carla. I'm going to spend some time with her. . .

I nearly fell out of my chair laughing. Seriously, what are the odds?? So in my notes I've marked her as "Carla 2". . . but it really opened up the bit you pointed out in the quote. Figured you all could use a good laugh

[The Funk]

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

Yeah, Jazzington seems to get the good-looking, large breasted women... or so the story goes I've actually been trying to make Mark Jazzington develop away from myself.

So you don't get the good-looking, big-breasted women? I can empathise on that. Funny coincidence with the names, fitted in well though, and congratulations on 100 posts in the thread.

[Jazzmosis]

Well I won't say much because my girlfriend actually browses these forums as a guest, but I do/can get the aforementioned big breasted women . . . as for NOT getting them though, it's because I've been with my girlfriend for near 5 years. . . so I don't look.

And the name thing - my idiotic blunder. I actually started this just as some random managerial game (not a dynasty at all), so I made myself. . . same birthday (5/28/85), same first name, and I created the joke "Jazzington" last name in the game cause I thought it sounded amusing.

Then I read Tib's Driscoll legend. I was so inspired I decided to write one myself - but since I'd already started Mark Jazzington's managerial career, and was only a few weeks into it, and largely due to my impatience of waiting for the game to generate 2000 players again, I built a story based on a 18 year old with the dumbest last name in history, and it's turned into what you see today. . . but since it originally was ME, the dynasty started out mainly as "what would I do if I was given this opportunity?". . . Then I decided due to my SN and the name Jazzington giving people the impression this was the kind of person I was in real life, I started developing Jazzington away from what I'd do. Pretty much from chapter 6 on. . I even considered having Jazzington legally change his last name in the story, but I don't know if that would go over well for the readers. I've still got that in the air, but I don't know if I'd ever go through with it.

This has been the "Mark Jazzington Managerial Career History", with your host, Mark.

[Jazzmosis]

Speaking of which, I'll be away visiting my girlfriend this weekend, so the installment of Mr. J will be late. . . probably Monday afternoon or Tuesday night. It'll definitely finish the offseason, but since I haven't played into the 2006 season yet I'll have to see if I get that far. Anyways, hope you don't send me letter bombs in the mail. See you early next week.

[Jazzmosis]

Holy neglection Batman, after a 2-day delay, Mark Jazzington is back to describe his unpredictable career.

This is chapter 22, and it finishes off the offseason. I was going to include the first few weeks but I've only played out 3 games so far, so it'll have to come next week (Saturday). In a few minutes I'll get up 22.

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 22: Welcome Back to Reality


The relationship started awkwardly to say the least, but I decided to try and get to know Carolyn. She was two years younger than me, although she reminded me that she ‘was turning 19 this year’. It didn’t seem to matter since I was only going to be 21, but it still felt wrong that I had bedded a barely legal girl at the time. What was even more strange was that how she had managed to get into the bars in the first place. I was somewhat of a half-celebrity, so many bars wanted me around to increase other patrons - I had never had a hassle to get into the bar scene despite my under-aged profile that everyone knew about. Whenever the police came around, the bartenders would cover me by saying I was a special guest and wasn’t drinking. It was obviously a lie, but the police seemed to look the other way - I guess they were Diamondback fans. Needless to say, Hensley and I frequented the those bars more than others.

Luckily for me, Carolyn was still a good looking girl after that night. She had a near-black colour to her hair, but she died it lighter because she didn’t like how dark it was. It was about shoulder length and wavy, and fit her dark brown eyes well. Her skin was tanned - not to the extreme, but she also took pride in her ‘natural tan’, which was appropriate to her slender form. She was far more level-headed and morally-bound than most her age, which was a refreshing change to the wave of loose girls that threw themselves at Hensley whenever he was with me. I always found it amusing to see how he handled the situation. As a soft-spoken individual that wouldn’t hurt a stranger, it was usually comical when he had to physically remove a girl from his arm, leg, and sometimes other parts of his body. Although Carolyn was playful and liked to party, I was only her second partner (her first being a high school boyfriend she referred to as ‘bastard’ whenever I asked).

Regardless of the age gap, I actually found myself starting to like Carolyn. She was just finishing off her final year of high school before she was planning on going to college - where, she didn’t know. By now I was used to people leaving me in September, so I had decided that no matter how far this relationship got (emotionally - we had the physical part already), she would inevitably go halfway across the country to study something I’d never knew existed before, like Biochemical Environmental Studies. I began to wonder if people ever did normal things like go to business school anymore.

With Vasser fully recovered and Spring Training less than a week away, I could feel the excitement building for baseball around Phoenix. Tickets were being sold, the schedule being announced, the Cactus league getting ready, and most free agents were signed. And on February 23rd, two days before pitchers and catchers reported, I got a call on my cell phone while eating lunch.

“Hello?” I asked casually, munching on some lettuce.

“Jazzy JJ Jehovah!” The voice energetically greeted. It could be only one person.

“Dewwy!” I enthusiastically yelled back. “What the hell are you calling me for?”

“I got some news I thought you’d wanna know.”

“Oh? And that news would be what? Canon’s croaked and you’re the new GM of the Fish? Or did you take my managerial job there?”

Dewberry chuckled into the receiver. “Still bitter about that, are we?” Before I could even think of a response, he began talking again. “Well no. Canon’s still breathing last time I checked. But I told you I still have some surprises left in me, didn’t I? And now those surprises are going to be in the heat.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, more confused by his cryptic comment than anything else.

“Texas signed me up to a one year deal!”

I coughed up some lettuce. “No way!”

“Hell yes! They told me I’d be in AAA and would have to play RF, but I jumped at the chance to play again. . . the last year has been cold to me, so it’s gonna be nice.”

“Sweet! Are you going to be a starter there or something?”

“Dunno. Probably a role player, but who cares? I’m back in the game!” He giggled like a schoolgirl. “Anyways I’ve heard you’ve been busy too.”

I could just imagine his sly smile from behind the phone. “Reading up on the tabloids, I see. . .”

He laughed. “Yeah, I know all about the James Vasser fiasco and your chick. Sorry about that. Hopefully you’ve landed a new one?”

I sighed and told him the story of the past few weeks, while Dewberry laughed hysterically at the whole ordeal. “Only could happen to you, Jazz.”


With Dewberry back in baseball, he and I kept touch as Spring Training commenced. There was a lot of rookies and farmhands trying out their stuff, and it was also the time that I, along with Eastwood and new pitching coach Lane Schlater, would choose the 5th starter for Arizona. It was a tight battle, but 30 year old veteran Garth Brier eventually impressed us enough to make the club. He hadn’t pitched in the big show since 2003, and that was far less than impressive. After an embarrassing demotion to AA and an eventual release from Texas, Arizona signed him to a minor league contract in mid-2004 and he had been fighting his way back since. His numbers in 2005 weren’t spectacular, but he had shown devotion to returning, and due to the void of ready-talent I had to deal with, he was given the job.

Then came the next hurdle: Choosing an opening day starter. The offense was exactly the same as the year before, but the pitching was a fresh game. Hensley and Vasser were strong arms and had been pitching well in the Cactus league, but the cold hard fact was they had a combined one year of major league experience. Meanwhile, All-Star veteran Ken Giichi was starting his new contract with the club, but his horrific ERA from the previous year (5.43) was a huge setback. There was also 26 year old lefty Manuel Torres, who definitely wasn’t ace material but pitched better than Giichi (5.24 ERA), so I had to consider him as well. He was more than pleased just to be assured that he was even in the rotation, let alone being considered for opening day. After a so-so Spring, he was the first crossed off the list. Giichi faltered late in the Cactus league, so we also bumped him to #3 in the rotation.

That meant it was either Hensley, who the crowds were growing to like, or Vasser, whom everyone loved to hate. Vasser’s spring ERA was 2.02; Hensley’s 3.10. But Vasser had attitude problems (still). Eastwood wanted Vasser, thinking that he could handle the opening day pressure better than Hensley just because he was cocky.

I was torn between giving my close friend and roommate the nod, or giving it to the headcase. Schlater was for Hensley, which meant that the decision suddenly rested on my shoulders.

I talked with Hensley about his potential to be ‘the guy’ first, then Vasser. While both expressed interest, Vasser was obviously more bull-headed, saying that it should be him no matter what because ‘it was about time the world recognized his greatness’. What a pompous ass.

On the final day of ST, I informed Eastwood and Schlater of my decision.

“I’m giving it to Mike.”

Eastwood shot me a look. “You sure? Vasser’s got the confidence for it.”

I had thought this all out. I actually had a good reason to give it to Hensley. “Maybe so, but if Hensley opens it up, that gives us a rotation that goes right, left, right, left, right. It’ll wreak havoc on opposition.” For once, I had made a good point.

Eastwood thought it over for a moment before responding. “Alright, you’re the manager.” A strange response, but I took it. Schlater gave me a smile and a pat on the back, before going to watch over a bullpen session that was taking place.

The media gave me mixed results. Some stories saw it my way while others called me the names I had received in my inaugural season. But my decision stuck, and when opening day rolled around on April 4th, I did two things. The first was call Carolyn and invite her to the game. She accepted since it was a Sunday and she had been dying to see me since I had been upstate for most of March.

The second was show up to Phoenix Metro Park at 10AM in the morning. The game wasn’t until 2PM, but I had to bask once again in the glory of the field. Apart from some groundscrew workers, I was the only one on the field. I looked at the sun gently splashing in from centerfield, I gazed longingly at the perfectly groomed dirt cutouts, I lost myself in the soft white chalk lines scattered across the field, and then I smiled. Baseball was back.

[WWBL Commissioner]

Good stuff...looking forward to the next one

[Jazzmosis]

Originally Posted by WWBL Commissioner

Good stuff...looking forward to the next one

Y'know... something told me to run 3 word processors on my computer. Sure, it eats alot of space, but for ONCE it actually came in handy.

So I open WP11, and Jazzington's file. BAM: Corruption. WP11 can't open the file without corrupting it. So I close/let WP11 crash, go to Word. Word can't open a .wpd file without ruining it's format, so screw that. But.. BUT!! WP9 is my saviour and opens Jazzington's file, no questions asked. Thank you WP9, for saving this dynasty. Well.. just opening the file.

Ironically enough, I had just backed up my stories and important documents 2 days ago out of fear they'd get erased. Now the backup rest firmly in my gmail account, safe from the woes of my computer crashing and wiping this story.

So never fear, the next installation will come as planned tomorrow!

[Tauro]

Glad to hear it was saved. That would have been tragic.

[Tib]

Originally Posted by Jazzmosis

So I open WP11, and Jazzington's file. BAM: Corruption. WP11 can't open the file without corrupting it. So I close/let WP11 crash, go to Word. Word can't open a .wpd file without ruining it's format, so screw that. But.. BUT!! WP9 is my saviour and opens Jazzington's file, no questions asked. Thank you WP9, for saving this dynasty. Well.. just opening the file.

I know what you went through. Something similar happened to me that would have destroyed the CBA and with it Short Hop.

[Jazzmosis]

Alright, Chapter 23! Seems so long since I've played any games, so I hope you're as excited as me to get back into the swing of things!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 23: April’s Ups and Downs

Slowly but surely, the team started to file into the stadium around noon. I hadn’t left, taking the two hours to shower and re-acquaint myself with the smell of the grass, the grandeur stadium walls, the stands - everything I realized I’d missed so much in the offseason. I even did a few laps around the field.

The batting practice was slow and uninteresting. I watched my players rev up for another season, chatting amongst each other. Gongora parked the first homerun of 2006, even if it was only in batting practice. The batting practice pitcher intentionally walked him afterwards. The pitchers were stretching in the rightfield foul grounds, while the outfielders shagged the balls off the bat and the infielders tossed a ball around the diamond. Some early fans were lucky enough to get some autographs from various players: Most notably James Vasser, who was signing everything he could find - balls, jerseys, paper, women’s shirts. . . anything. I chatted with Schlater first, then the players started to approach me. There was organized chaos on the field - how I loved it. This was baseball - when I was younger and people would say “baseball is just a guy hitting a ball with a stick”, I would give them a ten minute lecture on how wrong they were. Baseball was so much more. Strategies, stealing, bunting, strikeouts, strike zones, at-the-wall catches, late-inning heroics, celebrations, teamwork. . . no, baseball was a lifestyle. A mesh of talent and teamwork, held together by a white ball with red stitches.

About two hours before game time, I got a call on my cell phone. Carolyn was inside the stadium, and wanted to see me in uniform. I scampered off to meet her and gave her a tour of the clubhouse - hell, why not? She met some of the players, who typically jeered me and warned her about letting out “Angry Jazz”. Then she met Vasser.

“Hey Skip! Who’s the hot chick?”

I looked at a smiling Carolyn and rolled my eyes. “She’s my girl, James.”

JV cracked a wide, devious grin. “Maybe she’d like a piece of a real man, y’think? Just like your last girl did?”

Carolyn looked at me, confused. I just shook my head, beckoning her to ignore Vasser.

“Whatta say, sexy? Want me to show you a good time?” He just kept going, trying to egg me on.

“Shut up, #2.” I snapped back. The easiest way to get him to shut up was to point out how he wasn’t the ace.

“****er.” Vasser sneered. “How much you make, Skip? Any fool knows I should be startin’ this game. And if I did, your chicky would be cradled right under these guns.” JV flexed his biceps, smiling arrogantly at Carolyn.

I was ready to deck James (again). But before I could respond, Carolyn cupped her hands around my neck and pulled me into a deep kiss. I was startled at first, but then I quickly forgot about Vasser’s jackass-like actions. When she was finally done with my lips, she snapped her head to JV and said in an adorable voice, “No thanks, I’d rather be right here with a real man.”

And with that, she turned to walk away, pulling my arm with her. Vasser’s face was priceless, a mixture of shock and anger. . . “shanker”, as I coined it. Not only had he been shut down, he’d lost to me. And at that point, I praised everything that happened over the winter - it was worth getting cheated on by Caroline - otherwise I’d have never met Carolyn and none of this would have never happened.

The game started right on time, in front of a sellout crowd. The Cubs were the visitors, and after the ceremonial first pitch, Hensley dug into the mound - opening the season.

That moment turned out to be the highlight of the game. Much to my dismay, Mike faltered in 5 innings, giving up 6 runs on 8 hits. He K’d 5, but in the end was saddled with the loss and a 10.80 ERA to boot. The game ended with a 7-5 loss. I was now 1-2 as a manager on opening day.

To make matters worse, Vasser pitched the next game - and made it very clear that he should have opened the season. 5 innings of 1 run ball, with 5 strikeouts as well. We lost that game in 11 innings, 6-4.

However, Giichi turned in a fine performance to lead us to our first win and avoid a home-opener broomfest. Although Dante Baeza picked up the win, it was a win regardless.

Our early season struggles continued, and we didn’t reach double digits in hits until April 11th. Once again, it was Giichi on the mound to help the club. The always dependable first half starter gave up our second win. . . we were only 2-5 at this point, and mired in last. Not that it mattered so early in the season, but the cellar was no easy place to sit confidently in.

The next day, Garth Brier made his first MLB start in 3 years. And he pitched like he had something to prove, throwing 8 innings and giving up 8 hits and 2 runs against Colorado. That game had late inning heroics, as we scored 3 times in the 9th to win it 3-2. We were coming back.

We finished off a sweep of Colorado, which started our domination of the Rockies. We played them 6 times in April, winning 5 of the meetings.

But as the month wore down, we hadn’t put it together. Manuel Torres struggled mightly, and eventually was placed on waivers and traded to Philadelphia for 19 year old shortstop George Whipple. I can’t say I was sad about the trade, since Torres took his 17.72 ERA out of Phoenix on the 26th. This meant I was handling a new face. This brought up an offseason waiver claim in Bill Mathews, the 24 year old right-hander. So much for my R-L-R-L-R pitching staff. On the plus side, my staff was getting younger, but their future was so unpredictable that I wondered how much of an impact I could make. Mathews was clearly a AAA pitcher thrown into the big show too early. Upon our meeting, he openly admitted to being lost.

“I pitch on luck. I don’t know how that’ll fare up here.”

“Not well.” I responded bluntly. “But work with Schlater and myself, and we’ll see if we can’t turn you into a dependable starter.”

“Do you think I can make it here?” The 6"4, 230 pound, blonde pitcher asked me.

“Not if you don’t believe in yourself.” I softly retorted. “You’re obviously up here ‘cause Eastwood and Concordian think you can help us. I’m willing to give you every opportunity to pitch well, but you have to believe you can do it. Otherwise you’ll find yourself back in AAA getting rocked.”

The Canadian-born hurler nodded solemnly to me. “I’ll give it my all.”


We finished out the month with a sad 9-15 record. Hensley’s ERA was 9.00, but I refused to name Vasser the ace. The offense was fine - the homeruns were down, but Renick, Casablanca, and D-Rod were producing like normal - which meant the top half of my lineup was solid as ever. Antonio had a sub .200 average, but I wasn’t worried. What worried me was the rotation: I had close friend who I had all the faith in the world to improve, a jackass headcase with a solid arm, a first-half wonder working his usual magic, a 30 year old attempting a comeback, and a confidence-short, untested, unready Canadian rookie. I had my work cut out for me.

But more importantly, I had my job to think of.

[Jestor]

I'm liking this Carolyn chica!

As for Vasser... You know what they say to do about team cancers and jackasses in the Moungey School of Baseball Philosophy

[Jazzmosis]

Oho, Mark Jazzington is no "Moungey Trade-All" manager...

[Jazzmosis]

I'm pretty sure this is Chapter 24, although I may be wrong. Either way, the beginning kind of feels like a stat parade, because the month was basically two sections - nothing terribly interesting in the first part, then in the second part, very interesting.. To be honest, it's this chapter that I've anticipated putting up the most. I think it's one of my far better written chapters. At least the second half.

It'll be up in a few minutes.

[Jazzmosis]

Well like an idiot, I get close and closed the window.. d'oh! Anyways...

Chapter 24: Get Over It

I started off May in style - by getting ejected in the 5th inning on the 2nd day. Renick has argued a strikeout call, and I nearly had to tackle him to get him off the umpire. However, when I started to vouch for him I too lost my cool and was tossed - literally. It all started after Renick had been removed.

“Sorry about that, sir. He’s just passionate.”

“Fine enough, but he nearly took a swing at me. You better keep your boys in check, or else I’ll call this game.” The plate ump was obviously upset, so I tried to be as light as I could with my words.

“For his actions? With all due respect, we’re grown men. There’s no need to forfeit the game because of things he said.”

“Well you should keep him under control, Skipper.”

“What??” I lost my cool right there. “I was already on my way out! I can’t stop him from what he does before I can get there. Besides, if the call went in his favour he wouldn’t have reacted like that!”

The umpire eyed me. “Are you questioning my game-calling abilities, son?”

‘Son’. Whether or not this guy wanted to admit it, I was an adult and had been managing for three years. Calling me ‘son’ was borderline derogatory - as if I didn’t belong in the game. “Excuse me?”

“Just go back to your dugout.”

“No!” I yelled. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I demand as much respect as any other manager in this league! And you, Blue, will treat me with the same respect you treat 50 year olds! Now if you had -”

“Well,” he cut in, “BOY, if you had earned the respect, I’d give it to you. But your past record has -”

It was my turn to interrupt him. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about! You wouldn’t cut off a veteran manager, and you won’t do it to me!”

“You’re outta here, SON. Get off my field.” He made the toss motion, and the crowd roared in approval.

“How dare you, you senile bastard!” I screamed, and balled my hand into a fist. I pulled back my hand, aiming for his face, and swung.

I didn’t even get halfway there before Hensley did a flying tackle into me, knocking me to the ground. Before I could struggle free, him and Schlater grabbed my arms and dragged me off the field, me still kicking my feet and screaming profanities at the umpire.

We won the game, but I received a two-day suspension and a five-thousand dollar fine for misconduct. I accepted the suspension, and sat in the hotel for two days. It was the first time in seven years a manager had received a suspension.


I came back on the fifth, and learned about The Red Baron’s broken wrist. To replace him for two months was youngster Rosendo Vazquez. He had put up solid AAA numbers, but was injured (ironically enough) with a broken wrist last year. He and Ronnie Smith were to platoon in centrefield. . . for two months? This was going to be disastrous. I had also missed Bill Mathews’ first career start, and he’d pitched well enough to stay. 6.2 innings, 3 earned runs. Good for a guy short on confidence.

Giichi continued his dominance, stacking up another win (4) the next day. But it was on the 8th that Mathews impressed us all. He was in the clubhouse before game time, sitting around.

“Shouldn’t you be warming up?” I asked cautiously.

“I can’t do it, Skip.” He responded bluntly.

“Can’t do what?”

“Pitch. I don’t have it in me to succeed up here.”

I sat beside him. “Damn, Mathews. Your last start was good - I don’t know why you don’t think you’ve got it.”

“We still lost.”

“Maybe so, but it wasn’t any doing of yours. We lost that in the 10th.”

He looked at me, his eyes empty. “But I shouldn’t be here - everyone knows it.”

“Maybe not.” I responded, pausing for a moment to think. “But you are here. Why not prove to everyone why you should stay?” I got up and walked away before he could answer. I was there to give him encouragement, but there comes a point where you have to learn to succeed on your own. Mathews had to prove to himself that he could do it. After all, in my first year I had to prove to people why I was good enough, and I had nobody on my side then. Bill Mathews would have to learn to rely on himself, because in the end, it’s the only person you can.

He must have got the message. Coupled with some hot hitting by D-Rod, who extended his hitting streak to a career high 13 games (.359), the Canadian-born hurler threw 8 innings of 5 hit ball, coupled with 9 strikeouts. His first major league win.

This started a hot streak, where we won 4 in a row. We had climbed out of the gutter, but after Giichi’s CGSO on the 11th and Mathews’ second win on the 13th, things started to crumble again.

A trade also happened on the 14th. Eastwood, feeling that Vazquez and his .078 average wasn’t ready, swung a trade with Baltimore for 25 year old John McConnell. He brought speed and contact to the plate. He was like a young Red Baron. I had no idea what Eastwood would do when Red Baron came off the DL, but McConnell was a future option. And he came cheap, too. An AA outfielder and an A reliever.

But the bottom line was the string of bad luck we were about to receive. Like a tease, we played well and started to build our way back up the NL West standings. We got as close as 3.5 games out (14th), but once interleague started on the 20th, our luck hit rock bottom. We started against Detroit, who was struggling in last place. Brier had been struggling recently, so I bumped him for red-hot Mathews (1.71 ERA). He got rocked in 2 innings, but I wasn’t there to see it. I was tossed with Casablanca, who was a quiet guy but was irked about a bad call. When I went out to argue, we got heaved. In a three game series, Detroit won. . . three games. We’d been swept by the Tigers. With those losses on our back, Hensley attempted to stop the bleeding vs. San Diego. Something was up with my friend, however. He lost again, dropping to 1-5 on the year with a horrifying 7.66 ERA.

Thomas Westra signed an extension on the same day, inked up for another three years. I couldn’t complain since he was hitting .324 as the catcher.

We went on to lose two more games before I hit rock bottom. Eastwood’s patience with me was starting to run thin - he wanted another winning season and I wasn’t delivering. I didn’t have an excuse, either - this was essentially the exact same team as last year. Mired in a deep funk, as each loss came by, I watched my future in Arizona slip further and further out of grasp. Finally, after the game on the 26th, we stood at 21-28, 7 games out from Colorado, and many reporters were calling last year a fluke, both as a team and for me. To tell you the truth, I believed them when I read them.

It was on that night, two days before my twenty-first birthday, when Hensley had gone out but I had refused. I sat in darkness in the ‘living’ room, which was really just a couch with a nice TV. I didn’t have the television on, I had the blinds closed, and I just sat and stared into nothingness. I knew I wasn’t going to be here at the end of the year. Eastwood, despite being a nice guy, had to win. And he had hired me to do that, and I wasn’t. What incentive was there to keep me as a manager?

Just as I was deep in my dark reality of depression, a knock came on the door. I tried to ignore it, but it came again. Reluctantly, I wandered to the door and opened it.

“Yeah?” I asked before registering who it was. Once I focussed enough, I saw that it was Carolyn, with a slightly concerned expression on her face. I opened the door all the way to let her in, but she reached to my emotionless face with her hand. She pulled me in to a soft kiss, which I did nothing to stop, but nothing to encourage either. I felt dead inside.

“I heard you were down.” She calmly said, her voice filling my head with a gentle warmth. She gave me a small smile and pushed her blonde and black hair out from her face. On any other day, I would probably be really into her, especially since she knew my birthday was coming up and would give me anything. But not that night. I walked away after gesturing for her to come in, and returned to my dark corner of the couch. I watched her close the door behind her and walked towards me. The light was still on her from the hallway, and it was then that I noticed her jean shorts and white tank top. I tried my best to ignore it and stay in my funk, but she was incredibly hot - and no man, no matter how depressed, can resist starting at a good-looking girl from time to time. But although I was staring, I didn’t feel any better.

She easily noticed my gaze and smiled. “I guess you like what I’m wearing.” She did a fake model-spin and sat beside me, looking compassionately into my eyes. “What’s wrong?” As much as I tried to hide it, my eyes always gave away how I felt.

I looked down. “Nothing.”

“Hensley told me something was wrong, so I came to see if I could help.” She responded, placing her hand on mine. Since I had asked her out, she was doing that an awful lot more. I didn’t know at the time, but she really, really had a thing for me. For most girls, they would mistake it for love. But Carolyn was very in touch with her feelings - she knew it wasn’t love, but it was something more than lust or just ‘like’. At least not at that time.

Knowing I wasn’t going to fool her, I sighed. “I just don’t know - I feel like I won’t have a job again after this year. I’ve told myself I’ve got what it takes to make it so many times, but I watch game after game, loss after loss, and I doubt myself. Do I really have what it takes to lead 25 grown men to success?”

She smiled a smile that would burn its image into my brain forever - such an innocent, caring smile, her eyes sparkling even in the darkness, her smooth face perfect even in the darkness. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”

My facial expression changed to a confused look. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been let go, have you?”

“No.” I responded. “But I’ve got no chance of staying here at the end of the year. Not with all these losses. I don’t think this streak will ever end.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and looked into my eyes. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

I looked at her blankly, trying to think of something she wouldn’t be able to do - or hadn’t done yet. I wanted to prove to her that she couldn’t help - I wanted to prove to myself there was nothing I could do to save myself now. “Sing for me.”

She leaned away from me slightly. I guess she thought I was going to ask for something sexual. We both sat in silence for a while before she spoke up. “Anything in particular?”

I shrugged. “Whatever.” I knew she wouldn’t be able to do it regardless.

In the darkness of the apartment, she opened her mouth. And in a creamy, soothing tone, she sang.

“Take me, Throw in the street
Break me, Never let me be
You’ll go on, I’ll go on
Bitter as can be
Soon you’ll see, you’ll be sorry. . .

Cruel thing, Stop this happening
Neat trick, Make me want to quit
You’ll go on, I’ll go on
Bitter as can be
Soon you’ll see, you’ll be sorry. . .

You broke everything
Still do, to this day”

Maybe the lyrics aren’t exactly inspirational, but Abandoned Pools have always struck a cord with me - especially that song. I don’t know if it was just coincidence or if she somehow knew. I just stared at her, overwhelmed with both surprise and emotion. I was surprised she had such a good voice, and overwhelmed by the song. Whenever I was angry, that song would always play on my music list and make me think - still does to this day. And just like before, it made me think once again. The title of the song is ‘Get Over It’ - and that’s exactly what I had to do. I came to the realization that this year was as much about my players as it was about my future. And sitting in a dark corner feeling sorry for myself wasn’t going to solve either.


I responded in kind the next day, feeling upbeat and ready to play - ready to get over it. And the team responded with a win - courtesy of Vasser (2-4). But even his cocky attitude couldn’t bring me or the team down on that day. Look picked up his 11th save, giving him the NL-lead in saves. Meanwhile Renick proceeded to tear the cover off the ball, parking his team-leading 11th home run and 33rd RBI in the win. He was also batting a solid .297. It wasn’t the team lead, which was lead by the usual monster D-Rod (.347).

The next day was my birthday. My 21st birthday. I’d never won on my birthday. So I told the guys to win the game for me and I’d buy them a round at the bar I frequented. To top it off, I sent out Bill Mathews, telling him he was the guy I knew could pull it off. It’s funny how things like that work out - you acquire someone that isn’t ready for the majors, and he turns out to be the most impressive player you’ve got. Well Mathews didn’t disappoint, throwing 6.2 strong innings of shutout ball, lowering his ERA to 3.38. Renick, Gongora, and Westra all chipped in with solo shots, and gave us an 8-2 win. Most of the players then proceeded to go out that night and get smashed, while pranks were played on me in the bars. When I eventually staggered home at 2AM to meet Carolyn waiting in the apartment. How she got in was beyond me, but that was a night I wish I had remembered. When I woke up in the morning with her beside me and me once again not knowing how, I smiled.

On the 29th, Casablanca sparked a 6 run 8th inning, that gave us a magnificent comeback win, 9-8. Hensley got hurt, but convinced me that he could pitch through the pain.

And on the 31st, after a day off, we erased the four straight losses with our fourth straight win, closing out the month 15-13 and putting us in third , 5 games out with a 25-28 record. I could try and describe this game, but it’s just easier to post the box score. Then you can see why it’s beyond words.

Inning          1     	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	10	11	12	13	 	R	H	E
Arizona 	0	0	0	1	0	1	0	0	1	2	1	2	2	 	10	17	0
New York (N)	0	1	0	0	0	1	0	0	1	2	1	2	0	 	8	17	9

We were back.

[MarkyMark1908]

Very entertaining read. Keep it up.

[Jestor]

9 errors?!

[Tib]

Originally Posted by Jestor

9 errors?!

It's the Mets. Even in a fantasy league they suck.