Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[MarkyMark1908]

Sorry about your week. Will be looking forward to the next chapter.

[jaykno14]

Yeah sorry to hear...sounded like a tough week.

[Jazzmosis]

Mark Jazzington is back!! After a far-too-long delay, I've caught up on the story. I've missed Jazzington, so in a few minutes I'll drop chapter 25, which is really long, but pretty integral to the story, IMO.

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 25: Gone streaking

We entered the harsh reality of June. As if May didn’t tease the entire team enough, the sixth month treated us as if we were a cheap hooker - picked up, and dropped off. We were used and abused, but so often stiffed for the service.

We rode in on a high, winning the first two games of the month, capping our streak at five, and putting us within one game of .500 (27-28). Yong was marauding the ball, leading the team in home runs and RBI, while hitting a neat .318 for himself. He had a career high 15 game hit streak, which everyone was waiting to collapse.

Then the wheels fell off. More than that - they exploded. Recently-traded Manuel Torres, now a Philadelphia Phillie, took his 13.50 ERA on the hill against Hensley - who had told me no matter what, he’d pitch through the pain. Torres threw a masterpiece, giving up two hits in a 5-1 embarrassment. The only hit was a home run to Renick. Hensley fell to 1-6.

The next day, Giichi pitched a gem, but found himself on the losing end of a 2-1 score.

Then it was Matthews’ turn to get shafted, as we once again blew another lead and fell 8-7. Renick was still hitting though.

We then got swept by last-place Philadelphia in a 4 game set, losing our fifth game in a row, as Vasser took the L.

I turned to Hensley on the 8th, begging him to stop the bleeding. What does the guy do? Gives me a 8 inning masterpiece, complete with 3 hits and 9 Ks. With a 5-0 win in our pocket, and a 21 game hit streak from Renick, the bad news was just waiting to kill us.


It came. Oh, how it came. I was sitting in the dugout after a loss, and took the news. Eastwood approached me. “There you are, Mark. We’ve got to talk.”

“About what?” I asked.

“It’s about Giichi and Brier.”

“What about them?”

“Well, as you know, Hensley is hurt.” He paused to adjust his glasses. “I don’t know how to say this.”

I tensed. “Just tell me.”

“Giichi pulled his tricep. He can still throw - but there’s a catch.”

“What’s the catch?”

“We can put him on the DL and call up Ben Sizer, but. . . Garth came to me today as well complaining of pain in his back.”

I stared at my boss for a while, trying to clear my thoughts. “So. . . what’s with Brier?”

“He’s hurt. . . as well. Back inflammation.” Eastwood paused for a moment. “We’ve got him on some anti-inflammatories, but we don’t know if he can pitch.”

“Wait, wait, wait. . .” I jutted in awkwardly. “Are you telling me that three of my five starters are injured?”

Eastwood sighed heavily. “All we’ve got left is Vasser and Mathews. . . and Mathews is struggling, as you know.”

I coughed, trying just to keep some sound in the air. I couldn’t believe it. “So. . . you can call up Sizer, giving me a three man rotation?”

“No.” Eastwood responded with a look of exasperation curling in his face. “Sizer’s on a bereavement leave. His wife died in a car accident yesterday. We’ve got two starters, Mark. Two.”

“Can I start any of the relievers? What about the rotation in AAA? Who’s down there that we can get?”

“There’s Furst and Steve Mack. And Banta. . . maybe. Banta’s having trouble adjusting, and Corcorcian wants to send him to AA. But if we call up 3 pitchers from AAA, we’ve got nothing in there to take from. We’d have to call up guys from A to take their place.”

“What’s wrong with AA guys?”

“We can’t do that. The guy we just drafted in the first round could play in AA, but we’re running a four-man rotation there already because of injury.”

I took a moment to take in the barrage of names and injuries. “So. . . what do we have?”

“Hensley is okay to pitch - at least he has to be now. Giichi and Brier we’ll get back to you tomorrow on. For now, you’ve got three guys. And as for the relievers - the only one that you could start is David, but. . . you won’t have the chance.”

“Why? Is Baeza hurt as well?”

“No. We’re sending him to AAA for Augustus McDonald.”

I couldn’t believe it. In the course of a week and a half, I had three injuries to my starters, a loss of the replacement in AAA, and a change in the bullpen. “So what do I do?”

“Ride the storm. And hope for the best. I’m getting on the phone to see if I can fix this. I’ll get back to you tomorrow morning.” Eastwood gave me a feeble smile and walked off.


I immediately called Carolyn and told her the sad state of the staff, and she tried, but failed, to console me.

This disaster was only the beginning. While Giichi and Brier were both cleared to pitch, I was informed they wouldn’t be at their best. We lost four games in a row before Eastwood pulled a surprise trade. ‘Stop the bleeding. . .’ was all I could think about. But on the 13th, Eastwood sent 20 year-old shortstop George Whipple (the guy he’d picked up for Manuel Torres), 23 year old hot prospect pitcher Mike English, recently demoted 30 year old David Baeza, 20 year old pitcher Kelly Banta, and comeback vet Garth Brier, as well as 2.1 million dollars, to last-place Cleveland. Who’d I receive in return? 28 year old lefty starter Kenneth Andrzejewski, who was the obvious inheritance to the ‘ace’ title, but with a name absolutely nobody could pronounce.

Not that it mattered any. Our rag-team of pitching corps continued to falter, and we went on to lose another 5 games in a row, totalling nine straight losses, and handing us the title of “worst record in baseball”. Worst of all, our ninth loss was to Cleveland, against. . . Kelly Banta. He was sent to AA after that start, but it was a huge kick in the groin.


The team was silent - even Vasser - when I walked by the change room door on the 19th. I had slated Andrzejewski to take the ball, but I didn’t come by and do my usual chat before the game. This streak had taken so much out of everyone I had decided there was nothing I could say that would change how they played, or how they thought. If they didn’t believe, they wouldn’t win. And I certainly didn’t believe that the streak would ever stop. Eastwood had been giving me curious looks over the week, as if he was toying with the decision to let me go. I didn’t say anything to defend my job - after all, what can a 21 year old say after nine losses? It was his choice.

The streak ended that night, and I actually threw my hands up in triumph after the last out. “Victory!” I screamed. I was the first one on the field to congratulate Hennessey, who finished off the 7-1 win.

The next day, Eastwood told me that Mathews had been sent to AAA and Steven Mack was replacing him - I greeted Mack before the game, and made a bold decision - I bumped Giichi to give him the start. Hell, I figured any change would be good. Mack had something Mathews didn’t - the confidence to succeed. The 27 year old from Baton Rouge made his long-awaited MLB debut a memorable one, picking up the win after pitching 7.1 innings and giving up only 4 hits. Look picked up his first save of the month, and 12th on the year, as we topped division-leading San Francisco, 3-2.

I then got bad news over the phone the next morning (21st).

“Jazzy - it happened again.”

I recognized the voice of Dewberry immediately. “What did?”

“Texas released me.” There was a silence. “I think I’m going to hang them up if I don’t get another team this year.”

“Hang them up? You’ve still got good ball left in you.”

He sighed. “Not really. I’m 35, my best years are behind me now. It’s just downhill from here. My last good year was with you in Florida. I’ve hit .133 and .154 since. And my family needs me. . . I can’t keep bouncing around, hooking up with a team and getting booted. It’s not worth it.”

“I see. . .”

The call went on, but Dewberry seemed poised to give it up. I couldn’t console him much - he knew about my struggles with the Diamondbacks and how I could join him in the unemployment pool at the end of the year.


The team was starting to wake up, at least. Hensley gave me the finest outing of his young career on the 23rd, striking out 13 batters out of a possible 18 outs. We’d also taken two of three from San Francisco and removed them from first.

But just as good things started happening, another disaster struck. Relief ace Dante Camara tore his shoulder and would miss more than a month on the 24th. However, this story ends happily - the next morning Eastwood called me and told me of a trade for a 35 year old Alberto Carrero and his 2.16 ERA - all for Anthony Furst, who was throwing in AAA with no real hope of coming back to the bigs.

All the passion of the game came back to me that day, as well. Mack was making another start, and after he threw 7 innings of 1 run ball, I pulled him. We were up by a run, against a fairly good Detroit Tigers team. I put in Eric Kizer to throw the 8th, but after he got one out I pulled him for rookie sensation Augustus McDonald. “Keep us ahead,” I told him.

He finished off the 8th, giving me D-Rod, Casablanca, and Renick for the bottom half. They went down in order, and instead of using Look for the save, I left in McDonald. Look was tired, anyway, so it made sense. McDonald got the first out of the 9th before giving up a single. Then, he gave up another single, and suddenly there was runners on first and third with one out.

I just clapped my hands from the dugout as Westra came from behind the plate to calm him down. Double play. That’s all I want.

Catcher Kelly Apodaca dug into the box. Westra gave Augustus the sign, he reared back, and threw a 95 mph heater - over Westra’s head. The ball skipped to the backstop, and Ganz scored from third. Tie game. I cursed under my breath, but refused to pull Augustus. He was my man to get me out of this. I wanted that double play, so I called an intentional walk - something I very rarely ever did.

Ronald Francis, the thirdbaseman, grounded a shot to Casablanca’s right, who snared the ball and fired a strike to D-Rod. The double play was coming nicely, until Apodaca slid through Dominic’s legs and caused him to crash with the dirt - no throw. Runners on first and third - again.

Schlater came up to me. “Hennessey’s ready in the pen - should make the switch.”

I turned to my pitching coach. “No way. M’s got this guy.” McDonald ran the count to 2-2. A few foul balls were sprayed into the stands from batter Dario Matamoros. Then, on a cut fastball, he swung over the pitch. We’d lost the lead, but still had a tie. I congratulated Augustus when he stepped into the dugout, noticeably upset. “Good job kid!”

“But I gave up the ****ing lead.”

“But you didn’t lose the game.” I said with a smile.

The bottom of the ninth went without a run, although Gongora was left at third. We went to extra innings, and I sent in Henessey to do the job.

Hennessey gave me an inning, and then Santos Moya gave me an inning. In the bottom of the 11th, we got something started. Renick, the local god, rapped a single to lead the inning off. Then Gongora knocked a shot to rightfield, which moved Yong to second - except he decided to test Benedicto’s strong arm. Benedicto was so surprised he didn’t even try to throw the ball. Finally, we had the advantage. First and third, nobody out. Detroit changed to pitcher Daniel Tejada and brought in the infield.

John McConnell dug into the plate. Since the trade he’d been basically forgotten, but he was a solid contributor - and the heir to centre in Arizona. He took the first pitch and hit a one hopper to third - which was almost a disaster for us. Yong broke for home, but quickly turned back - Francis went to tag him - but dropped the ball.

Yong did a sidewinder dive back to the bag, avoiding the would-be tag. Francis grabbed the ball and threw a 200 MPH strike across the diamond, nailing McConnell by a half step. Nobody could believe Francis could make that throw, and I was going to argue it, but I decided to shut up - we had two in scoring position and only one out. The pressure was still on them.

Antonio Moreno stepped into the plate. His average was a sad .230, but Detroit’s manager called the intentional walk. Bases loaded, one out. They were looking for a double play.

Delph dug into the box. With sweat on his brow, Tejada delievered a 1-1 pitch that Aaron sent in the air to right-center. This was it! Renick waited. . . Benedicto made the catch. And Renick broke for the plate. The dugout crowded near the exit. . . the ball flew by the cutoff - this was a strike. Yong did a hard take-out slide - Apodaca dropped his knee, blocking the plate and fielding the ball. Yong’s spikes dug into the padding around the shin. But he never touched the plate. Apodaca had blocked the plate at the cost of his body - and Benedicto had won round two with Renick. The crowd’s roar died down as groans of disappointment and boos echoed throughout the park.

The game was still tied - and we all filed back into the dugout, swearing under our breath. The 12th went without incident on both sides, Moya giving me his second solid inning. We went to the thirteenth. The newly acquired Carrero gave me a scoreless frame, and we stepped back up to the box. New pitcher Jeffery Sharma got Casablanca to ground out, before Renick gave us his second hit in extra-innings with a single. Gongora was walked - but not intentionally. McConnell K’d. Moreno walked. We had bases loaded - again. Delph dug in. But three pitches later, he walked off, taking a called third strike.

The game went through 15 innings. Fleisher had thrown a perfect 15th, so I gave him the ball in the 16th. Hell, I was running out of relievers. He got Luis Wagner to fly out before Justin Ganz, the second-baseman from hell, stepped up. Fleisher fell behind 2-1. Then, Ganz unloaded on a 82 MPH curveball, putting it over the fence in centre. Swears were rampant from the dugout - we were down 3-2. Only three outs to go now. “Is this all for nothing?” I asked into the dark night sky. I put in Look, who, despite throwing 3 games in a row, struck out Apodaca to end the inning.

McConnell lead off the bottom of the 16th. Robert Waldon had kept us quiet for 2 innings, and was looking to finish us off. But not so! On the first pitch, McConnell returned the favour - parking the ball 405 feet away in the exact same spot. The crowd screamed and cheered, and we mobbed our hero - he had given us life again. But the game was still on - it was just tied again. There was no more noise from that inning, but the team was pumped - I was pumped - and I told Vasser to go to the pen and start warming up his arm.

Look started off the top of the 17th by beaning Francis. Francis had some words, but Look just shrugged him off. Matamoros grounded into a fielder’s choice, but moved to second on Waldon’s sac bunt. But so characteristic of Look, he ended the inning by striking out Victor Tijerina.

But in the bottom half, I realized my bench was empty. Look would have to bat - and he grounded out to second. D-Rod chopped out to Matamoros at first, Casablanca took a free pass, but was then erased trying to swipe second. We headed to the 18th. I put Look on the mound again - he was the only guy I had confidence in. He didn’t let me down, facing four batters but getting us out of the inning unscathed.

Waldon beaned Renick to start the inning, which was received to a chorus of boos. Gongora singled up the middle, and once again, Renick took third. Now this was a familiar sight - first and third, nobody out. McConnell the hero took a walk. Bases were loaded, and nobody was out. The remaining crowd screamed - and everyone in the dugout was on the fence. Antonio Moreno took some free swings before lifting a ball to left - Renick waited on the bag for Tijerina to make the catch. The ball was caught, and he bolted. Tijerina threw it in, but Yong crossed the plate before the cutoff could make a throw. We all piled on Renick at the plate - 3 for 4 on running on outfielders, and we had a win. It was a party on the field, all of us acting as if we had just won the world series.

I invited everyone for a drink, but only a few guys showed - one of them being Augustus McDonald. In the end, there was only five of us: Hensley, McDonald, McConnell, Eric Kizer (who was a surprise), and myself, but we bar-hopped. We all got drunk out of our minds over the course of the night, which started at 11PM because of the 6 hour “mid-day” game.

I woke up the next day to find all of them in my apartment living room - McConnell with three girls sleeping around him, Kizer in his boxers and missing all of his hair, Augustus with a black eye and soaked in his own vomit, but with a girl who’s chest he’d signed - and Hensley, who must have passed out after closing the door in the entrance way. I smiled to myself, since I still had all my clothes - but when I went to the bathroom, I realized something - something that wasn’t there before - On my right pec, I had a tattoo that proudly stated: “I love men”.

Groaning, I walked back to my room, only to be interuppted by the phone. “Hello?” I mumbled incoherently.

It was Look on the phone. “Where the hell are you guys? Game time is in 45 minutes!”

[jaykno14]

Man the Jazz loves men huh? Nice. Let's hope they can win despite six of the players being hungover.

[Jestor]

17 inning marathon... they go out and get trashed.. .and wake up shortly before game time?

Hahahaha.. beautiful!

Makes me think the Diamondbacks and the Secrets should hold a drinking contest

[cubuff38]

That might be kinda hard to explain to Carolyn.

[The Funk]

Phew just got caught up. Great chapter and that tattoo thing cracked me up. Sorry to hear about that awful week, here's hoping things are looking up!

[Jazzmosis]

Sorry about yet another delay, but I'm having some odd issues with OOTP not saving player's stats. Hopefully this'll get resolved soon and I'll be able to get the next chapter out.

[Jazzmosis]

Issue resolved. And Jazzington is back after a 2-day delay. Not much to say about this chapter, it will kind of feel like a stat parade at some points. But I still enjoy it, only because of the end. Anyways, in a few minutes, Chapter 26 will be up for your enjoyment.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 26: Two Times Vasser, 17 Times Winning

We all piled into my car and drove to the game, all of the players getting reprimanded by Eastwood for their stupidity. Obviously, I was scolded, but not nearly as bad. To be honest, we all expected worse - but Eastwood was a surprisingly understandable guy, despite our struggles. The game was a mess - we won, but Kizer and MacDonald were both out of it - neither were in a condition to pitch.

That night, I went to a tattoo parlour to see if I could get the tattoo removed. As it turned out, I had to wait another week. Needless to say, I didn’t take off my shirt in front of Caroline for a week - she was very suspicious, but I played it off as if I had a rash.

When July started, we sat at 34-46, a far cry from respectability. But the biggest blow was dealt when I overheard a conversation from Concordian and Eastwood. I was just about to leave, when Kizer came up to me. The big Venezuelan seemed concerned, but before I could ask what was happening, he spoke.

“Skip, you have to hear this.” He said hurriedly.

I followed him to outside Concordian’s office door. Before I could speak, Kizer put his hand to his lips and pointed at the door. And from inside, the horror unfolded.

I heard Eastwood’s voice. “I think you’re underestimating him, Roy.”

“Like him or not, we’re not winning. Considering how this team was last year player-wise, it’s got to be him.”

“At least let him finish out the season before making a decision.”

“Look, Daniel, I know that he’s a nice kid and has defied the odds, but he doesn’t have it - it’s clear. I think we should put Schlater in control and give Jazzington his walking papers.”

I was speechless, my face turning to a silent expression of horror.

“No.” Eastwood’s muffled voice chimed from the other side of the door. “I’ll stake my own job that he turns it around by the end of the year. I won’t give up on the kid so quickly.”

There was a piece of silence, while I thanked Eastwood for putting his confidence in me. And then, I heard Corcordian’s voice. “So be it. But if he doesn’t lead this team to .500, you’re going with him. Clear?”

Kizer and I ran off after that, and I realized that I now had another job on my shoulders. For a 21 year old, that’s a lot of pressure. But I looked at Kizer, then to my feet. It was time to step up. I was playing guys in a rut, hoping they’d blast out. But no more. I had to put the best team forward regardless of how angry it made people.

And how. I mixed the lineup, putting D-Rod back in the leadoff spot, followed by Casablanca. I’d been batting Renick in the two-hole, but now he would bat cleanup, taking Delph’s place. Delph was shuffled to the 5-slot, and McConnell was moved into 7 from 8, in place of Moreno.

The results were immediate. The team responded in kind, Renick and Gongora both going on 10 game hitting streaks between July 1st- 10th. Look was sent to the All-Star game with Carrero, who had a 0.49 ERA since joining Arizona. We won 8 of 10, and pushed our way out of the cellar. We were still 10.5 games out of first-place Colorado, but we weren’t in last.

After the all-star game, we pulled off another four game winning streak. On the 14th, Look got his 18th seasonal and 100th career save. The media harped on me, but there was one thing they all agreed I’d done right - putting Look as closer when I joined Florida. And now in Arizona, he’d payed me back with his third-consecutive dominating season.

Then, finally, after two losses, we pulled into Florida. The Marlins had become the worst team in baseball since I’d left - a small win for me, but they’d taken the first game of the series from us. This marked the turnaround we’d all been seeing build up. The next night (19th), Andrezjewski threw 7 innings of 1-run ball, then Giichi gave us the series on the 20th with 7 innings of 3 run ball, but we sparked a comeback in the ninth to win the game.

That streak turned into a 7-win slugfest, with Renick blasting 4 home runs to push his total up to 23 on the year. Gongora paced him with 19, but the bottom line was that after a terrible beginning to the year, we now sat at 49-52, 8 games back. And we’d taken two of three from baseball’s best, the Milwaukee Brewers.

Suddenly, I felt a lot more confident about my job. But then, on the night the streak ended, Carolyn called me.

“I’m going to be blunt, Mark.” She didn’t even say hello.

“What?”

“I think we should break up.”

“What? Why?” I was instantly thrown into shock.

“I like you and you’re nice and fun, but I found out that I have feelings for another guy, and I want to go out with him. I’m sorry. But these feelings. . .” She was still talking, but I zoned out. I wasn’t angry, or even upset. I was surprised, but what I really wanted to know was who the person was.

“Okay, I understand what you’re getting at,” I said five minutes later, after she finished her rant I was oblivious to. “But who’s the guy? Anyone I know?”

She hesitated. “His name is Jay.”

“Jay?” A though rushed through my head. “Jay who?”

She hesitated again. “Jay Vasser.”

You’ve got to be ****ing kidding me, I thought. “Jay, as in, short for James?” I swallowed heavily.

“Yes. He plays for you. I’m sorry.”

Before I could respond, she hung up. I blurted a ton of expletives, gathering the interest of Hensley, who came out of his room to see what was up.

“What’s going on, man?” He asked.

“****, ****, ****ing ****er ****face!” I screamed. “Dude, remind me to never date a girl named Carolyn ever, ever again.”

Two Carolyns lost to Vasser. I couldn’t believe it. Neither could Hensley. “You’re joking, right?” Was all he could respond with.

“We’re going to the bars.” I demanded, determined to drink my anger of JV away.

The night was a blur, but at least I woke up alone in my own bed the next morning. And for once, I felt good about that.

I went to the game that day, started Hensley, and got a win out of him. His ERA had dropped to 6.11 since his brutal first month, and despite questions from the media, I refused to move him out of the rotation. As for Vasser. . . sadly, he lead the win in wins (8), but Giichi did me a favour on the 30th and threw a CGSO to retake the lead.

When all was said and done and the deadline had passed, I found myself single. But I saw a team that had just gone 17-9 for the month and was rooted in 3rd place, 9.5 games out with a 51-55 record.

And the pitching? Third best ERA in baseball.

I still wanted to punch Vasser though.

[hayesb26]

Another nice chapter Jazzy. Better keep away from those Carolyn girls!

[Jazzmosis]

Here we are, Chapter 27: Competition and The Clubhouse Exit of Mark Jazzington. This is a hella long chapter, but I had alot to write about (and to make up for a content-lacking Chapter 26). Anyways, hope you enjoy it!

It'll be up in a second.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 27: Competition and The Clubhouse Exit

The dog days of August were upon us, and I had to deal with Eastwood’s job security on top of my own. I had a lot of friends in Arizona, and I knew the only way I could have a hope of getting an extension or any chance to resign with the Diamondbacks was to save Eastwood’s job. And the way to do that was to get back to .500. July had started the turnaround, but I called a team meeting on the 2nd of August.

In what was becoming a typical scene, I burst open the door to see a collection of players dressed either respectably or in jeans and a t-shirt. I wasn’t one for formalities, but I wore a white dress shirt and classy pants on this occasion. The mood was light, but nobody knew why I’d called this meeting. And of course, Vasser wasn’t on time. After all, I’d called the meeting at the crack of noon.

“Guys,” I started, “I know July was a good month for us. 17-9, and we climbed out of the cellar. Good. But we’re not finished yet. As you know, Colorado’s got a firm grasp on this division, but we’re deadlocked with the other three teams, within two games either way.” I stopped to think of what I’d just said - it didn’t make much sense literally, but the team seemed to understand. “As you know, we’re close to .500. And many of you may not know this, but my job is on the line. You’ve probably read the rumours in the papers or whatever, but it’s true. I want us to reach .500 and beyond. But first things first - I’m just going to throw some stats at you.”

I fumbled with a piece of paper in my pocket before reading the words on it. “I’m happy to say that our pitching is the best in the National League, ERA-wise. We’ve got a 4.53, and we’ve also given up the 3rd least amount of runs. Our problem is with the offense. 19th in the majors for average. And we’re weak on home runs.”

The team stirred, specifically the hitters. “From this report, we’re not scoring enough runs. We’re at about even with what we give up. I’ll spare you the numbers in this case, but I have some suggestions to how we can score more runs. We’re up there in steals, so I want you guys to run on every opportunity. Maccy [McConnell], Mags [Casablanca], and Ronnie [Smith], you guys keep running those paths. I’ll trade a few outs here and there for runs. D-Rod, you’ve been incredible at the top of the lineup. I know you’re not the fastest guy and you’ve been playing through that nagging hamstring, but last year you swiped 42 bag. This year, only 10 so far. Take a few more risks here and there - don’t underestimate your performance.”

The guys smiled, and a few pats on the back were exchanged. “This brings me to the power guys. Yong and Mike [Gongora], you guys are even for RBIs. Make a game out of it. You’re both at 79, see who gets to 100 first. The guys will be on for you, so bring em’ home.”

At this point, Vasser strolled in. “Hey skip, how’s the pep talk coming?”

“I was just telling the guys about how you got hammered at the bar a few nights ago and put on a dress.” I retorted, which got some laughs from the team with some quiet jeers.

“Heh.” James sneered before sitting down. “Hey skip, don’t I have your woman? Y’know, the one that said she wanted a real man?”

I gave him the one-finger salute. Like usual, Vasser’s touch set everything on fire. I admired his persistence on the mound, even if he was an ass. But he could play, there was no doubt about that. I snapped back to my speech. “Anyway, if we make this fun, I see no reason that we can’t get back to .500 this month. What do you say, guys?”

“And if we do, what’ll you do?” Aaron Delph asked, smiling.

I thought about it for awhile. Then, a sly smile came across my face. “You guys make it to .500 by the middle of the month, and I’ll get a tattoo that says ‘I love men.’ That’s if you guys do it by the 15th.”

Laughs erupted, but they all agreed with a smile. Of course, I hadn’t told anyone about the tattoo I already had, but at least this way, I had an excuse. I adjourned the meeting, and the players filtered back out to the field.


That speech had an effect, there is no doubt in my mind of that. The guys loosened up, they got along. The chemistry was good in the clubhouse, and finally, they started to play of each other. After going back and forth with wins and losses for the first few days, we started a streak on the 11th. And who started it? Michael Hensley. He’d been struggling all year, but this month started his turnaround.

We took the first two against top-team Atlanta after edging one out of Florida. Our streak stood at three wins, and our record was 58-59. We had wins out of Hensley, Vasser, and new-best-friend Steven Mack, who’s ERA was a fantastic 3.27. Too bad he was 27 - this was his first ML season. But on the 14th, one day before my promise expired, the team was excited - everyone knew this was the game. They could sweep Atlanta, make .500, and embarrass the manager - all in one day. Gongora led Yong in the RBI race, 90-86. Andrzejewski was scheduled to take the hill to try for his 7th win. We were half a game from 2nd place, and 8 games out of first.

We did not disappoint. Locked in a 2-2 game in the 4th, Renick dug into the box with 2 on. Gongora had rapped an RBI single in the 2nd to put his lead at 91-86, but on a 1-1 pitch, Yong put us ahead and closed the gap. The dugout erupted into cheers as the leftfielder unloaded on the ball - 456 feet later, we were up 5-2. Andrzejewski struggled in the 6th, allowing two runs, but we had a 6-4 lead. Then, with 1 out in the 8th, Yong Renick stepped into the box with Casablanca taking a lead from first. And like in the 4th, he walloped the ball - 409 feet into left-centre. And like that, he had given us 5 RBIs and tied up the chase with Gongora at 91 apiece. Moya and McDonald held on to the lead, and suddenly we found ourselves in a position I’d have never dreamed could happen two months ago: 59-59. .500.

“Way to go, skipper!! Enjoy that tattoo!” Yong jeered, and I smiled back.

“I’ll enjoy getting it, fellas. We’re 7 games back, .500, and tied for second place!” The dugout cheered, and the party started in the clubhouse. I met Eastwood there, and he pulled me aside as players partied.

“Thank you.” He said with a pat on the shoulder.

“For what?”

“Giving me a reason to believe in you.”

That was it.


Our .500 was short lived, as we lost the next night. It started a tough streak where we couldn’t quite get wins together, and all of the sudden we were three under again. But on the 22nd, something far better happened to me.

After the loss, and team filed out into the streets to go to their hotel or home. I had just left the stadium when I was approached - I was used to it by now. Most fans waited outside the player exit for autographs, so this was nothing new. After signing some autographs and deflecting some questions from fans, they mostly dissipated into the night - except one. A knockout girl, with eyes a deep brown to match her dyed hair. Her hair was short, layered just below her chin, and down to her shoulders at the back. She smiled shyly when she spoke, and fiddled with her fingers, rubbing her arms. “Hi.” She said.

“Hello there.” I responded, and waited for her to hand me something to sign. But to no avail. She just stood in front of me, smiling and rubbing her arms. In our silence together, I took a moment to look at her body, albeit quickly. Her shorts were tight and high, but not to the point you’d consider her loose. Those black shorts were complimented with a white v-neck shirt, with those short-sleeves that revealed most of her tanned arms. In silence, I waited.

Finally, she spoke. “You’re the manager, right? For the Diamondbacks?”

“Yup.” I responded casually. She had a slender form - there was no doubt she was easy on the eyes. But we’d stood together for a few minutes, and done and said nothing. “Look, I’ve got to go home here. Have to prepare for tomorrow’s game. So I will see you later, okay?”

She nodded, and I turned to walk away, her form teasing my mind. I figured I’d never see her again, but that didn’t bother me. But then, against my better will, I turned to look at her. She stood there, in the same spot, watching me move. Swallowing, I spoke. “What’s your name?”

She smiled again. “Kate.”

“Pretty name.” I responded. “I’ll see you around, Kate.” And with that, I turned and left.


The next night, after defeating the Mets, I walked out of the clubhouse exit and onto the street. After the usual few autographs, there she was, standing - waiting just for me.

“Hi.” She said, again.

“Hello there.” I responded. . . again. “Kate, right?” She smiled and looked to the ground, blushing. Apparently it was a big deal that I remembered her name. I was going to leave, but I had to look at her body once again. That night, she was wearing a blue tank top with white pants, and must have been hot in the Arizona heat, but she didn’t seem to mind. Against my better judgment, led by the wrong head, I asked a simple question. “Where are you from?”

“Vancouver.” She responded. “It’s in Canada.”

I nodded. “I’m from Canada too. Born near Windsor.”

Her face lit up. “I’ve been to Windsor. Didn’t like it much.”

I smiled. “Neither did I. That’s why I moved away when I was 18.” I thought about what she said for a moment before curiosity peaked. “What are you doing in Phoenix?”

For a while, she didn’t respond - she just looked at me. But eventually, the brunette responded with a gentle voice. “I work here.”

“Doing what? How old are you?”

She completely changed the subject. “I live near here. . . will you walk me home?”

I stared at her. “You live alone?”

“With a friend.” She responded.

Shrugging, I agreed to walk her home. We didn’t talk much during the walk, but it turned out that it wasn’t long. When we reached her apartment, she smiled. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” I responded, and prepared to leave.

“Here.” She handed me a piece of paper. “If you ever feel like it.” And she ran inside her building, giving me a soft smile just beforehand.

I looked at the paper and smiled stupidly. Her number. I walked to my place, and before I knew it, I called her.


We went on a road trip after the Mets series, and on the 27th, in Philadelphia, while Hensley pitched, some terrible news erupted.

It was the end of the 6th, and Hensley walked into the dugout with a wince. “I’m done, Mark.”

“You haven’t thrown that many pitches. We’re only down by a run. Got one more in you?”

“No.” He responded, and hesitated. “I need to see the trainer. My arm’s killing me.”

I pointed him over to Chuck Majorski, the team’s trainer.

Hensley was sent to the hospital for some x-rays, and the news we received was devastating. A ruptured biceps. Hensley’s year was done, taking with it the team lead in K’s (145). It was a shame, considering he’d just been pulling his season together. After a brutal start, he had a 2.76 ERA in August. After being swept by Philadelphia, we sat at 63-68.

But then, we walked into San Diego, and turned the end of the month around. The first two games went 11 innings, Ronnie Fleisher winning the second, improving to 4-0 on the season and winning his 10th straight decision. But the biggest win was in the first game. Locked at 8-8 in the top of the 11th, Renick singled and stole second. Gongora stepped up, complete with 99 RBIs - one more than the guy at second base. He knocked the first pitch into left field, and Renick hustled around the basepaths - scoring the go-ahead run without a throw, while simultaneously losing the “battle of the 100”, as the team called it. Mike then scored on a single by Aaron Delph, and when he reached the clubhouse, high-fives and jeers were all around.

“Ironic.” Was all that Red Baron said.

And how. The next night, Yong launched his team-leading 30th bomb, also in the 11th inning, and gave us the extra-inning win. . . again.

And in the final game of the series, and the month, Giichi threw 8 innings of one-run ball, and just like that, we’d swept San Diego - and put ourselves in 3rd place. But for the third straight season, Look picked up 30 saves (getting his 30th on that night), and we were at 66-68.

With a month to play, and 11 games from Colorado, it was about pride. That and saving not one, but two jobs.

[cubuff38]

I love how you're intertwining both your personal and professional lives.

I can't wait till Kate gets to see your tatoo, and of course hopefully you can save your job with a good September.

[Dougiestyle]

I get hooked on your work almost as much as C.S. Lewis's.

[Tib]

I'm still reading and it's still good. You have developed a consistent and distinct voice in your narrative.

[Jestor]

Machiavelli would be proud of the tattoo play. Brilliant move!

[Jazzmosis]

Thanks for the comments all.. but personally I think that it still lacks a certain characteristic about Jazzington that makes him... him. I've been trying to work his personal life into the story but it's only just starting to come together. It's also difficult to get a consistent flow because I don't know the future until just before I write the chapter, and I write even to where I am in the season. Eventually I'll have enough time to get well ahead, then I think the story will really pick up. Right now I'm just going month by month. It makes for a challenging write, but I do my best to keep a flow. The tattoo thing, in my opinion, is the first successful flow I've had. I've begun to notice patterns though - the team really puts it together in the final week of the month, pretty much every time. Other than that... it's all about the heart, baby.

As for Kate, I wanted a unique way to have Jazzington meet her - since I'd met all of Jazz's other girls in different ways, I thought his next girl should be a bit. . . crazed. . . obsessive of a fan. Ultimately, the girl I have a lasting (hopefully GOOD) relationship with will determine solely on her name, and how much I like that name. Heh.

Thanks for the comments everyone, they help keep this dynasty going!

[Y0DA55]

Just wanted to say that your newest fan hasn't quite gotten to the end of it yet (after taking a few days to catch up from the beginning). My next sitdown to read this will start with Chapter 25, in which I hope to get caught up to date.

Amazing writing Jazz. You've got me hook, line, and sinker. More to come once I finish reading this behemoth.