Mark Jazzington - a managerial career

[Jestor]

I'll concur with his keeping the job.. and damn I wish I had these people's ability to write good cliffhangers

[Jazzmosis]

Annnnnnnd we're back to the thrilling conclusion of the contract situation. Decision is slightly longer, and (nearly) finishes off all of the offseason. Nearly .

Stay tuned, it'll be up in a second.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 31: Decision

That day (November 23rd, 2006) was unusually cool for Phoenix. My white collared undershirt was stained with sweat, my teeth were sore from grinding at them for three days solid, and my tie was damp from me constantly pressing the end against my lips during my nervous fidgeting. The stutter I had lost when I had started dating Lacey had reappeared, which had made anything I said on the stand very unconvincing. At 21, I was involved in the highest publicized scandal of the decade, and I didn’t know how to react. All my bad habits I had as a fifteen year old nobody had rashed out during my media-induced stress attack - I scratched my face constantly, cracked my fingers over and over, changed my sitting position every ten seconds, rolled my head around in discomfort. . . and I continually had to tap my fingers on the table. More than once it had disrupted the court. And when I had seen the tabloids some inconsiderate reporter had tossed in my face, the front page had a picture of me chewing on my tie while on the stand. It took every once of self-restraint to stop myself from jumping the reporter and venting my frustrations on him with my fists.

What could they expect? I physically could not leave my place without having a camera or a reporter asking me idiotic questions. But on that day, I could feel it coming to a close. A decision would be rendered, and the media would find something more interesting soon.

The courtroom reeked of various colognes and perfumes - the air was stagnant and each breath I took made me want to push more out. My lungs were being filled with the putrid air, and the room I was in forced me to share it with those who would harass me endlessly once the decision was called.

The judge spoke in his short, raspy voice that sounded more like a lawnmower trying to start then an authoritative figure. “After reviewing the case of both Mr. Concordian, Mr. Eastwood, and Mr. Jazzington, the Board has reached the decision that Mr. Jazzington’s contract with the Arizona Diamondbacks baseball organization and with Mr. Concordian is a legally binding agreement. The contract stands.”

I dropped my shoulders and felt the wave of intense relief wash over my face, flowing down through my veins and enveloping my body. The audience clapped, others were in silent shock - but all I could do was smile. Two more years in the desert.


The media hounded me for days, before they finally decided they had destroyed enough of the story’s details and moved on. I called Eastwood.

“Thank you, Mr. Eastwood. For standing up for me when nobody else would.”

“Hey Jazz, don’t think twice about it. I know you’re the man for the job there. Just glad we won. Had a lot riding on that to fall in our favour.”

I smiled, although nobody could see it. “Regardless. . . thank you.”

“Show the West a good time, kid. I’ll see you around.”

The conversation ended there, and Eastwood and I parted for many years. He hooked on with Kansas City just before Christmas, signing a four year deal in the prairies. The third team he’d ever GM, and he returned to the AL after an eight-year emancipation. But before that happened, I called up Concordian to clear things up between us.

“It’s Mark Jazzington, Mr. Concordian.”

“Hello.”

“I just wanted to clear things up between us after the decision was made. I don’t want there to be bad blood between us, sir.”

“Jazz, there’s no animosity from me. I don’t have anything against you, but I was doing what I felt was the best for this club. I hope you understand that much.”

“Absolutely. Just so I’m clear, what do you expect of me in the upcoming year?”

There was a pause. “You’re putting me on the spot, but ideally, I’d like to have a shot at the playoffs. Failing that, a plus .500 season would be nice. I don’t know how big of players we’ll be in the offseason, we’re looking to make up for losing Gongora in right.”

Business baseball slapped me in the face. While the Arizona fiasco was unfolding, Gongora had declared his free agency and signed a huge deal with division rival San Francisco. Rumour was that the Diamondback were pursuing Kenneth Carlock, but his pricetag would be high.


The new year rolled by, Kate and I slowly becoming closer. I was growing a soft spot in my heart for her, but there was still so much mystery involving aspects of her life I had yet to unfold - such as her job, why she’d moved to Phoenix from Vancouver, and her somewhat fanatical obsession with me. Despite these things, I couldn’t help but get closer to her.


Hensley broke up with his girlfriend on the 5th, as she moved out of the country. Carlock signed with the team for a whopping 14 million per year. And finally, just as Spring Training started and the team and all the rookies headed upstate, the Rule V draft was held. For the first time in my managerial career, there was a player that would start on the active roster that was younger than me. His name was Clarence Malinowski, a 20 year old fireman from New York’s farm. He’d never played above AA before getting the chance with us.

Spring training was jutted, as the pitchers, catchers, and batters all slowly built into shape. Andrzejewski was erratic all spring and took a line drive off the knee on March 3rd, Yong Renick had gained 10 pounds of muscle and ended up setting a spring record with 12 home runs.

Oft-injured AAA man Ben Sizer was hurt, like usual. However, how he got hurt was somewhat comical. While throwing batting practice to Ken Carlock, the bat slipped out of his hands, clipped off the pitcher’s cage, and knocked Sizer’s elbow, fracturing it in three places. Sizer was hoping to make the team as a swingman, but that put him on the injury list once again. Confidence lacking Bill Mathews tore his hamstring, putting him in need of surgery.

Hensley beaned Antonio Moreno in the head in an intersquad game, giving him a concussion. 2006 1st round selection Benito “Sticks” Ubarri tripped during windsprints and broke his wrist, setting him back from a potential mid-season callup.

Despite the injuries and seemingly endless pile of limbs that were snapping off players’ bodies, the team fought to a .500 spring record, and things looked like they were taking shape. Look was feeling stronger than ever, which was a compliment considering he was the oldest player on the team at 37. Renick looked ready to take charge of the offense, D-Rod was flashing some more power, and I had started to build a small friendship with Malinowski, who was informed he was staying on the club after beating the final roster spot over another rookie.

We started the year with four rookies on the team - one was Malinowski, a 26 year old farmhand named Harry Groleau who would work middle innings, a 24 year old waiver wire pickup infielder named Joey Damm, and backup outfielder Rosendo Vazquez, who had a brief callup the year before but now had the role over speedy Ronnie Smith, who was sent to AAA to start the year. Leaving the team was Dante Camara, who was sent with Jeffery Sosa to the Mets for 25 year old AAA reliever James Coger.

Things were looking up for the start of the year, despite the high expectations. But just before the first game, I talked to Kate, and found out a shocker that I’d never forget.

[Y0DA55]

Darn you.

Another cliffhanger.

Isn't there some sort of rule where you can't have more than 2 or 3 cliffhangers in a row?

[Jazzmosis]

Here it comes.. it's a bit of a late-day drop, but I was busy all week and only just finished writing it. Sorry for the suspense-filled cliffhanger, but Chapter 32:Waves will be out in a minute.

Hold tight!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 31: Waves

People say that sometimes things happen that are so important, they change the way you look at life. For some, that is a relative dying, for others, car crashes - it’s typically a traumatic experience. Not for myself. When I was in my mid-teens, I had always told my limited friends I had simply wanted to make a small impact in life - that getting noticed wasn’t my goal. I never aspired to receive fame and fortune, I just wanted to play baseball. School was an offset of my goal - I had applied to the best baseball college in the country, for the easiest degree I could get: English. I’d have loved to played in the majors, but I would have been happy if I’d maxed out in High-A ball. It takes a lot of talent to play - it takes just as much to manage that talent. And to balance out a personal life while travelling every week was near impossible - most girlfriends became more attached as time passes, and it becomes difficult to deal with seeing their man only once a week. But then there’s special cases where the girl becomes attached, is willing to put up with your disappearances. . . and tells you something that changes how you think.

It was April 5th, 2007, about six hours before opening day against the Rockies. I was having lunch with Kate in her apartment, and we were talking about the upcoming season, what we were up to, and where I’d be in the next few weeks. Then, out of the blue, she dropped a bomb on me.

“Mark, I have to tell you something.”

“Sure.”

“One day, I may disappear without a word.”

I gave her a very puzzled look. “What?”

She brushed her hair from her face and looked at the table. “This is hard for me to say. . .”

I now assumed she was going to give me some lame excuse to dump me. “Just say it - I can take it.”

“It’s not that I don’t like you. . . in fact, I really like you. But. . .”

“But you don’t want to be together. I get what you’re trying to say.”

“No! It’s nothing like that. It’s just that. . . I’ve seen something.”

I leaned back in the chair, confused and a little irritated. “Seen what?”

She sighed and wiped her face. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but I can’t help it. Back in Vancouver. . . I saw. . . something bad happen.”

I raised my eyebrow.

“And when I did, they moved me here. . . because they don’t know if the people saw me. . . or what they’ll do if they find me.”

“What? What people?” I was putting things together slowly.

“I’m in the WPP.”

“WPP?”

“Witness Protection Program. Only a few people know my real name. . . but I think I’ll have to leave soon if they catch on.”

My interest peaked. “Do I know your real name?”

She shook her head. No.

I couldn’t do much to get my head around what she’d seen to be taken out of the country, had her name changed, and to live like that under a false name that I never would learn. . . but I did my best to deal with it. I was one of her few friends in her dark days. At the very least, I had a heads up if she left.


A few hours passed, and I found myself at the ballpark for the first game of the year. Kenneth Andrzejewski had the ball, and everyone was upbeat and hoping for a hot start to the season. Colorado looked to win the division - again. We were predicted to finish third or fourth. The game started in a lock, both teams scoring three runs through 7 innings. Ken was throwing aces, and had struck out ten. After 110 pitches and 22 outs, I pulled him. The game was tied at four when the relief gave up an unearned run.

Then came the bottom of the ninth - the nervous ninth, as coined by so many editorial writers when teams had shaky closers in the game. However, with the game all tied, and the D’backs up to bat, I pinch hit Casablanca for Jerry Greenwald. Greenwald had been a backup since I’d arrived in Arizona, but during the spring he’d expressed a desire to start. When I told him that Casablanca and D-Rod were manning his positions and I’d start him more at third if he learned to play that position, he seemed a bit taken back. He and I had been a little awkward around each other since. But when I called him to the plate, he took one ball before launching a gutter pitch into the air. The familiar roar of the crowd became deafening as the ball cleared over the left field wall - and gave us a walk-off victory.

Colorado won the series, before we swept San Francisco and Gongora, before visiting Colorado and taking the two game set. When it was all said and done, we had won 6 in a row and were 7-2 to start the season. The rotation was all aces, each pitcher with an ERA below 4 - except Hensley, who had faltered out of the gate. By the 20th of the month, We were 10-4, firmly in first, defying the odds. I was cautiously optimistic - I remembered two years ago when we were 30-20 at one point, and watched as it crumbled before me.

However, what Yong Renick had started in the spring hadn’t stopped. He had launched four bombs and brought in 12. He was being helped by Casablanca, who was batting an inhuman .445 through 14 games. As the month blasted through another week, it had become the D-Rod, Casa, and Renick show. The top three were all plus .350 in average, Dominic had a 19 game hit streak, Renick had 21 RBIs and 6 blasts by the 26th, and the bullpen was incredible. McDonald had a minuscule 1.08 ERA over 7 games.

Meanwhile, when April had passed by, we found ourselves on a 4 game winning streak, with a 15-8 record, and a two game lead. Andrzejewski had gone 4-1 with a 2.25 ERA and 37 strikeouts. The only bad news was John McConnell had broke his hand, and was out indefinitely. That handed the starting job to Rosendo Vazquez - which turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Look had 7 saves, which led the league. The team’s ERA was 3.37, the lowest in the majors. We were riding a huge wave of optimism, but like every wave. . . it crashes.

[RchW]

OK I have only one complaint. These chapters are getting shorter

[Jazzmosis]

I know. I haven't found the same amount of time as of recently to write, hence the chapters are a bit rushed. I've just started exam schedule and have been helping my friend through some hard times, so Jazzington has suffered a bit. The next chapter will be rather long, though. There's alot to write about there. I was just trying to get to it. Anyways, sorry about the length, it wasn't my intention.

[Jazzmosis]

The next chapter of Mark Jazzington will sadly, likely be delayed. I have an exam Friday night and Saturday morning (brutal, eh?) and with all the studying I've been pretending to do, I haven't had time to write it. It's all in my mind, though.

[Jazzmosis]

I even impressed myself by getting this chapter done in good time - two exams down, three to go, and a fresh fix of Mark Jazzington to boot. Is this a Saturday or is this a Saturday?

Chapter 32: Renick, Casablanca, and Eating Your Words will be up in a second.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 32: Renick, Casablanca, and Eating Your Words

May jumped in, and we were lined up against some top teams - Atlanta, St. Louis, Houston, and Oakland, to name a few. We started the month by finishing off a sweep against Los Angeles - our fifth win in a row. There was hand-slapping, cheering, and praise all around. Kenneth Carlock showed some power he was signed for, hitting two home runs in the 12-4 victory. There was only one weak link in the pitching rotation - Hensley, who was off to a slow start.

The streak ended on the second, when Hensley got knocked around once again. He dropped to 0-3 on the year with a brutal 8.37 ERA, and that’s when the talk started from up above. New GM Chester Chadwick, who in my opinion had the worst sounding GM-name in baseball, wasn’t as patient with younger players then Eastwood - but I had a feeling that was because Chadwick and Concordian were like-minded and felt this team should be contending - and the veterans could do that. I don’t know what they could complain about though - the youngest starting player was now Rosendo Vazquez at 24 - the rest were all close to 30. And Vazquez was about to go on a tear.

But the talk was mounting about Hensley - Chadwick was running short on patience, and had told me that after Hensley’s awful start to last year, that he could be headed to AAA. The only thing that kept him from doing that was that there was nobody better to replace him. I wanted to tell Hensley, but decided putting more pressure on him wasn’t a good idea. Word was getting around though, and it wasn’t long before the media started to speculate - and of course, the blame went back to me and how I was playing favourites. . . apparently.

Over the next week, we went 2-4, with the four losses coming in a row. This is when the ball came back to Hensley on the tenth.

“Stop the bleeding for us, Hensley. Last year you aced this staff - I know you can do it again.” I said.

“I’ve changed my delivery - Schlater and I have worked on it for awhile. We’ll see how it goes.” He responded, and headed to the bullpen to go warm up.

Hensley ended up getting 22 outs, 6 of them strikeouts. He left the game with a no decision, tied at 4 against St. Louis. We went to the top of the ninth, when Magglio Casablanca dug into the plate. Casa was no power stick, but he was battling history. As of May 10th, he was batting .406. There was only one person hitting better at that point in the season, at he was batting behind him: Yong Renick at .421, who had nearly as many RBIs as games played. But Casablanca took a 1-1 pitch and rapped a double off the right field wall, setting up yet another opportunity for Renick to drive in runs. It didn’t take long: One pitch later, Yong unloaded his 10th home run and 30th RBI. Look picked up the win, and it started the chase. Casablanca for .400 signs started appearing. The most amusing part was, that during Casa’s run, there was another face up there that I recognized, and remembered having amazing potential: Eric Harris, who was now 27 and still tearing it up for Florida. No discernable future, my ass.

After Yong’s clutch hit, the next day brought about a surprise: Chadwick called a press conference, and Renick was there. I thought the worst - he was in a contract year and there was rumours that he’d be moved to a team in contention. I remember thinking to myself, damn it, Concordian, we’re only 1 game out! Unless you got God in this trade, you’re an idiot. I immediately began to create a lineup without Yong Renick - this time I was going to be prepared.

Course, the only time I ever prepared for something was the time I was totally wrong. Chadwick hadn’t traded him - Concordian wasn’t that stupid. Instead, they made the best decision. The conference was to announce that the 29 year old left fielder had signed a 4 year extension worth 33.6 million dollars. For those of you playing the home game, that’s 8.4 million a year - more than double what he was making in 2007. This news was boosted with a player of the week award for the Louisiana native, his second of the year. “I feel honoured to stay in Arizona for another 4 years. I was looking for contract stability, and I like how the team is shaping up. I wouldn’t be surprised to see us in the playoffs this year.” He would start to eat those words almost right away.

The next day, we finished off the four-game set with St. Louis with our third win in a row. In this game, Renick went insane. He hit his third bomb of the series, and brought in three more RBIs, which was not only his 37th, but ninth of the series. We had also taken back the lead of the West by two games.

Then, we swung east. To say this was the beginning of the downfall would be right, but it was more of a free fall. Washington DC took two of three. Florida, my arch nemesis, swept a two game set. We headed back to Arizona to lose two of three to Oakland. We then lost two of three to Colorado. Mack had imploded, his ERA rising from 2.45 to 5.10, and he’d lost every game he’d pitched in May. Giichi was struggling, but remained respectable at 5-3 with a 3.96 ERA. Andrzejewski had been roughed up two starts in a row but was still third in the NL for strikeouts.

Then, we headed to San Francisco on the 27th. We’d lost our last game, and Vasser was pitching. He, like Mack, had been bombed, although not as bad. His excuses never ended: The wind blew that one out - the ump had it in for him - the fans were throwing things at him - God wanted him to fail (the most original line he used). Anything to keep him from admitting they had figured him out and he would have to change his approach. Although he pitched well (6IP/2ER), he received a no decision and Moya blew the tie in the 8th - we lost 4-3, despite Renick’s 10th stolen base and his 13 moonshots (totalling 44 RBI).

Then, on my birthday, Hensley took the ball. We lost 5-2, Hensley’s line 5IP, 7H, 5ER, 0BB, 3K. But then the news came to me from Chadwick in the hallway. I began to wonder if everything I was to find out from a GM would be in a hallway in the clubhouse.

“Jazz-er, I’ve got to talk to you for a second.” Chadwick called, his suit stained with some substance, his striped tie totally mismatching his balding hair. He held a cigar in his left hand, and a phone in his right.

I walked casually to him. “What is it?”

“How would you feel about a four man rotation?” He always cut right to the chase.

“Awful. The pitching’s fragile as it is - what I could use is a guy to give some spot starts to.” Then I clued in, my expression changing when I noticed the phone in his hand. “Oh Christ. Who did you trade?”

He gave me a look. “Nobody. I was just talking to the AAA director. Sebastian Cardgage.”

“Oh.”

“We’re sending Hensley back to AAA.”

I coughed. “What?”

“He’s got an ERA of 7-plus. The minors will do him good.”

I staggered, but tried to hold my composure. “Who’s getting the call up? Sizer?”

“Sizer’s injured.” Of course he would be. “We signed another guy - Ryan Ricards from Los Angeles. He’ll be in the bullpen for help.”

I swallowed heavily. I’d lost my roommate, my 5th starter, and now had to handle a 4 man staff with an extra bullpen guy? “What’s wrong with another AAA starter? Ubarri, maybe? Mathews?”

“Mathews is out for a month with tendinitis. Ubarri tore his labrum.”

Damn. . . talk about AAA injuries I thought. “So, I’ve got a four man to handle?”

“Yup. Hopefully it won’t be long, but we’ll see how it works out.”


On my 22nd birthday, I had to tell my good friend he was moving back to Salt Lake City, deal with three losses in a row, losing first place, and find a way to make a four man staff of Giichi, Andrzejewski, Vasser, and Steve Mack work. With all four of them struggling, and a bullpen that was getting overworked (Kizer had thrown in 5 of the last 6 games), I had more to worry about then drinking on that night. I didn’t see Kate, I just helped Hensley pack. The apartment was going to be empty without him. He told me it wouldn’t be long before he came back, and that it wasn’t my fault - he hadn’t been pitching well. But I couldn’t but wonder if that handshake we had at the door would be the last - many times you hear about young players that come out strong, and fade after that first glorious year. Was Hensley going to die in AAA, or would he be back soon?

How do you say goodbye to a person who’s career you’ve watched from the beginning? Who did I have to fall back on, to talk to? Young guns McDonald and Malowinski had befriended me, but I didn’t know them the way I knew Hensley. You expect people to leave - that’s part of life - I didn’t expect Hensley to move back to obscurity, though. This guy was a first round pick for Boston - didn’t even spend a month in the minors before Arizona traded for him and called him up. Was it too fast? How do you call a struggle in a player’s third year “too fast”?

One thing I did know though, was that the apartment would be empty when I came back from games.

San Francisco swept us, and we started a series against the Cubs. The won the first game, putting us at .500 after such a promising April. We’d fallen to third. Then, on the last game of the month, Andrzejewski threw 7 innings of 3 run ball - and we lost 4-3. It was hard to believe, but to finish off May we’d lost first place, six in a row, and fallen under .500. Renick certainly was eating his words from two weeks earlier.

And the streak wasn’t over.

[cubuff38]

Ouch.

[Tib]

Nice job, Jazz. The chapters now have a certain flow to them, as opposed to earlier chapters that seemed to march along in a kind of lockstep. It feels like more rhythm and less labor.

[Jazzmosis]

Thanks for the praise, Tib.. I feel like I'm getting more of a tone with the writing. Considering Jazz's luck with owners and the likes, he writes from a fairly pessimistic tone, but it's hard to keep that going... I've still got lots to learn though, so we'll see how his career ends up.

Meanwhile, I'm sad to report that Jazz will be going on a 1 week haitus, due to the fact that my final exam is tomorrow and I'm going to be study blitzing for it (I know nothing.). This last week I've been working through my other exams and studying so I didn't have time to play the games out, and thus I am behind. When I sober up next week (I'm predicting Wednesday) I'll tap out a chapter and we'll get Jazz's career back on track.

Wish me luck on this exam - Jazz's career depends on it!

[cubuff38]

Well if Jazz's career depends on it, then good luck on this exam.

It will be tragic to have a Saturday without "The Angry Jazz" when I wake up at 2 PM.

[Jazzmosis]

As a special treat, I'm releasing some Jazzington a bit early. This will be a two parter, and hopefully I'll finish the second part in time for Saturday - but after the long wait, I am hoping you guys appreciate this... I wanted to fill in some info, but the so much happened in the first few days of the month, it started filling page after page after page.. So without further delay, Chapter 33: The Face of Change, Part 1 will be up.

Enjoy!

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 33: The Face of Change

Rumours had begun again about my managerial job. Four years into managing, and I was under endless criticism over whether or not I belonged. Personally I felt I was here for a reason - but because of my age, my strength was tested over and over, I was under constant pressure to perform. Whenever talks came up of me losing my managerial position, all they could talk about was my career winning percentage - which at the time, was at .486. It was never the team’s lack of talent that came into question - it was always my shortcomings as a manager. However, little known to everyone, was that my record at this time was slightly better to Mickie Colbalt’s. And as any fan would know, Mickie Colbalt was the manager with the most wins of any manager in history (2517). In his 26 years at the helm, he won 100+ games 16 times. Nobody ever bothered to bring up his rough start, though. Nobody questioned whether or not he belonged. In my young life, I decided it was because he started managing at 43, two years after he finished a hall of fame career. I may not have had in and out knowledge of the inner working of the game at 22, but that didn’t take away from the fact that I had more wins then he did. Life wasn’t fair, but that’s baseball. Some great players never get their chance, some are ruined by injuries, others don’t even get drafted. I was thankful I at least got a shot to be in the majors - even if not as a player.


We began June riding that six game losing streak. Vasser was on the hill, as we finished off a two game set against the NL Central cellar dwellers, the Chicago Cubs. We took a 5-4 lead into the ninth, and I sent Look out there knowing this would be the end of the streak. With two outs, they strung together a walk and two hits. With the bases loaded and two outs, Look worked a full count. You hear about these tense moments where the game rests of one pitch, but it’s rare to see them in such a grand fashion.

I watched Look take the sign, rear back, the runners break, the ball dive down towards the dirt. . . the batter swung. . . and took a piece of it. . . foul ball. Look took the sign again, wound up. . . the runners broke again, the ball was up, but dove down again. . . the batter swung. . . and connected just below the knees. The ball was a laser down the third base line, and as Renick ran for it, I prayed for a spectacular diving catch. He ran back, and suddenly I realized something far worse - he was at the track and the ball was still in the air. “Go foul!” I screamed.

Renick jumped, reaching out for the ball. Fully outstretched, in a pose that everyone knew he wouldn’t land, the white streak was intercepted by his glove. In a play that would be forever remembered in the bad-luck books, Renick crashed into the wall, back first. His head and arm snapped backwards, and in a diagonal spread, his legs hit the wall. His wrist finally snapped backwards as his forearm hit the top of the wall. The ball was firmly in his glove - but his glove was not firmly in his hand. In an instant, his glove, holding the ball, disappeared over the wall, into the bullpen. Renick smashed into the ground, tumbling in a heaped mass and rolling into the foul wall.

At first, the crowd was stunned and there was ooos and ahhs. The batter, Charlie Richards, stopped running up the line. Look pumped his fist in a rare show of emotion, and the team cheered as they began to pour out of the dugout. But as Rosendo Vazquez reached Renick, who was still lying on the ground, and the third base umpire continued to head up the line, asking for the ball to be shown. Renick was lying on his hands, face down, but conscious. Vazquez helped him to his feet, when we all realized the horrible truth - his glove wasn’t in his hand. The umpire talked to Renick, until everyone in the field and the stands began to wonder. The glove was nowhere to be found.

A brief conversation between Renick, Vazquez, and the umpire started as I jogged out to find out. Finally, I got there.

“What’s the problem?”

“The glove.” Renick responded.

“Where is it?”

“We think it fell over the wall.” The umpire chirped.

“But he caught it.” I retorted.

“Skip. . .” Vazquez said as a groundskeeper started to climb over the wall. We all turned our attention to the groundskeeper, and in an instant, Vazquez, Renick, and my own face all dropped. The glove was in the groundskeeper’s hand, the ball in the other.

“Sorry, gentlemen. That’s a home run.” The umpire said, turned away and signalled the roundabout with his finger.

The Cubs took a moment to realize what had happened, before the crowd roared. Richards pumped his fist, and began to round the bases. Our entire team, already on the field, stood and watched in slow motion on the big screen as the ball and glove denied us a win.

Renick was disoriented, but he was fine. The three of us stood in the field, stunned by what has just happened. Look had given up a two out, full count, almost-end-of-the-game grand slam. We had lost, 8-5. Seven in a row.


The next day, we visited red-hot Milwaukee, and Giichi was slated for the start. We lost our eighth in a row, 11-1.

After the game, Chadwick approached me. “We made a trade.”

“Who’s out?” I prayed it was pitching. This four man rotation was killing me.

“Greenwald’s gone to St. Louis for Roy Denniston.”

“Denniston?”

“He’s a first-baseman. Plays in AAA right now. You know we need a guy to man that spot.”

“What’s wrong with Antonio Moreno? His average is a bit weak but his power is there.”

“I’m working on another deal that involves him.”

“What do I do with Denniston?” I asked, figuring out my lineup.

“He’ll be up until we move Moreno. Then he takes over the position full-time. He’s a young guy, only 27, so Concordian and I want him to grow into that spot.”


Greenwald was out, who had recently complained to me that he wanted more time. I had casually reminded him at the time he was not going to get bumped for a guy that was hitting .387. He didn’t like that too much.
We lost our ninth game in a row on the 3rd. Mack had been jacked for 5 runs in 5.1 innings, and we went down 8-3. The worst losing streak I’d ever been in.

And of course, I was met by Chadwick in the hallway after the game.

“We made a trade.”

“Moreno for who?” I asked immediately, in no mood for any pleasantries.

“Do you know of Mark Roberts?”

I looked up. Mark Roberts. From when I was 17, I watched the Blue Jays draft him. At the time, he was a 20 year old wonder and the first round selection, 7th overall. He was supposed to be the next big thing. I had waited in anticipation for him to make his debut, which he did with Toronto last September. What made him so special was that I had played baseball with him. When he was a senior in highschool, and I was a junior, we were both on the same team. He threw in the low 90's, with some nasty stuff - and he taught me some things as a pitcher. When Chadwick mentioned his name, I swallowed deeply, holding back my excitement. “Yeah. I know him.”

“We picked him up from Toronto.”

“For just Moreno?” I asked, wondering if Chadwick had just made the steal of the year.

He chuckled. “Not at all. I had to give up Moreno, Steve Mack, Buchanan in AAA, Ronnie Smith, Santos Moya, and 2 million big ones.”

I swallowed heavily. That was a lot of players for Roberts. But it was completely worth it. Call me biased, but everybody knew this guy had the stuff.

Losing Mack meant that I would still have to deal with a four-man, and I didn’t have a backup infielder or outfielder anymore. Denniston would take over first base, as planned.

That situation was solved almost immediately. Early next morning, Chadwick called me to tell me he’d signed Ray Paolini, a middle infielder, to take backup duties. And to take care of the 4th outfielder, he signed Jiro Jimenez. He could play both corner positions, but didn’t have much of a bat - only 3 career hits in 20 at bats. He was mainly a AAA journeyman, with a Japanese first name and a Venezuelan last name. . . but was born in Idaho.

Roberts arrived in Milwaukee stadium with the player representative around 3PM. He hadn’t changed much from when I had remembered - although he was a lot stronger. At first, he didn’t fully recognize me. But when I introduced myself and brought up our past, it came back to him. “Jazzington, you little stud! What, do you play for the ‘backs too?”

“Manage.” It didn’t surprise me that he didn’t know I was a manager - after all, how many people can name off every manager in the big leagues?

“Manager? No way!” He chuckled. “What do you do, really? Relief?”

“Manage. No joke.”

His face changed to a serious expression. “When did that happen?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story that I’ll tell you when you have the time. For now, get ready, because you’re starting tonight’s game.”

Part 2 coming soon.......

[UGADawgs123]

hey, ive been following the story for some time and just wanted to say it looks great...the writing is comparable with TiB's Driscoll story and i look forward to the net installment of this..

[Jazzmosis]

Thanks for the compliment, although my writing pales in comparison to Tib's. Either way, Driscoll was a big inspiration to write Jazzington.

Anyways, like promised, here's the second half of... chapter....33? It's been awhile since, so I'm going to just guess.. either way, it'll be up shortly.

[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 33: The Face of Change, Part 2

It was a shot in the arm. Although Roberts got jacked for five runs in 5 innings, he struck out six Giants, including Gongora to keep the game tied. And what do you know, we won our fourth straight game, 7-6. Fleisher picked up the win, and Look got his 15th save.

The next night, we had to face the streaking Dodgers. With Andrzejewski on the hill, we looked to have our best chance at a decent win streak. However, despite his one earned run and nine strikeout performance, we lost 4-2. The next night, Vasser put a solid effort in, which was a pleasant surprise considering his colossal implosion in June (10.76 ERA). With only 2 runs in 6 innings, he lowered his ERA to 5.76. We lost that game as well, 4-3. Carlock, the 14 million dollar power-bust, finally clocked in with his 7th home run of the year, a far cry from what was expected from him by this time.

Like usual, Chadwick confronted me in the hallway after the game on July 6th. “Got news for you, Jazz.”

I rolled my eyes. Chadwick wasn’t a bad general manager, he was just very poor dealing with managers, and breaking important news. “What is it?”

“All Star results. We got two guys going.”

I perked up. “Oh really? Who?”

“Casablanca, and Yong. Surprised?”

I stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking. Obviously those two guys would be going - that much was a no-brainer. What actually had surprised me was the snub of Thomas Westra - I had basically turned him into the everyday catcher, and he’d made the most of it - walloping the ball to 8 bombs and raising his average above .315. He was close to qualifying for the batting title, too - although it’d take one hell of a second half to surpass the leader (Harris, .387). “Want me to tell them?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell them myself.”

He was a curious individual, and the boss I never really understood. Almost completely bereft of humour but still pleasant, many players never knew where they stood with Chadw