[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 42: A Surprise

It would only be fitting that the first game of the season sent me back to a place I had become very familiar with - Phoenix. Chicago opened up its season with a three game set against Arizona. The team had been finalized only three days earlier, on the first day of April. On that day, seven open roster spots were decided. Among the spring training elite was 22 year old Jose Morales, who scooped up the final slot in the rotation. He’d never seen a game above the AA level. However, that uncertainty was trumped by 21 year old Mexican reliever Basil Dominguez, who had gone through a roller coaster ride. He had been drafted the year before by Detroit, spending only 62 days in AAA (where he was first assigned due to organizational dearth), made his major league debut September 23rd, 2007 for the Tigers, getting one out and facing one batter before being pulled - which cost him a total of 34 days on the major league roster. In January, he was accidentally placed on waivers by the organization - which resulted in the Cubs scooping him up. The ordeal was not very publicized, but from what I had been told was that he had the same name as another pitcher in Detroit’s AA team, and when they tried to remove that Basil, the organization mixed up and put the now-Cubs pitcher on. The mistake went unnoticed until the claim was processed by the commissioner’s office, and by then it was too late. And although he was far from a complete pitcher, or even major league calabur, the black hole of talent in Chicago had given him the opportunity to pitch once again at the big league level. I decided to try and break him in easily, but it never worked that way in baseball.

However, the first series was a surprise - Koan and Zang propelled the team to tight but effective wins, and in the third game, I flexed my growing managerial muscles with a 7-5, 14 inning marathon victory. Being known for the unconventional, I called for a squeeze play in the top of the 14th, which scored the go-ahead run. While our team shook hands, I turned and saluted the Phoenix crowd, which was met by a chorus of boos.

I had been looking forward to seeing Hensley again, but he had been sent to AAA to start the year.


The Cubs shot out of the gate to a 6-0 opening week, which put us in a tie with Houston and Florida as the only undefeated team. The three of us all lost on the 11th.


I still didn’t really know many of the team - I had only spent some time with Dolman - who had been mashed in a game recently. He and James Popham seemed to hang out a lot, but I accredited that to the coincidence that they went to the same highschool. Of course, six games were nothing to gauge a team on, but I was thinking these guys would become my setups - they both seemed to compliment each other.

However, Dolman was inconsistent - and I discovered that a few weeks into the season when he would strike out the side, and then go and give up five earned runs. None of that seemed to matter though, as the starting pitching absolutely carried the team through the beginning - and on April 21st, I saw the Cubs on top of the standings, nine straight wins reeled off, and a 15-1 record. Koan, Zang, Lamar, and Morales were all undefeated.

During the night, after the 15th win, I stepped into the clubhouse. The energy immediately absorbed me - the young guys were mingling with the veterans as if they had known them their whole lives, players were laughing, slapping backs, and smiling. When the door made a resounding thunk as it swung back into the hinges, the team turned to me. I didn’t know who said it, but I heard “There’s the big man himself! Grab him!”

I was mobbed by some of the players, my body soaked by the water cooler, my eyes covered by a hat held to my face, and I was whisked off my feet, eventually to have ice poured down my pants, a bottle of beer stuck in my mouth, and then within seconds I was thrown, full uniform, into the hot tub. The sensation of hot and cold made me want to throw up, but when I finally realized I wasn’t being held, I burst forth and ran into the locker room, where everyone was acting as if nothing had happened.

“Who did that?” I demanded.

Nobody answered.

“I want to know now, or I swear I’ll get you all fined!” I fumed, looking for guilty faces. “Look, I know we’re all excited about this hot start to the season, but I’m not going to take practical jokes - I’m not a player, I’m a manager, and despite my age I want to be treated with the same amount of respect you’d treat a manager of 50 years old. I want to win - if we’re going to piss around all season, let me know and we’ll play in the Bush leagues.” I paused to gather my breath. “Now, who did that?”

Lamar, Guasch, and shortstop Jacques White stepped forward.

“We’re sorry, Skip. . . we just got a little carried away, that’s all. We haven’t had a hot start like this in my entire career.” White said, his voice reserved and apologetic.

“Guys,” I motioned for the whole team to crowd around. “You need to be taught a lesson. Everyone, dump these three into the hot tub and spray their street clothes with ice-water.” I smirked. At first, the team stared, dumbfounded. “Well, what are you waiting for? Do it!” I commanded, grabbing a hose.

The rest of the team suddenly clued in. The look on the three players face’s was priceless as the team surrounded them, and carried them off to the hot tub.

“Hey, if we’re not going to have fun doing this, what’s the point in playing?” I yelled as the team cheered loudly.

As the pseudo-celebration raged on in the clubhouse, I walked out the team exit onto the street, only to be met by a girl throwing her arms around me and pressing her lips against mine. I struggled for a moment before getting her off of me. I, still dazed, looked at the girl before realizing who it was.

“Hey Mark, guess who!”

“Uh, Irene? Why are you in Milwaukee?” I responded without thinking.

“I’m on an assignment here, but I figured I would come by and visit you before I had to work.” She returned.

“Oh. . . yeah?”

“I’m surprised there aren’t more girls tossing their arms around you, stupid. Haven’t you heard? You’re being praised as the hottest thing in Chicago right now!”

I was still in partial shock, so my responses took some time. “Oh. . . right. . . yeah. I don’t read the headlines anymore.” The wind whipped up, sending a chill throughout my body. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

“Where to?” She asked, locking her arm against mine.

“The guys’ll razz me pretty good if I take you to the hotel. . . so how about dinner? I was told there’s this nice place not far from the stadium.”

“That sounds good.”

And then it happened, like it so often did in my youth. The clubhouse doors burst open, with Lamar standing in his soaked street clothes. Beside him was James Popham, who was holding a roll of duct tape and smirking. And beside him was Zachary Smith.

“There he is!” Lamar shouted with a smile, shivering abruptly from the cold wind.

I looked at Irene, and quickly slipped her my hotel room keys. “325 Berkshire Drive,” was all I could squeak out before the three grabbed me and dragged me back into the clubhouse, their laughter echoing throughout the concrete walls as I watched the doors to the outside close. Irene giving me a puzzled look was the last thing I saw before my eyes and mouth were covered by duct tape.