[Jazzmosis]

Chapter 58: Saving Myself

I was called into Oberg’s office the morning of April 28th. All around the lower levels, there was media gathering in the press room, making it painfully obvious that something was going on. “What’s going on down there?” I asked nonchalantly as I was offered a seat and a glass of water.

“I’ve made a move - did it last night, actually.”

I looked up. “Who?”

Oberg took a long sip of his water and looked me straight in the eye. “I traded Harshaw.”

“What?!?” I screeched, nearly slamming the glass of water in my hand. “Why??”

Richard cracked a huge smile before bursting out laughing. “Relax! I was just yanking your chain. Harshaw’s still on the team.”

“Then who’d you trade?”

“Benjie and two AAA guys. For a young pitcher.”

“What team?”

“Heard of David Delaney?”

“Of course, we faced us about a week ago. You got him from Cincy?”

“Seems he wore out his welcome there. He hadn’t thrown well at all, and they called me asking if I was interested. Turns out they had an interest in Lamar. The rest is business.”

“What does this do for the team?”

“Apart from lowering some more payroll, basically Delaney bumps Lamar in the rotation. However, I thought I’d brief you before the press conference. I’ll do most of the talking, but you may have to field some questions.”

“Well at least give me his stats!” I cried as I got up.


He joined the team for the game the next night, but wouldn’t start until the first of May. As I shook his hand upon our meeting, I remember thinking that he seemed taller than when I had seen him on the mound, but was friendly nonetheless. He was a year older than Lamar, but had a similar career at this point. Both had career seasons the previous year, although while Lamar was 16-12, Delaney was only 9-12. The biggest difference was that Delaney was touted as not reaching his potential while Lamar had simply performed beyond expectations. David was once a prospect people said would rival hall-of-famer Robert Salcedo. However, his slow development hindered his favourability - and even though he’d been in the majors for nearly two complete years, his only full season of starting was the previous year - and his complete lack of command had simply doomed him. What Oberg hoped was that he’d find himself a home in Chicago. Myself, I wondered if he was really the answer that this team needed, or if he was simply a small upgrade over Lamar. Either way, shaving another 2.5 million off the payroll sat well - the cheaper players didn’t have an ego yet.


However, a second meeting with Oberg laid out the situation with Harshaw - with Dekker hitting better and touting a solid glove, Oberg told me to push aside my loyalty to last year’s sensation. I refuted as long as I could, but I knew I was basically pushing the issue. I asked that Harshaw get just one more start and if he struggled, then I’d play Dekker. Reluctantly, Oberg agreed.

I chose not to tell Harshaw of this, as to not put pressure on him. Just as it turned out, the game was a nail-biter. The game was tied 1-1 in the bottom of the ninth with one out and the bases loaded when he stepped up to the dish, 0-3 on the night, hitting all of .174. The crowd cheered him on loudly, hoping to see him get the hit he needed to start the wheels moving. He worked an 2-0 count before getting a pitch he could hit - a cutter on the outer half. He bit, swinging as the ball turned further off the plate. He reached as far as he could, one hand letting go of the bat as he did.

Last year, he would have fouled it off. This time, though, his bat swung under the ball, and whiffed around as he stepped forward to keep from falling flat on his face. The momentum of the swing twirled him around. He ended up stumbling to the ground, landing on the seat of his pants, looking rather foolish. However, his face told a different story. He was grimacing, and his hands reached for his ribs. I raced out with the trainer to see what had happened.

“What is it?!?” I asked in a huff.

“My ribs! My ribs burn!” He coughed out quickly.

The trainer went to work on him, as I continued talking. “Did the swing do it?”

“Probably made it worse.” He responded.

The trainer and I helped him up, getting him off the field. I wanted to find out what he meant by ‘worse’, but I still had a game to manage. I sent Ira Hull into the game to pinch hit with a 2-1 count.

He roped the first pitch he saw into centerfield, and the game was over. As the team mobbed each other at the plate, I rushed in to see my shortstop.

“How are you feeling?”

“Hurt.” He responded.

“What did you mean ‘worse’?”

Harshaw sighed to himself, as he undoubtedly was thinking of the proper way to word what he was about to say. I trusted him to tell the truth - it wasn’t in his nature to lie. “I tweaked them in the spring - but I didn’t want to lose time to learning short, so I played through it. I hoped it would get better - it didn’t, but it didn’t get worse either. Just in the spring, I took it easy on my swing to not aggravate them. I figured my defence was more of a priority.”
I stared at him for a moment, admiring him for his commitment to the team while simultaneously wanting to scold him for not telling me about the injury earlier. He was almost entirely right, however. I wanted him to learn short, and knowing about his ribs earlier would have put him back for weeks, likely put him to the minors to learn, or worsen the player-time situation I already had.

Either way, the fans crying for Dekker to get the starts would get their wish - Johnny would miss six weeks recovering. To replace him on the roster, Waldo Kolodziej was welcomed back to the team again after his stint last year.

He too, would play a big role in the team’s direction.

We finished the month 11-12, scooping up three wins in a row to close out the month. The ERA was settling down after the atrocious first two weeks, going to 4.37. The bullpen had started its changes, with Dominguez shuttling back to AAA after a brutal 9.95 month, replaced by Dannie Dones, who would be sporadic in his appearances. Popham’s role was shifting, as his ERA was 1.83 for the month - he would become a tandem of dynamite setup, pairing with Dave Walton. Aitken, meanwhile, picked up 5 saves with a 3.38 ERA.


I had been meeting up with Blaney nearly twice a week since our encounter. We shared memories most of the time, between her confessions of what Irene was truly thinking about life, and our relationship. Each new fact I learned only drew me closer to her. . . but in reality, it wouldn’t be long until I snapped back to the planet and found myself lying next to Blaney. Irene’s confessions were the things that I felt kept me together inside.

But just the opposite was happening all around me. I was living Irene’s life through her sister, and sleeping with her only made me fall deeper and deeper into the warp. I had her pictures all over my apartment, and each step I took on those floors gave me visions of her in the place with me. Happy memories, sad memories, any memory - it kept me from believing she was truly gone. I couldn’t deal with her death at the time, and I had simply transferred that and reflected it with Blaney.

Meanwhile, this was affecting the team. I had simply not budged on anything, not changing lineups or playing bench players unless I absolutely had to - but during the games, I was off in my own world, the baseball game in front of me merely a distraction easily avoided by my thoughts. The team was playing just at .500, looking like the one-off of last year. We started May on a 5 game losing streak at home, at one point in one game the team blowing the lead 5 separate times and yet, I never did anything. In my downfall, I had pulled the team into my abyss, and now both were sinking - I needed saving, but it wouldn’t come from anyone but myself.

My guilt over sleeping with Blaney for nearly a month triggered it. I knew I shouldn’t have from the beginning, but I had always just brushed that guilt aside for the moment. But after a 1-7 start to the month, my top priority was seeing Blaney on the day off - and I realized there that I was in too far.

It didn’t hit me all at once - rather came as a slow drip on my drive to her place. More and more of my guilt told me why I had to stop - my pessimism built - my pride fell - and reasoning made its move. I knew when I reached her driveway that I needed to move on - not forget Irene - but say goodbye and push my life forward. As for Blaney, I needed to distance myself. This was my best chance, possibly my only chance to do this properly.

She answered the door, giving me a hug that I returned faintly. She grabbed my hand and rushed me to her room, locking the door. “I’ve waited for you. . .”

“Me too,” I responded quietly.

“What do you want to do first?”

I looked at her soft features, and started. “Talk. We need to talk. I - we can’t do this anymore. I’ve been wanting to love Irene as if she was still here, but she’s gone - and I’ve just been pretending that you’re her. I just can’t lie to myself anymore.”

There was silence for a moment, and when she replied I could sense tears would soon follow. “I. . . understand. . . I just. . . I know why Irene loved you so. And I feel like I am too.”

“You can’t be - you don’t even know me. You just know the Irene-part of me.”

“But. . . who can I talk to? Who understands this feeling better than you and me?”

“I share your grief, we’ve both lost something precious to us - but that’s the only feeling we share.”

“But. . .”

“I’m sorry,” I stood up, wanting to leave before things became more difficult. “We can still call from time to time, but we both need to move on alone - because we can’t do it together.”

I went for the front door, knowing she’d follow and try and stop me. I managed to get in my car and turn the engine on before she reached me. My window rolled down, she reached her arm in and grabbed mine, looking me straight in the eyes with the same intensity Irene did. “If you’re leaving for good, please promise you’ll call if I do too. . . so I have something to hold onto.”

The words didn’t make sense, and were broken by sobs. I put my free hand on hers, which gripped my arm tightly, and promised I would.

I drove home, vowing there I wouldn’t forget Blaney or Irene, but to never fall back into the loop I was in. I was going to get a new apartment; I was going to put away all the things of Irene - I was going to think about the baseball team I managed. We were below .500. . . that blew my mind. Things would turn around, because nobody but myself could make it happen. I was saving myself.

It wasn’t the last I ever saw of Blaney, and true to my word, I called her every now and then, and vise-versa to talk. We both carried memories of Irene and each other, both pleasant and unpleasant. Many years later we bumped into each other visiting Irene’s grave at the same time, and agreed to catch up in person in the future, which started a friendship that was very different to the one I had just walked away from.

I returned home and immediately started looking for a new place, but a phone call interrupted. Richard Oberg was on the other end, telling me to get in a suit and show up for a press conference in a few hours. He’d made a trade.

A blockbuster trade, in fact - one that changed the interior of the team.