[Paulie123]

The Oakland Telegraph
20 November 2034
EPILOGUE: Funnyball
By Homer Run, chief baseball correspondent

Paulie Beane got up early and headed to the Coliseum yesterday for his final working day as an employee of the Oakland A's. He wanted his last day to be a Sunday because, with it being the offseason, he thought the front office would be largely empty and he could make a quiet exit. How quickly you forget, he thought to himself when he arrived. It was abuzz with the hum of dedicated people hard at work: researching trade targets, negotiating new merchandising contracts, telephoning the representatives of soon-to-be free agents, developing their data systems, devising new metrics for analysing player performance, modelling prospective new ticket pricing arrangements, the list goes on. The A's didn't achieve all that success on the pitch without a talented and hard-working team of staff beavering away off the pitch.

Beane walked briskly past his former colleagues' desks, and headed for the analysis office. The club's chief sabermetrician, Mike Rosoft-Excel, was watching a grainy black and white programme on a small television screen. "Hey, the 1966 World Cup final!", said Beane, recognising the famous pictures of the England versus Germany football match at Wembley Stadium immediately. "That was nearly 70 years ago. What're you watching that for, Mike?"

"You English guys always bang on about this", said Rosoft-Excel. "The most significant sporting achievement in the nation's history, you've said to me on numerous occasions over the years. So I thought I should finally get round to checking out the tape. And what's particularly interesting is that it's relevant to today. Watch this, look."

Beane saw on the screen the familiar images, at the very end of injury time, of Jack Charlton, the centre back, hitting the ball long down the pitch towards striker Geoff Hurst. Hurst, visibly exhausted, collects the ball and staggers more than runs in the direction of the German goal. The Germans, equally tired and out of position from chasing an equaliser, can't muster a challenge. Hurst continues his run, reaching the edge of the penalty area. "Look", said Rosoft-Excel again, pausing the video. "It's 3-2 to England at this point. Injury time has basically finished. The World Cup is won. Hurst is knackered. All he's going to try and do now is blast the ball as hard as he can into the crowd behind the goal to waste whatever final few seconds remain. But watch what happens."

Beane, an avid football fan, has seen this a thousand times before, but, as Rosoft-Excel unpaused the tape, he leant in and watched it again anyway. Hurst's shot arrows straight into the top corner of the net. "All he wanted to do was waste a few precious seconds and preserve the win", said Rosoft-Exel. "But look at what he's gone and achieved in the process. A famous 4-2 scoreline. He's become the one and only player to hit a hat-trick in a World Cup final. He's created an iconic sporting moment that has become part of the folklore and fabric of a country. He was later knighted. With that kick of a football, he set out to achieve one thing, but ended up achieving so much more besides."

Rosoft-Excel went on. "It's a metaphor for your career here. You came here from England wanting to win a World Series. You've ended up achieving so much more besides, and you've created sporting stories and moments that have become part of the folklore and fabric of a fictional baseball dynasty report."

He's not usually given to sentiment, but Beane's eye briefly appeared slightly watery. "It's been a great pleasure working with you all these years, Mike", he said, looking the analyst right in the eye and shaking his hand. "You're one of many, many people in this organisation without whom none of our success would have been achieved. I hope you're as proud of yourself as I am of you."

With that Beane left the room. He spent a lot of time that morning pottering, mostly. He at last emptied his few personal belongings out of his office, sorry, David Forstar's office. There weren't many items, and he packed them all into a small cardboard box he'd brought with him. So many of the objects and souvenirs he'd brought into the room at some point or other over the years had been broken, smashed, or chucked out the window during the course of one of his fits of pique following a disappointing defeat or during a poor run of form. He found a small shot-sized bottle of whisky he'd stashed in a drawer. I've packed away a fair few of these over the years, he thought to himself, subconsciously rubbing his liver.

He chatted with colleagues round the office and just generally distracted them from their work. He could tell that they wanted to say bye to him, but equally, having done so, then just wanted to crack on with the work they were doing. Unlike him, they did have a 2035 season to prepare for. That's the thing about sport, he thought to himself. It's very much like life. While it always comes to an end for an individual sooner or later, baseball as a whole carries on without them. There's always another season. There are always more players. There are always more mugs willing to try their hand at being a general manager.

Talking of which, he sought out the latest one, his successor, Forstar. "You finally cleared out of my new office?" joked Forstar. Beane wished him all the best. "I'm rooting for you", he said. "I know you'll do just great. You don't need my help and you don't need my advice. You're ready for this". They discussed briefly what was coming up next for Forstar: the free agent market. Life goes on for the club. Beane might be stepping off the ride, but the baseball merry-go-round stops spinning for no man.

Shortly before lunchtime, Beane made a point of speaking to his long-standing field manager Phil D'Manager. The pair had had their differences at various times over the years, that was for sure, and particularly in the early days. Relations between the two men had frequently been tense, sometimes breaking out into stand-up arguements, but things had thawed in recent years as the A's kept winning and the two men mellowed with age. "Thank you Phil, for everything. Yes we disagreed sometimes, but I thought we worked well together. Having people in their team prepared to offer them an alternative view is, I think, vital for any successful leader. I certainly had that with you", chuckled Beane, as he and D'Manager's shook hands warmly.

The players were the only members of staff Beane didn't go and say goodbye to. He never fraternises with the players. Who knows whether he'll ever be back in the major leagues as a GM one day, and seek to sign or cut any of these guys. Better to keep his distance, even now.

By 1pm he was done with his goodbyes, and, to be honest, starting to get a bit bored. Time to go. Carrying his box of belongings, he walked outside to his car. He placed the box onto the passenger seat, and walked round to the driver's side door. As he reached for the door handle, he stopped, turned, and gazed up at the hulking exterior of the Coliseum. He gazed and gazed.

Deep inside he became aware of a strange sensation. A sense of loss, a sense of melancholy, a sense of regret, a sense of longing, a sense of dread, a sense of yearning for wonderful times past that can never return, a sense of... second thoughts? Well, it was all of these things, and yet none of these things. The feeling was hard to describe and he had never encountered it before.

He must have stood there, looking up at the stadium with his hand poised on the car door handle for 5, 10, maybe 15 minutes. Then finally, he seemed to get a hold of himself, to reach an inner peace. He took a deep breath, opened the door and got in the car. Without once looking round, he drove away.