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Biggp07 · 11-10-2025, 03:18 PM

⚾ Episode 2: The Grind Begins

Balancing Vision and Survival in a Long Season

(An OOTP 25 Narrated Playthrough – May 2024)
________________________________________

Opening Note

By May, the romance of Opening Day is gone. What’s left is routine, fatigue, and the quiet understanding that baseball is a machine that only respects consistency. The lineups start to feel mechanical, the bullpen rotations predictable, and the numbers in the standings brutally honest.

I started this month with a record that was neither inspiring nor disastrous — just middling. The kind of baseball that feels like a question waiting to be answered.

The challenge wasn’t just managing the team on the field anymore. It was managing the organization’s psyche. Keeping the club from sinking into the kind of May malaise that swallows bad teams whole.

Some nights I wonder if being both GM and Manager gives me too much control — or not nearly enough.
________________________________________

May 2 – The Market Quiet Before the Storm

We began May facing a wall of uncertainty. The owner hadn’t called in weeks — always a good sign in baseball management — and our scouts were sending daily reports from college tournaments ahead of the June draft. Jason McLeod, my trusted head scout, was traveling through Florida and Texas, evaluating hitters who might anchor our next generation.

Meanwhile, the big club looked tired. Our bats were uneven, our bullpen stretched thin. Wacha couldn’t buy a quality start, and Lugo’s shoulder was beginning to show signs of wear. I started to track every pitch count as if it were a stock price.

At night, I’d switch screens from box scores to payroll spreadsheets, watching the contracts of Renfroe, Frazier, and Wacha loom like red numbers on a balance sheet. We were overpaying for mediocrity, and I was running out of patience.

The solution was obvious but painful: we’d have to start thinking like sellers before the trade deadline ever arrived.
________________________________________

May 8 – The Manager’s Desk

Losing streaks don’t come from one bad inning; they come from a slow leak in confidence.

We lost five of six this week — mostly close games, mostly winnable ones. I could feel it in the dugout: hesitation creeping into every at-bat. Guys pressing to make up for what the last guy couldn’t do.

I changed the lineup three times in four games, trying to spark something. Sometimes it feels like I’m rearranging deck chairs, but you keep trying. You have to keep trying.

Garcia and Witt Jr. started showing signs of life. Melendez looked sharper behind the plate. The younger guys were fighting. That’s what keeps me steady — seeing effort when results go missing.

Then I went upstairs and signed a release notice for one of our AAA relievers. The duality still feels surreal: down here I motivate; up there I terminate.
________________________________________

May 15 – Between Two Fires

We traveled west for a long road swing, and the fatigue started to show — physically and emotionally.

Singer had one of those nights in Anaheim where every pitch looks good out of the hand and ends up in the gap. Ragans pitched through a dull ache in his shoulder because he didn’t want to come out early. The bullpen carried the remains.

Back in the hotel, I sat at my laptop watching minor-league clips. Our A-ball club in Columbia was showing signs of life — real progress. Frank Mozzicato’s command was improving, and the rookie clubs were finally producing hitters with legitimate discipline.

Jason sent me a message from San Antonio: “If we keep the development momentum, we’ll be a top-15 farm system by next spring.”
That line hit me harder than any box score. For the first time since March, I felt something resembling optimism.

If we can’t win up here yet, maybe we can build something that will.
________________________________________

May 20 – The Breaking Point

By mid-May, I made the first big GM move of the season. Hunter Renfroe was gone — traded for a bullpen arm named Brennan Bernardino. A salary dump, plain and simple, but a necessary one. Renfroe never looked right in our uniform. Streaky, disengaged, expensive. Bernardino, meanwhile, brought left-handed relief and an ERA that didn’t scare me. Small move, big message.

The clubhouse reaction was mixed. Some guys saw it as pragmatism. Others saw it as the first tremor before the rebuild.

After the press call, I took off the blazer, hung it behind my office door, and went straight to the dugout. Same day. Same stadium. Different battlefield.

I wrote in my nightly log: The hardest part isn’t making the decision. It’s explaining it to the faces you’ll still see in the locker room tomorrow.
________________________________________

May 26 – Sparks in the Dark

Baseball has a funny way of rewarding endurance.

After a brutal two weeks, we finally strung together a few wins. Haggerty, newly called up from Omaha, brought a jolt of energy — a sparkplug who reminded everyone that speed and effort still matter in a game obsessed with launch angles. Garcia found his rhythm again, and Witt Jr. started driving balls to the opposite field with intent. For the first time since April, I could breathe in the dugout.

As GM, I spent that same weekend reviewing McLeod’s draft board for June. Braden Montgomery and Cade Arrambide topped the list — a power-hitting outfielder and a young catcher with leadership qualities. Two names that might one day define our rebuild if we can sign them.

The future was starting to take shape, even as the present barely held together.
________________________________________

May 31 – Threshold of Change

The final night of May.

We played under the lights at Kauffman against the Padres — a test against a real contender. Lugo labored through five innings, giving up more hits than I’d like, but showed grit. The crowd was thin but loyal. I stayed calm in the dugout, outwardly at least.

After the game, I stayed in my office long after the players left. I opened my GM dashboard and reviewed the standings. We were 26–34 — not great, but not hopeless. The kind of record that forces you to choose: fight for the edge of contention or start planning for the trade deadline.

I already knew my answer.

We’re still too far away to buy, and too proud to quit. So, I’ll do what this experiment demands — juggle both jobs and try to make one role believe in the other.

The grind has officially begun.
________________________________________

Closing Note – May’s End Reflection

May tested every layer of my patience and leadership.

As GM, I learned to value small victories — a trade that frees future payroll, a prospect trending upward.

As Manager, I learned to live with imperfection — to let failure breathe without letting it take over.

The two versions of me are constantly negotiating: one thinking in years, the other in innings. But the strange truth is they need each other. The Manager in me keeps the GM human, and the GM keeps the Manager rational.

We ended May battered but not broken, a team still searching for its rhythm but finally aware of its direction.

June will bring answers — and perhaps more uncomfortable truths. The draft looms, the trade block beckons, and I can feel ownership’s eyes returning to the box scores.

Still, for all the weight and worry, I wouldn’t trade this seat for any other.

Because every morning I walk into Kauffman Stadium, and for a brief moment, I believe we can still rewrite the story.
________________________________________
⚾ — Todd “BigP” Pollard
General Manager & Manager, Kansas City Royals
“Building tomorrow’s contender, one long day at a time.”

11-10-2025, 03:18 PM	#174
Biggp07 Minors (Double A) Join Date: Sep 2024 Posts: 193	⚾ Episode 2: The Grind Begins Balancing Vision and Survival in a Long Season (An OOTP 25 Narrated Playthrough – May 2024) ________________________________________ Opening Note By May, the romance of Opening Day is gone. What’s left is routine, fatigue, and the quiet understanding that baseball is a machine that only respects consistency. The lineups start to feel mechanical, the bullpen rotations predictable, and the numbers in the standings brutally honest. I started this month with a record that was neither inspiring nor disastrous — just middling. The kind of baseball that feels like a question waiting to be answered. The challenge wasn’t just managing the team on the field anymore. It was managing the organization’s psyche. Keeping the club from sinking into the kind of May malaise that swallows bad teams whole. Some nights I wonder if being both GM and Manager gives me too much control — or not nearly enough. ________________________________________ May 2 – The Market Quiet Before the Storm We began May facing a wall of uncertainty. The owner hadn’t called in weeks — always a good sign in baseball management — and our scouts were sending daily reports from college tournaments ahead of the June draft. Jason McLeod, my trusted head scout, was traveling through Florida and Texas, evaluating hitters who might anchor our next generation. Meanwhile, the big club looked tired. Our bats were uneven, our bullpen stretched thin. Wacha couldn’t buy a quality start, and Lugo’s shoulder was beginning to show signs of wear. I started to track every pitch count as if it were a stock price. At night, I’d switch screens from box scores to payroll spreadsheets, watching the contracts of Renfroe, Frazier, and Wacha loom like red numbers on a balance sheet. We were overpaying for mediocrity, and I was running out of patience. The solution was obvious but painful: we’d have to start thinking like sellers before the trade deadline ever arrived. ________________________________________ May 8 – The Manager’s Desk Losing streaks don’t come from one bad inning; they come from a slow leak in confidence. We lost five of six this week — mostly close games, mostly winnable ones. I could feel it in the dugout: hesitation creeping into every at-bat. Guys pressing to make up for what the last guy couldn’t do. I changed the lineup three times in four games, trying to spark something. Sometimes it feels like I’m rearranging deck chairs, but you keep trying. You have to keep trying. Garcia and Witt Jr. started showing signs of life. Melendez looked sharper behind the plate. The younger guys were fighting. That’s what keeps me steady — seeing effort when results go missing. Then I went upstairs and signed a release notice for one of our AAA relievers. The duality still feels surreal: down here I motivate; up there I terminate. ________________________________________ May 15 – Between Two Fires We traveled west for a long road swing, and the fatigue started to show — physically and emotionally. Singer had one of those nights in Anaheim where every pitch looks good out of the hand and ends up in the gap. Ragans pitched through a dull ache in his shoulder because he didn’t want to come out early. The bullpen carried the remains. Back in the hotel, I sat at my laptop watching minor-league clips. Our A-ball club in Columbia was showing signs of life — real progress. Frank Mozzicato’s command was improving, and the rookie clubs were finally producing hitters with legitimate discipline. Jason sent me a message from San Antonio: “If we keep the development momentum, we’ll be a top-15 farm system by next spring.” That line hit me harder than any box score. For the first time since March, I felt something resembling optimism. If we can’t win up here yet, maybe we can build something that will. ________________________________________ May 20 – The Breaking Point By mid-May, I made the first big GM move of the season. Hunter Renfroe was gone — traded for a bullpen arm named Brennan Bernardino. A salary dump, plain and simple, but a necessary one. Renfroe never looked right in our uniform. Streaky, disengaged, expensive. Bernardino, meanwhile, brought left-handed relief and an ERA that didn’t scare me. Small move, big message. The clubhouse reaction was mixed. Some guys saw it as pragmatism. Others saw it as the first tremor before the rebuild. After the press call, I took off the blazer, hung it behind my office door, and went straight to the dugout. Same day. Same stadium. Different battlefield. I wrote in my nightly log: The hardest part isn’t making the decision. It’s explaining it to the faces you’ll still see in the locker room tomorrow. ________________________________________ May 26 – Sparks in the Dark Baseball has a funny way of rewarding endurance. After a brutal two weeks, we finally strung together a few wins. Haggerty, newly called up from Omaha, brought a jolt of energy — a sparkplug who reminded everyone that speed and effort still matter in a game obsessed with launch angles. Garcia found his rhythm again, and Witt Jr. started driving balls to the opposite field with intent. For the first time since April, I could breathe in the dugout. As GM, I spent that same weekend reviewing McLeod’s draft board for June. Braden Montgomery and Cade Arrambide topped the list — a power-hitting outfielder and a young catcher with leadership qualities. Two names that might one day define our rebuild if we can sign them. The future was starting to take shape, even as the present barely held together. ________________________________________ May 31 – Threshold of Change The final night of May. We played under the lights at Kauffman against the Padres — a test against a real contender. Lugo labored through five innings, giving up more hits than I’d like, but showed grit. The crowd was thin but loyal. I stayed calm in the dugout, outwardly at least. After the game, I stayed in my office long after the players left. I opened my GM dashboard and reviewed the standings. We were 26–34 — not great, but not hopeless. The kind of record that forces you to choose: fight for the edge of contention or start planning for the trade deadline. I already knew my answer. We’re still too far away to buy, and too proud to quit. So, I’ll do what this experiment demands — juggle both jobs and try to make one role believe in the other. The grind has officially begun. ________________________________________ Closing Note – May’s End Reflection May tested every layer of my patience and leadership. As GM, I learned to value small victories — a trade that frees future payroll, a prospect trending upward. As Manager, I learned to live with imperfection — to let failure breathe without letting it take over. The two versions of me are constantly negotiating: one thinking in years, the other in innings. But the strange truth is they need each other. The Manager in me keeps the GM human, and the GM keeps the Manager rational. We ended May battered but not broken, a team still searching for its rhythm but finally aware of its direction. June will bring answers — and perhaps more uncomfortable truths. The draft looms, the trade block beckons, and I can feel ownership’s eyes returning to the box scores. Still, for all the weight and worry, I wouldn’t trade this seat for any other. Because every morning I walk into Kauffman Stadium, and for a brief moment, I believe we can still rewrite the story. ________________________________________ ⚾ — Todd “BigP” Pollard General Manager & Manager, Kansas City Royals “Building tomorrow’s contender, one long day at a time.”