Going Somewhere?

[roncollins]

Going Somewhere?
Written by Casey Neal
Daily Log of a Fresh-faced College Graduate
May 25, 2013

Last night is a frickin' nightmare. Don-o is in this post-coital stage after watching the Hitmen beat the Trendies, and it takes me grabbing his arm and hauling his behind after me to get him out of his seat. The Dudes are coming, though. They walk through the stadium at one of those brisk, professional paces that makes it look like they aren't running, but the distance they cover is freaking amazing.

"Who are they?" Don-o asks, seeming to come to a little.

"You would know better than me, dude." I pull him forward. He gets the idea and we're running then. I see he's still carrying the half beer he had left, and I tell him to drop it. "No way," he says, and I swear he literally takes a sloppy drink as we're running.

We ignore the elevator and take the ramp. The crowd is mostly gone, so we can run unimpeded. Unfortunately, my physical conditioning has not been improved by the vast quantities of beer, Taco Bell and ballpark nachos that have been my staple diet for the past six weeks. I'm gassed by the time we get to the bottom.

"Come on," Don-o implores, picking now to become fully conscious. He guns the last of his beer and tosses the cup into a garbage bin as we run.

We left Annie at the hotel and took a shuttle to the ballgame. I can actually hear the Dude's hard footfalls echoing down the ramp walls. It gives me new motivation, but I is what I is, and I is slow and out of shape. In no way am I capable of out-running Cue Ball and Pat Riley. We turn a corner and we're on a dark, shop-lined street.

"Stop," I say. Don-o stops. I hear them coming. "Duck in here." We step into a recessed shop entry. It's a grocery, probably owned by an Italian family from the old country. The footsteps come closer. I hear them talking to each other but can't make out a word. Then they are turning the corner. I step out and, with one single punch, I get Pat Riley square in what must be a glass jaw. He drops like a rock.

"What tha…?" It's Cue Ball, speaking. Then Don-o hits him with a high body-block that topples him to the ground. The dude's head hits the concrete and everything goes silent. Both the Bad Dudes are down for the count. Don-o is on the ground and I'm standing. Both of us are panting and sweating, and both of us realize this is suddenly a big-big problem.

"Let's get out of here," Don-o says.

We don't stay at the hotel. We hop into Annie, and we head north that very night. It's nearly three hours to Bridgeport, Connecticut. Our entire conversation consists of Don-o saying, "I need a beer," and me reaching into the cooler and replying, "There you go."

#

Charleston is in town to face the Nutmeggers in a night game in Constitution Field. If there is a team akin to the old Chicago Cubs, it might be the Connecticut Nutmeggers. They have never been good. Sometimes they have been fair, and sometimes they hadda few players, but it is a team that always seems to be going somewhere but never arriving.

If you want an icon for the Nutmeggers' situation, look no further than Katsunosuki Kichida. The left fielder was brought in from Japan to great fanfare by the Manchester franchise, who gave him a four-year deal worth a total of $44M a year. With his numbers in the LRS showing a stellar OPS consistently over .900 and a pretty much guaranteed 25 HR a season, they figured they had money in the bank. Throw in the fact that Kichida had made only two errors in four seasons and they had to figure they had an elegant fielder who would make their pitchers better. Dude was 27 when he signed, at his natural peak. The deal made total sense.

Except, of course, that Kichida has never put up a PEBA OPS better than the .686 he posted in Manchester that first year, and his overall offensive value has been below replacement. Can you say, "The league caught up to him?" I knew you could. He's been passed from Manchester to San Antonio and now resides in Connecticut, passed to the Nutmeggers as nothing more than a salary equalizer, as false as a shopkeeper's thumb on the scale. At least he's still got that glove. The team has the option rights for next year, and one expects that Kat is probably already looking at airfare for flights back to Japan.

So that's the Nutmeggers. The good news for them is that they have some $38M coming off the payroll next year, but they also have to make some tough choices regarding guys like 26-year-old George John, 33-year-old Juan Otero and 31-year-old starter Carlos Cervantes.

The fireworks in this game are all in the early innings. It's Cris Reyes pitching for the Nutmeggers and Mathys Crête for Charleston. Reyes is a likeable Nicaraguan, and Crête – though he's struggling this year – is one of the more overlooked pitchers in the league. Constitution Field does its best to help pitchers, but these guys are both going to suffer pain from a thousand cuts tonight. There will be 26 base hits in this game, six doubles and 20 singles. Three of those singles and one double come against Reyes in the top of the first. The Nutmeggers sandwich an Otero double between singles by George John and Ronald Lowry and, when the inning is over, the Statesmen are up 3-1.

Charleston picks up two more in the third and another two in the fourth – the last coming on three singles and a pair of walks that annoy Don-o to no end. He mutters something about wondering if Reyes has a twin, but it's obvious to me that the Nicaraguan has just lost it. He was up 0-2 on Rubén Cruz, then just threw eight straight balls out of the zone. It happens, you know?

As irony has it, Kat Kichida – who will strike out three times on the night – gives Connecticut fans something to think about by singling in the 4th, eventually leading to a pair of 'Megger runs. But that's about it. Three Charleston relievers shut down the Connecticut offense, and the final score is 7-3.

#

I admit that I keep my eye half on the crowd and half on the game all night. Don-o seems comfortable, though. "Don't worry," he says. "As long as we're in the park, we'll be fine."

For some reason, I believe him. I think back to last night and realize that just before I looked up to see the Bad Dudes, I had this feeling like something was going on there – like something inside my head. I remember Don-o being in that post-game trance. My skin wants to crawl, but I can't get into it. No other way to describe this.

Then the game is done. We go to the parking lot – which is most definitely not the ballpark – and we roll into Annie. I'm not feeling good in her seat tonight. Something is wrong; the vinyl seat feels cold and hard as if she's not happy about something. Just before Don-o gets the keys into the ignition, I hear something that sounds like the click of a gun.

"Going somewhere?" a voice says. I don't have to look up to know it's Cue Ball.

[Tyler]

Well s***.

[Lions]

Well s***.

Seriously, now the Dudes are gonna force them to watch more Nutmeggers baseball!

[John]

Whoa! Tough way to end the story - the boys are staring down the barrel of a 45. I'd have inserted a "Not as bad watching a Nutmeggers game" joke, but Frank beat me to it and Connecticut is playing good ball this year. Let's see if this interrupts the road trip at all.