4 a.m.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Sometime around 4 a.m on the day of the 2012 season opener, in a dimly lit basement somewhere in Lexington, Kentucky, you can hear the sound of water dripping into a pit. GM Rudis takes a handful of hair and yanks it briskly in an effort to remain awake in hopes that a last minute deal will happen.
Flashback to some evening after a game in July 2011. The GM busily scours the recent reports from the scouting team, headed by Jesús Santos. As he calls for manager Rod Carver to join him in this review, the door bursts open. Sweeney Todd shouts in a hurried and anxious voice, “Where’s the safe? Damnit, I need to know where the safe is! Just point me in the right direction.” Rudis looks up and, without saying a word, motions for Sweeney to come in and take a seat. Sweeney makes an unruly grunt as he walks into the office, stops, folds his arms across his chest and again demands in a calm yet stern voice, “Just tell me where the safe is. Bill has given me the combination and the plane is waiting. I need to get a mixed case of bourbon from his collection and deliver it to a certain person in Poland… like, now!“
Mr. Rudis says, “Ok, just get in here when you are through chewing him out,” and hangs up the phone. While staring blankly at Sweeney, he says to him, “Is that where Bill has been hiding this past month and a half? In Poland? All while I have to do everything, from taking care of the team to babysitting his house staff and various girlfriends? What is he doing in Poland? Never mind; I don’t want to know! The safe… errrr, liquor lockup is downstairs – the next level below our locker room, behind that door with the sign that says ‘Beware of Fluffy’. Do you need me to help you?” Sweeney spins and rushes off slamming the door behind.
Santos walks in with a surprised look, asking, “What’s up with ol’ Sween? Flew passed me in the stairwell taking three or four at a time. He been hangin’ with Salazar and Cruz (referring to the team leaders in steals this season)?” The GM replies, “Nah, he and Bill are up to something… get this, in Europe.”
He motions for Jesús to take a seat and says, “We have to talk. Our team is so dismal again. I really thought this would have been the year we’d start seeing signs of the farm we’ve built. The good news is that our minor league teams, outside of Barrow, are all in first place. We have received another notice from the Commissioner’s office of the awards our boys are earning every month. Somehow, we need to bridge these kids into our team here in Lexington. We need – and I stress “need” – to put some butts in the empty seats. It’s no fun being a basement-dweller, Jesús… dontchathink?”
Jesús removes his cap, wipes his brow and chuckles, “Well Duane, what we have here in Lexington is a far cry from what the others in Dixie have. This is the most ultra-competitive division in all of the PEBA. Without any money to get a stud like Cal Edwards, what you want me to do?”
Rudis breaks in. “Jesús, our Cal Edwards is coming, and coming soon. What I need from you is assurance that when I send these kids up here, you will take care of them. Don’t let them get beat into submission. One kid will not turn this team around; it’s going to take a whole team. I am counting on you never to let one of them take the blame for us having a dismal team. Here is the list of kids I want to bring up after their season or playoffs are finished… check it out and let’s meet again in two weeks.”
Jesús’s eyes widen as he sees the first few names on the list – Jamie Boyd, José Morán and Leland “Hammer” Tatum. Jesús looks up with a grin and says assuredly, “Yes sir, Mr. Rudis, we will talk again in two weeks.” As Jesús leaves the office, Duane shouts to him, “And not a word of this to Bill or Sweeney!”
Flash to present. It’s 4 a.m., Opening Day. Roster is at 25, the lineups are set, Hammer has been named Opening Day starter. What has the GM pulling his hair at this ungodly hour?