4/29/2012: Kalamazoo, MI – From his seat in the third row at Portage Park, Pat McKenna anxiously awaited the first pitch from “Grin” Bentley.  He sat along the first baseline with his father on his left and his grandfather to his right.  The seven-year-old had April 29^th and the Sunday afternoon showdown between his Kalamazoo Badgers and their interdivision rivals Fargo Dinosaurs circled on his calendar for weeks.  It was his first trip to Portage Park and the first time he would get to see the Badgers take the field in person.

The elder McKennas made sure Pat had everything he needed – a green Badgers’ cap sat atop a mass of curly black hair, a green foam finger adorned one hand, and he had a Ballpark Weiner in the other.  A gentle but noticeably biting breeze blew in across the surface of Lake Michigan and over the left field wall of Portage Park, but was easily broken by the black and green Badgers windbreaker his grandfather had surprised him with that morning.

Just because this was his first live game did not mean that Pat knew nothing about the Badgers.  His father was a lifelong resident of Kalamazoo and he got caught up in the media firestorm that surrounded the Badgers during the Planetary Extreme Baseball Alliance’s inaugural draft.  A lot of residents were skeptical that a professional baseball club could succeed in Kalamazoo, but the men of the McKenna family were not among them and they jumped at the opportunity to become season ticket holders.  Following in his father’s footsteps, Pat, too, fell in love with the team.  He sat in bed secretly listening to the games on the old AM/FM radio his grandfather had given him long after his mother put him to sleep.  His father promised him that one day he would be able to see a game in person.

Pat, at seven years old, knew more about the Badgers than most adult fans did.  He knew that designated hitter John Collins was selected in the 4^th round of the inaugural draft, and last season, at the age of 32, Collins hit above .300 for the first time in his career.  He knew that shortstop Raúl García was born in Cuba and that in 2009 he led the PEBA with 69 stolen bases as a rookie.  He knew that ace Er Hang had always managed to pitch above his physical expectations.  Even knowing all of this, little Pat McKenna knew nothing about the firestorm argument occurring almost directly below him in the Badgers’ clubhouse.

After the Badgers took the field to stretch, the Board of Trustees assembled in the clubhouse to discuss and debate the future of the organization.  Yet another General Manager had entered and exited the picture with no improvement on the field.  A mob of suits gathered around the players’ lockers with noticeable frustration.  “This is ridiculous,” one of them said.  “What more can we do?  That office door is a revolving one.”

“If the media catches wind of this, there are going to be movements to move the Badgers out of Kalamazoo,” another said.

“We’ve tried everything,” chimed a third.  “Monetary incentives, living expenses, endorsement deals, part ownership…”  An uneasy silence fell across the locker room.  The Trustees, who had done this so many times before, were truly at a loss for words.  There was no blueprint for the situation they were currently in.  They sat amongst each other in complete silence, looking into the space of the clubhouse.  Could this really be the end of the Badgers in Kalamazoo?

The clubhouse television glowed and the raucous cheers heard from above signaled that the Badgers had taken the field.  Across the television screen flashed the image of a young boy sitting between two older relatives.  The boy had a green Badgers cap atop messy black curls.  He had a foam finger on one hand and a hotdog in the other.  The collar of his Badgers windbreaker was askew and vibrating in the breeze sweeping in from left.  Even with all of the Badger memorabilia, the most noticeable thing the boy was wearing was the excited smile that stretched across his face.  One of the trustees rose in silence and approached the television set.  “That’s it,” he said.  “It’s not about the salary, and it shouldn’t be about incentives.  It should be about this boy and kids like him,” he finished, pointing at the television.

“It’s about building a community as much as it is about building a ballclub.  Our GM should be someone who understands that… I know the perfect candidate.”  He pulled out his cell phone and was quickly talking to his secretary.

“Annie, the other Trustees and I need you to book us a flight… to Boston.”