Niihama, Japan – November 29, 2031

Dean O’Monahan was already regretting his decision. Halfway around the planet from his family – he’d tried to convince his wife to join him as he spent a scheduled three weeks in Japan but she had neither the leave nor the desire to deal with the fallout from the kids’ schools – he felt dramatically out of place. AGM Chambers had arranged an entire day of interviews for him from a prepared list of available pitching coaches. After five interviews over the last three hours, O’Monahan was distraught. It seemed like every single interviewee was the same – headstrong and full of themselves, or at least willing to bluff the superiority of their knowledge to the face of a three time PEBA all-star. He didn’t see a pitcher, a leader, or a teacher in the lot. As he perused the list he hung his head a moment then collapsed his entire upper body onto the glass desk he’d been assigned. The cold and sterile feel only added to his disenchantment. He turned his head without lifting it and re-checked the schedule. Finally – lunchtime. O’Monahan nearly ran for the elevator as he made his escape. As he did, he openly debated if he were coming back at all.

The debate continued as he rode the elevator down. He knew he wouldn’t actually bail on a commitment, but voicing his frustrations was a form of meditation that hearkened back to his earliest pitching days. As he sauntered out of the elevator in his reverie, he was startled as he noticed someone trying to earn his attention.

“Oy! Fate! It really is you! Oh wow, I’m such a fan my man! Juan Quezada, I’m here to interview for manager in Dawson City! Such an honor for real, man, really.” O’Monahan barely registered half of what the quick-speaking man before him announced as he grabbed his hand and arm, shaking them both with eagerness.

“Oh, uhh, Quezada you said? I was speaking with Vail about some candidates for that job – your interview isn’t for another like three hours. A bit early, no?” O’Monahan relaxed a bit after the trauma of his shattered daydream sent him spinning a bit.

“Hey, my pops always said you can never be too early when it comes to work, right?”

“I wouldn’t know what he said, but I still need to grab some lunch, so -” Quezada nearly jumped into O’Monahan’s arms with the burst of enthusiasm that the idea of lunch around Oikake Maze sparked within him.

“Bro you have got to try the sushi at Oishe’s! Oh or the tokutsunecho! Have you ever had it? Oh bro it’s killer! Have you been to Sunrise yet? Or Hammy Hammy Whammy Burgers?! Try the sriracha on the triple stacker and get some garlic fr-”

O’Monahan jumped in abruptly in an effort to avoid being reading the entire area restaurant menu at once, “ACTUALLY, it’s my first day here, I have no idea what’s around. I was just going to stop at the first place I saw.”

“Ah, yeah, hey sorry, I just get a little excited talking about the food around here and you’re kinda my freakin’ hero, and I’m nervous about the interview, so yeah, sorry. I can point out a few good options on my phone if you want – the places right outside here are pretty lousy.” Quezada had long recognized his tendency to go manic when he was nervous or talking about food. Both at once was an easy trigger.

“Hey, its cool – I’d rather you joined me. I hate eating alone anyway,” O’Monahan offered coolly.

“Right you were, Juan. This sushi is a different food group than the stuff you can find in suburban Boston,” O’Monahan said, polishing off his fourth serving. The sushi bar attendant looked on in genuine amazement as he shouted for reinforcements from the kitchen.

“They never get used to the gaijin and our appetites,” Quezada laughed.

“I can imagine. How do you know the area so well?”

“I pitched here back when you were dominating PEBA, and the food around here was almost as much fun as the games were back then. I remember remodeling my mechanics to imitate yours back when I messed up my elbow in ’15. Got me to the next level on missing bats! I led the league – well the LRS – in K/9 in ’18 after those adjustments” Quezada checked his urge to continue.

“No kidding? A fellow power pitcher. Very nice. I’m flattered you watched me,” O’Monahan genuinely loved getting recognition from someone that could appreciate the nuance of his former skills.

“Well to be honest, I watched all the greats, but yeah I mimicked your mechanics. Your delivery matched mine better and we have similar stature. I think it’s important not to be cookie cutter with pitching, you know? It’s like, not everything works for everyone, so don’t force anything. Let a pitcher evolve into himself, don’t try to make him someone else. That’s what I see all the time and it kills me, bro. I think that was my biggest takeaway when I went to winter ball back in the day. I think – ” again, Quezada checked his enthusiasm and smiled sheepishly as he gestured for O’Monahan to continue asking questions. As the two spoke, their conversation grew into a fever pitch, each “AMEN”-ing the other at almost every turn. It wasn’t until an elderly employee came by and hurriedly poured the two tea that they became aware of the time.

“Listen, Juan, I’m running late for the first interview of the afternoon. I know you’re trying to manage but I wish I could hire you for a pitching coach job: you have a passion for teaching pitching and we’re of one mind when it comes to philosophy,” Juan smiled and shrugged at the compliment from a PEBA legend. “I wonder if I could trade you the bill for a few insights on this list of mine – I’m an outsider and I know you’ve spent some time in pitching coach circles.” O’Monahan pulled out his interview list and handed it to Quezada.

“Happy to oblige, Dean,” Juan said, trailing as he lost himself in the list. “Ah! Here  – Yori!” Quezada jabbed his thick finger into O’Monahan’s list. “That dude could mimic any pitch almost perfectly just by watching a guy throw it a few times in real time. It was uncanny. I swear he stole my cutter back in ’16 when he joined the LRS from PEBA. If he can steal a pitch that easily, he can teach pitching even easier.”

“That’s a bold claim – I’ll have to ask him about. Hah, I think I’ll challenge him to mimic my screwball. No one could ever get that one right,” the Ghosts pitching czar caught himself mimicking his own grip and the nuanced variations he’d make on it. Shaking his head and escaping his reverie, he stood and meticulously rearranged himself. With his presentability restored, he looked over Juan Quezada and offered his hand. The two shook hands as old friends might have. “Thank you, Juan. You’ve re-energized me. Any time you have any more ideas, or if you’re ever looking to put that pitching mind of yours back to work, promise me you’ll reach out, please.”

“You move up or you move out of the way, sir. It’s been an honor. Oh, and just in case you aren’t aware – it’s considered insulting to tip in Japan,” Juan smiled broadly as he squared himself to O’Monahan, bowed, and promptly exited the small shop.