By Scott Plack

It’s May 13th, bottom of the ninth. The game should be over; Edgardo Rodriguez should have recorded a save and the Trendsetters should be celebrating somewhere. But no: a two-out home run has made it a new ball game. The dugout atmosphere is tense – the team has lost 9 of the first eleven games in May. Mostly due to terrible pitching, to the tune of a 6.89 earned run average over that span. The bases are full and there are two outs. Up walks Carlton Wilson, who is more than likely going to make contact. He swings straight through the first pitch: strike one. The second pitch finds its way to the shortstop, who tosses it to second to end the threat. Wilson, who had never put the bat down after the hit, walks to the dugout and mumbles to himself. In a flash of rage, he smashed the bat against the wall…once, twice…On the third time it shattered, sending pieces everywhere. Parks, the Trendsetter manager (who is not known for his compassion) was heard saying, “If you had hit the ball like that, we would all be celebrating right now.” Wilson may or may not have given Parks a symbolic gesture, but he gathered his glove and headed out towards short.

What happens next will probably become part of the folklore of the Trendsetter organization. Indeed, the truth – which players say is one hundred percent accurate – has been discounted by Parks and by the Trendsetter front office. The story revolves around the newest addition to the team, one Esteban Fernández.  Esteban had been with the team a grand total of 11 days, and here is his story.

“Parks called me over after Wilson stormed off and asked me: ‘You want to help this team?'”, remembers Esteban. “’Of course,’ I said, ‘anything for the team, Mr. Parks.’ Truthfully, he’s kind of scary. I am a grown man, and I am not some kind of wuss, but I just wouldn’t feel comfortable calling him anything but mister or sir. So I said, ‘Yes, sir.’

Despite being 29 years old, Flores has limited experience in the majors, and is considered a rookie by most of the team. Lately he had been carrying Arnold’s bags around, because he was the elder statesmen of the outfield.

“Parks looked at me and smiled, then he handed me a lighter – don’t know where he got it from – and says to me – ‘Next half inning, I want you to light Wilson’s shoelaces on fire.’ I laughed, and turned to walk away, thinking he was pulling my chain. He yelled, ‘Hey, kid!’ I turned around and he thrust the lighter into my hand. And then he turned back to watch the game.”

A ten-pitch top of the tenth quickly brought the team back into the dugout. Wilson slammed his glove into the corner and then took up position at the end of the dugout, as far away from anybody as he could get.  

“I can’t think of a time when I was more nervous. I have hit in close games that were less stressful than this. I took a deep breath, and decided to do it. Mostly, I channeled my inner snake, and crawled beneath the bench till I reached Wilson’s shoes,” recalled Esteban.

Pablo Cabrera, was sitting closest to Wilson, remembered. “I saw Esteban and I almost called out, but instead I wanted to see what was going to happen. Like a train wreck or something, I knew this was going to go horribly wrong. And then it happened and Wilson was jumping around the dugout. I am surprised he didn’t hurt himself. When he got through with his tirade and he found most of his teammates laughing in sheer joy…well, that’s when I thought I had seen the last of old Esteban.”

“I just repeated ‘I am sorry!,’ over and over again and I am pretty sure that Wilson would have decked me if it hadn’t been for Chet stepping in,” remembers Esteban.

“Well, I guess I just made some comment like, ‘that’s one way to get the hitters hot,’ and I moved Esteban out of harm’s way. Seven seasons make me the unofficial team diplomat – so when Wilson looked like he wanted to press it, I told him to back off – or I would cool him off with a nice orange cooler of water. Maybe I will start calling my fastball swiss cheese since I am so diplomatic,” indicated Chet King.

Wilson headed back onto the field when the inning was finished. Damon Lambert walked next to him and started doing an impression of Wilson’s dugout escapade. The spirit invaded the infield – suddenly they remembered they were playing the game, and it was ok to have a little fun.

Then the bottom of the eleventh rolled around. Rob McGrath started the inning ith a pinch-hit double. Lambert was intentionally walked and, after a failed sacrifice bunt attempt and a flyout by Richard Small, Cabrera was up with two down and two on. The count went to 1-2 and it seemed doubtful that the Trendsetters would do more than threaten. The next pitch, however, plunked Cabrera. The bases were again loaded for Wilson.

“I’m walking up to the plate doing my mental checklist and I look down to the third base coach, and there is Lambert doing my ‘fire dance’ right on third base. Sometimes I think that dude has lost his mind. But then I look over into the dugout and the whole team is joining in. I felt like it was some kind of bad flashback to the ‘Harlem Shake’ craze. But it worked! I had this crazy, foolish grin as I squared up to face the pitcher,” Wilson shared.

Three pitches later Wilson laced a ball to centerfield, allowing Lambert to score the walk-off run.

“We celebrated as if we had won the Rodriguez Cup! Probably made some Kentucky players mad; but it was as if that pressure from the weight of the losing streak had been broken. At the time we sitting in last place, had one of the worst records at ten games under .500,” remembers King.

The official story from Parks is that it never happened. Truthfully, it’s hard to imagine the gruff manager ordering a player to pull a prank in the middle of a game.

“He told me that he would deny everything, and not to do anything like that ever again,” added Esteban. 

The team has gone on to win 16 of their last 22 games and has yet to lose a series since. They have gone from last place to three games out of second place. If this level of play continues, the fans will be the ones dancing in the stands.