Bill Bavasi stands in the middle of the war room. His lackeys grunt as they shuffle past. Leaflets are exchanged from person to person as the computer screen flashes an immeasurable amount of data. The bald boss-man whispers over to his informants. Everyone’s attention is drawn to a 52-inch plasma screen. A wrinkly-old man approaches a podium. He adjusts his glasses as he begins to speak.
“With the fourth pick, in the first round of the two-thousand six first-year player draft – the Pittsburgh Pirates select Brad Lincoln, a right-handed pitcher from the University of Houston. The Seattle Mariners are now on the clock.”
June 6th, 2006
Bill: Alright, give me the run-down. What are we looking at here?
Informant: Okay. Easy enough – the prospects in this draft are few and far between – but I believe we can find a diamond in the rough, sir.
Bill: *Nods*
Informant: Firstly, Andrew Miller, sir. Out of UNC at Chapel Hill, he’s a huge kid, sir. Scouts report that his stuff is major league ready, and his slider is his most dominant pitch, sir.
Bill: Hmm. He could be a possibility. We could put him out there as soon as possible. If we do that, of course we’d have success! But, nothing good will ever come out of UNC at Chapel Hill. Next.
Informant: Our next possibility could be left-handed pitcher Clayton Kershaw, sir. He has a big curveball that complements a mid-90s fastball, sir.
Bill: Doubtful. He’s a high-school player! Next!
Informant: I think we should take a risk, sir. Consider Tim Lincecum. He is the PAC-10 career leader in strikeouts, sir. He has a great curveball and upper-90s fastball. He could be an asset in our bullpen now, sir. And I know you like to build your club from back to front, sir!
Bill: That pipsqueak! I could break him with my pinky. Forget it, I’ll figure this out on my own.
Bill: *Grabs a dart*
Bill: *Throws dart at dartboard*
Bill: Brandon Morrow. There, mark it down.
Informant:
Bill:
Informant:
Bill: What?
December 6th, 2006
In the midst of a sprawling art gallery, Bill Bavasi stands confused. To his left, a collection of Picasso single-line drawings. Most notably, a dachshund. To his right, an odd sculpture of a family. He shuffles closer towards the bronze monolith as his finger slowly grazes the art. Underneath the family, a plaque reads “Family Group: Moore”. Bavasi chuckles to himself, “More wins is what I need.”
A man in a black suit walks up to him. Bavasi’s attention is drawn to his sunglasses and ear-bud. The wide-shouldered suit escorts him through the hallways of paintings and sculptures. He enters a room, curtains drawn. There are many leather-bound books surrounding a man hidden behind a desk.
Bill: Mr. Loria. A pleasure to finally meet you.
Jeffrey:
Bill: Um, so…You know why I’m here, right? I need to do anything, and I mean anything to win.
Jeffrey:
Bill: I’m getting desperate. The fanbase wants blood, Mr. Loria. I’ve told them I’d win them a championship! I’m lying to their faces now!
Jeffrey:
Bill: I know what I need to do, I just need to do it, right? We need starting pitching.
Jeffrey:
Bill: Fine! I’ll trade Rafael Soriano to the Braves for Horacio Ramirez.
January 29, 2007
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Adam H. Wong
Follow: @adamhwong