The Second Floor | Unhappy Accidents, pt. 5 (63.16)

[mragland]

4.03.2063 – Richmond upon Thames, Greater London

“This brings us to Sacramento,” said Molly. “New man in charge, Ben Heuring, talked Cartwright from the jump, but preseason prognostications suggest they'll be in for a tumble this year. There's this odd, ineffable darkness in Sacramento. It drove off Olmstead, twice, and has done God knows what to Collins. I kinda wonder if it's followed them out of town...” Molly seemed to trail off here, but picked up again. “Dirty deeds would be out of character for Heuring and he isn't throwing off that scent of desperation yet, plus you haven't technically commented publicly on a Popes club he led, so I think we can safely rule Sacramento out for the time being, but you never want to take your eyes off that club completely.

“San Fernando,” she began, her mood lightening.

“The club down the road,” interjected Grant. “We never referred to them by name when I was in Valencia.”

“Uh-huh,” said Molly. “Anyway, the club down the road is similarly unlikely. Imber has run the Bears as the straight man of the Pacific for years now, and he's 99, so his schedule is too full of naps to allow for extracurriculars. Nolen would like to meddle, but he's always been more interested in making a buck than winning, per se. He's got that Nutting in him.

“This brings us to Seattle,” Molly took a deep breath before continuing. “Collins is approaching 90 and that time in Sacramento really looks to have taken a toll. I can't get into all the details here, you'll have to read the report, but I'll hit the highlights. The guy is still an effective general manager, but in other respects, he has completely checked out, and the club seems to be enabling him rather than getting him some help. It's basically elder abuse if you ask me. His interactions with databases are on point. Interactions with people are tricky. He's apparently constructed an elaborate fantasy world in which the Storm play in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and people travel to games via some kind of Star Trekky teleporter thing. They've redecorated his office in Seattle to look like some kind of Gilligan's Island hut, cranked up the thermostat, and brought in special UV lights. All the people close to him play along, for now, because the team's on a positive trajectory, but he does appear to be in the middle of a slow-motion palace coup. Some people on the inside might be invested in his failure, or maybe they want to see him get well, it's hard to say. Can't put anything past the organization right now.”

“Jeez,” said Grant. “I'd heard rumors about what happened in Sacramento, but nothing remotely like this. That place leaves its mark.”

“Then there's your old club. Doesn't look like you burned any bridges, though it also doesn't look like your crew set the organization up for future success, either. Arlo had an interesting note, speculating that there might be hard feelings on that score, but we couldn't turn anything up. Corretti-Dobbs has become security obsessed in the last few years, with good reason. Very much focused on defense. It's a pretty tight ship in that respect, and the current regime has no history of foul play.

“Lastly, we have Vancouver. Not much to say here. They're like Long Beach, but with more pathos, maybe? Wharram plays it straight, though with occasional bouts of despair, and ownership is unremarkable. Really, I would put the Bears, Mounties, and Surfers all in that same category of 'just regular baseball clubs.'”