July 15th, 2058, Sydney, NSW, AU
“Things could be worse”, said Valenches, looking around the fairly state-of-the-art ballpark at The Blackstone International Sportspark. “If I remember right, Derek, after I convinced the Black Sox to draft you in the 18th round, didn’t you get sent to San Pedro de Macoris or something like that?” Valenches continued walking along the first base line towards the bullpen in right field. “They sure did. I couldn’t speak Spanish and so I ate a lot of chicken and rice because that was the only thing I could order and I was never sure what the other meat was.”
Sydney GM Chuck Valenches
Valenches stopped at the bullpen gate and turned towards Derek. “I know I wouldn’t have gotten the call to interview for this job if you hadn’t put my name in the hat.” Valenches pulled the brand-new Sydney Shark’s cap off of his head and looked at the logo. “While I appreciate the hand up, I do have a couple of questions. One, what am I doing here? Two, why does the GM office have my name on the door and not you? You’ve been in the game 25-30 years and been a part of BBA front offices. Why does the door not read “Derek Morgan, General Manager” instead of “Chuck Valenches”? Valenches raised his eyebrows and the cap at the same time and swept the cap to encompass the ballpark. His hands, still dotted with liver spots, then brushed his white hair back from his forehead. He was 91, but didn’t have the stoop or limited motion of somebody who was technically a nonagenarian.
“The first question is easy”, said Morgan, himself a fairly spry 50-year-old. “The second is a little more complicated, and devious.” Morgan gave a slight shrug. “I strongly suggested the owner, Lahan bin Nabil, would be smart to call you and interview you for the GM position. While he thinks he knows a lot about the game, you and I have more baseball knowledge in the head of our dicks than he has in his entire body. He needs a GM who can say no to him. But the big reason is that he needs a GM with a strong scouting background. Everybody in the game knows you got a raw deal from the Black Sox and what happened to that kid was not your fault. You were an ace scout and found some of the best talent the Black Sox ever put on the field. Hell, you were the guy who found Tom McDonald in that backwater high school two years before anybody gave him a second glance.” Valenches, rubbed his chin before turning back to Derek, “And what about the second, ‘more devious’, reason?” Morgan sighed, “You and I both know I won’t get a chance at another job in the BBA unless I have a ringer on my side. I want a GM job at the big-league level, and even after helping Yellow Springs to three straight playoff appearances, I was never even interviewed over there when the old GM left.” Derek’s mouth grew tight grew as he remembered the dustup in 2051, “I did good work for that SOB for three years and then I find out he told the owner I didn’t have the temperament or vision to be a GM. I went from Assistant GM on a playoff regular to the unemployment line in nothing flat. Hell, it took me five years to even land this job in the land of wallabies and poisonous everything.” Derek pointed to a squirrel running along the top of the rightfield fence. “Hell, that squirrel would probably rip my throat out if I give him the chance!” Morgan’s voice was getting more excited. Chuck decided to calm him down. “Lighten up Derek. We both got screwed. As evidenced by the fact that we are both working in the GBC and not the big leagues. We have to make the most of it.” “I am making the most of it, that’s why I suggested they bring you here. I need a ringer. The GBC is a stepping stone to the BBA for general managers, but only if you are already a GBC GM. The only shot I think I have left is for you to do well here, which I know you can do. When you do get the call up to the BBA, you bring me with you. And while I know you had that organ rejuvenation procedure, they started bragging about in 2054, it doesn’t last forever and you will likely retire. I just need you to make sure I replace you when you do retire at the BBA level.” Morton took a slight bow towards Valenches. “So, do we have a deal?” Valenches stared directly at Morton. “You brought me here so that I could get a BBA job somewhere down the line, bring you along on my coattails and then you wait until I die or retire? Jesus! You are a devious little asshole!” Valenches spun around and began walking towards the Shark’s dugout. “Whoever told who that you didn’t have the vision or temperament to be a GM in the BBA was off their rocker! You’d shiv your own mother for a chance!” Valenches paused without turning back towards Morton and then continued walking towards the dugout. “Try not to stab me in the back BEFORE we get to the BBA okay?” Valenches looked to the heavens and shook his head. “C’mon, I’m told the manager is down in his office. What is his name, Kang Der? Stupid name. The guys such an average manager he could split a three game series. Let’s go see what he has to say.” Morton smiled and began jogging to catch up to the new GM of the Sydney Sharks and, possibly, his way back to the BBA.
To be continued
