A big red “X” on today's date, the Friday between meeting his new manager yesterday and addressing the entire Johannesburg Gold roster via Zoom come Monday. A day off. Not technically a vacation, but a sacred chance to breathe.
The plan was to start unpacking his things and begin putting his condo together. Task one was simple: find a spot for his beloved bonsai.
It was same one he’d brought with him from Arizona in a custom-built crate labeled 'FRAGILE: DO NOT TIP / LIFE BALANCE INSIDE'. A tree he'd tended for seven years. A tree that had survived moves to three different states and one ill-fated cactus roommate.
He placed it carefully on the window sill in his work-in-progress home office, just as the Johannesburg sun began to stream in. Graham smiled. Peace. Stability. Roots, metaphorically and literally.
Then came the knock at the door. Graham made his way to the front of the condo and opened the door nonchalantly.
It was Fernando Rosario.
In a t-shirt that said “Scouting Is Sexy” in faded cursive.
This guy hasn't even been hired yet, thought Graham. But Rosario had opinions in his head, a whiteboard under one arm, and the energy of someone who had already updated his LinkedIn title to Assistant General Manager.
“I brought coffee,” Rosario said, strolling in uninvited. “And a theory about undervalued Romanian switch-hitting infielders.”
“Fernando,” Graham asked slowly. “Why are you here?”
“I had some ideas,” Rosario replied, already uncapping a marker. “Also, my Airbnb has too many mirrors. Very unflattering layout.”
Graham glanced around at his half-assembled living room: a couch still sealed in plastic, a single folding chair doubling as a dining table, and multiple stacks of well-worn copies of Bill James' Baseball Abstracts.
“Glad I could offer an upgrade," Graham muttered.
They sat, Rosario cross-legged on the floor and Graham perched on a box labeled "Probably Kitchen?", and talked baseball. The conversation spiraled from Rule 5 gambles to waiver-wire archetypes to a spirited debate about acquiring a backup catcher who “has the confidence at the plate of a guy who owns a pet snake but is also elite at pitch framing.”
Rosario paused to sip his coffee, then casually mentioned “Don’t worry. I left a voicemail for that sidearmer from Seoul. Told him you were interested.”
“You what?” Graham blinked. “You don’t work here yet!”
“Technicality,” Rosario waved it off. “He’s a vibes guy. No spin rate, just menace. Pure menace.”
By 3 p.m., Graham’s one-day sanctuary resembled a pop-up think tank in the aftermath of a brainstorming tornado: open laptops, half-finished depth charts, and three scouting reports scribbled on the back of a takeout menu.
Rosario finally stood and stretched. “Anyway, I gotta run. I’m moderating a panel on ‘The Aura of Range: A Metaphysical Inquiry into Defensive Metrics’.”
“Is that...real?”
“No,” Rosario said. “It’s my cousins in a group chat. But we get intense.”
As the door closed behind him, Graham let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He collected the pile of papers and spiral notebooks and made his way into his office to sort them in the most sensical way he could, when he noticed his bonsai. Still there. Still alive.
He grabbed a pen from his desk and jotted onto a Post-It:
And beneath it:Free agent priorities
– Bullpen depth
- Left-handed power
– Positional versatility
– Guys who understand that no one wins when the pre-game spread runs out of hot dogs
No such thing as a day off. But some days? You still find your roots.
