2063.09 – ’Twas the Night Before Rule 5

[Graham]

The clock on the hotel room microwave blinked 12:00, eternally and inaccurately.

Graham Luna sat cross-legged on his bed, laptop open, a half-eaten blueberry muffin in one hand and a spreadsheet of barely qualified baseball players on the screen. Across the room, Assistant GM Fernando Rosario was propped up on a pillow, swiping through scouting reports like he was trying to find love in a pile of 30-grade fastballs.

They were preparing for tomorrow's Rule 5 Draft Day, an important time during the annual Winter Meetings, especially for the Brewster Baseball Association. The BBA's would have theirs, which would be a well-organized teleconference run with military efficiency. Then there was the GBC version, currently scheduled to be held in the hotel bar during karaoke night, assuming all ten general managers showed up. The emailed iterniary for the GBC even incorrectly called it the Rule V Draft. Graham groaned when he read that, then thought to himself, Every time someone refers to it as Rule V, a Roman centurion loses his sandals.

“Okay,” Rosario said, peaking over his tablet. “Rainer Mesu. Buenos Aires system. Dutch kid. Second-rounder a few years ago. Scouts say he could have a devastating slider.”

Graham looked up from his screen. “Fernando, the guy walked ten batters per nine innings last season. I’ve seen conga lines with better command.”

Rosario frowned. “Still, you gotta love the potential.”

“He’s not a pitcher, he’s a suggestion box with cleats.”

Rosario sighed as he made a note to remove Mesu from the board.

“All right,” Graham said. “Next.”

“Marcus Holwell, Athens. He’s—”

“No.”

“You didn’t even hear the pitch.”

“I didn't need to. Didn't he put up like -2 WAR last year? In only 90 games?? In Double-A?!?!”

“Which,” Rosario said, undeterred, “technically puts him in the running for the Nobel Peace Prize. That could be a draw for us at the gates.”

Graham chuckled, but the name was still getting blacklined.

Rosario flipped to another file. “Okay, what about Donald Nixon?”

Graham raised an eyebrow. “Strong arm. Smart player, too. MENSA member, right?”

“Yep. He once corrected a scout’s Latin mid-sentence.”

Graham punched up the player's Baseball Reference on his laptop.“Hit 24 homers in AAA this year. Heck, he had over 20 bombs in the BBA a few years back.”

“Exactly,” Rosario said, eyes lighting up. “Plus he's decent on the basepaths and doesn’t complain about clubhouse coffee.”

“That puts him in the upper percentile of humanity.”

They circled Nixon's name. Tentatively.

Then came the grab bag.

“There’s Callum Montgomerie,” Rosario said, scrolling. “Hit .341 in AAA last year.”

“Solid.”

“And played 111 innings in center field.”

Graham frowned. “Isn’t he a first baseman?”

“Technically. Scouting notes simply say 'Range: Traffic cone; Arm: Damp piece of yarn'”

“Pass.”

Rosario kept going. “Bill Shields, Sydney organization. Pretty good eye, double digit homerun power, better than average in right. Oh, and he 6’11”.”

“Any red flags?”

“Just one. Doorways.”

Graham shrugged impressively; his AGM had actually made an astute observation. "Anyone else?"

“Cathmoor Burnby and Malik James," Rosario quickly mentioned. "Um, both recent free agent signings in Athens. Both unprotected as of the most latest list,” he added nonchalantly.

Graham leaned forward. “Knuckleballers?”

Rosario groaned. “Don’t start.”

“I’m just saying. One good knuckleballer is chaos. Two is a strategy.”

“One is already too many,” warned Rosario.

“Let's put them in the maybe pile.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, only interrupted by a muffled rendition of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” echoing from the bar downstairs. Tomorrow, they'd squeeze into vinyl booths, draft beers in hand, and the potential future of the franchise hinging on who could focus between key changes.

“You think the BBA guys have it easier?” Rosario asked, glancing toward the window.

“They’re drafting by conference call,” Graham replied wistfully. “Worst they’ll deal with is someone forgetting to unmute.”

They stared at their screens again, more names to vet, more gambles to take.

From downstairs, a guttural scream tried and failed to pass for the bridge of “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

They both laughed, the kind of tired, ridiculous laugh that only comes from too many spreadsheets and too little sleep. Tomorrow, they’d try to find value in noise.

Tonight, the noise was winning.

[BTuck2112]

[Jwalk100]

[BaseClogger]

Heh, I groan every time I see “Rule V” also.

[recte44]

This. This makes me happy.

[recte44]

Also- Caleca nominee @Dington