2063.04 – Bite-Sized Pastries and Big League Plans

[Graham]

The Grounds Crew Cafe wasn’t fancy, but it had soul.

It sat in the shadow of the Golden Palace, its walls lined with framed newspaper clippings, faded headshots of local legends, and one autographed photo of a journeyman reliever who had allegedly once thrown a 106 mph fastball. Allegedly.

Graham Luna arrived just before the early dinner rush and spotted Alberto Sanchez already in the corner booth, the same one Graham was told you could always find the Gold's manager occupying. Superstition by way of habit, he thought. It's a baseball man thing, I get it.

Sanchez wore a windbreaker with the Gold logo, his short hair -- still dark despite being nearly 63 years old -- neatly combed, leaving a pale forehead that told the story of too many seasons spent under a ball cap to count.

“Mr. Luna,” Sanchez said, tipping his coffee cup slightly. “Welcome to Jo'burg.”

“It's a pleasure," Graham replied as he slid into the booth and nodded. “Hope I’m not late.”

Sanchez shook his head. “Just early enough to still get the last of the good hand pies.” He slid the plate across the table. “You’ll want one. Trust me." He had a voice like warm gravel, easygoing but firm underneath.

Graham knew Sanchez’s story. A two-time All-Star during his playing days in the Brewster Baseball Association, Sanchez was a popular southpaw who tallied over 140 wins in his career, 129 of those with the Yellow Springs Nine. After retirement, he joined the coaching ranks, ultimately becoming the manager of Yellow Springs where he guided the Nine to three-straight 100+ win seasons. Between being pitching coach and manager at Yellow Springs, he went to the playoffs eleven years straight -- and then, suddenly, he was out. Ushered to the proverbial curb to make room for Nine legend and Hall of Famer Lucas McNeill.

Baseball moved fast, and sometimes not kindly.

After spending the following year away from professional baseball, he returned to the Brewster, making stops in Des Moines as bench coach and Chicago as manager, before making the jump -- or fall, as some would suggest -- to the GBC, where he spent four seasons in Tokyo as their pitching coach. Now, here he was in Johannesburg, still loving being a part of professional ball, if Graham had to guess.

They placed their orders and then settled into a rhythm. It didn’t take long before they were talking baseball.

“We’ve got a ballpark that does half the work for pitchers,” Sanchez said, his arm waving in the general direction of stadium within walking distance. "Deep gaps, that's the key. If you’ve got guys who can pitch to contact and keep the ball out of the jet stream, you’re ahead before the first pitch.”

Graham nodded. “That’s what the reports say.”

“Well, they’re right.” Sanchez leaned in. “Here's the deal...we need hitters. Not sluggers, mind you; hitters. Guys who can shoot the power alleys. Spray charts that look like shotgun blasts, not sniper fire. Line-drive types. People who run well enough to turn singles into headaches.”

Graham made a mental note. That tracked with what he'd seen. In its first few years of existence, the Gold offense produced too many warning-track outs, too few rallies. Graham's iPhone chimed and he pulled the device out of his coat pocket. On the screen was a new email notification, a thread titled “Bonsai Custody Rotation.” Apparently, four departments had fought to not be responsible for it next week.

Graham's attention jerked back to his club's manager.

“Um, so are you looking for young guys?” he asked. “Or experienced?”

Sanchez tilted his head, thinking. “Both. A few vets with plate discipline, the kind who don’t chase just because the crowd gets loud. And maybe a kid or two who doesn’t know they’re supposed to fail yet.”

The server brought their food and drinks. Graham took a bite from one of the assorted hand pies and nearly admitted Sanchez was right aloud. “As you know, free agency opens soon,” Graham said between chews. “After arbitration filings. Only one case this year, though.”

“Good,” Sanchez said. “Less drama. Arbitration’s like arguing about bedtime with a teenager. You might win, but no one’s sleeping well after.”

They both chuckled. The offseason was about to get real, and fast. “You ever work under a General Manager who had a philosophy?” Sanchez asked after a beat. “Like, a branded one?”

Graham raised an eyebrow. “You mean like The Right Wind?”

Sanchez nodded. “Or The Blueprint, The Cyclone...those old Brewster staples. There’s a new one coming out of San Fernando too, I hear. GM over there -- Imber -- he’s got some new angle. Hasn’t slapped a name on it yet, but once the marketing folks chew on it, I’m sure it’ll sound like title of some preposterous TED Talk.”

Graham laughed. “No, I, I don’t have one. Not officially”

“You will,” Sanchez said. “Everyone does eventually. Might be something fancy. Might just be the way you build lineups when no one’s looking. But it sticks. People notice. But don’t be afraid of owning your angle. This game’s too weird to fake being someone else.”

The check came, but Sanchez waved it off. “First one’s on me,” he said.

Graham stood, feeling better than he expected. Not triumphant, but focused. Grounded.

Outside, the air was crisp but sunny. The kind of afternoon that made people believe in spring, even if it was still only November.

As he walked back toward the stadium, past the dusty team store window still pushing last season’s replica jerseys at clearance prices, Graham felt something shifting.

Ideas were starting to align. Not fully formed yet, but starting to congeal. Line drive guys with speed to burn. Maybe a line-up made entirely of switch hitters. Maybe even something stranger, bolder. Should astrology be considered? Uniforms made of space age materials?

Deep down, Graham knew he’d spend the offseason crafting something. A framework. An ethos. Even if it never made it onto a billboard or a season ticket brochure, it would exist. A quiet manifesto in the margins of a spiral notebook.

And when the time came…maybe it wouldn’t stay secret for long.

[Jwalk100]

The shifting and congealing may have been the pies.

Great story you got going!

[Graham]

The shifting and congealing may have been the pies.

Great story you got going!

You make a great point. Spiced lamb and I have a real love/hate relationship.