2063.30 - The Great Cairo Compromise

[Graham]

Graham Luna had never been much of a salesman. His entire approach to persuasion could be summed up as “mildly apologetic PowerPoint.” But on this particular Monday morning, with a first-place baseball team teetering on the edge of burnout and his bonsai still missing under mysterious and threatening circumstances, he found himself placing a call that demanded actual charisma.

It was 8:47 a.m. in Johannesburg. The London Monarchs were in town. The division race had compressed into the width of a sweaty batting glove. And Graham was about to ask a billionaire to spend an extra $5 million in loose change on a defensive specialist with a history of back spasms.

“Colin,” Graham said evenly into the phone, “I need to ask you to cover $5.4 million in prorated salary.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. A heavy, expensive silence. The kind of silence that’s usually followed by either a golf swing or a private jet liftoff.

“For what?” came Colin Rhodes’ eventual reply. “Did we buy another mascot? Is Mal doing NFTs again?”

“No, no,” Graham said. “It’s a trade. For a shortstop and a reliever.”

“From where?”

“Cairo.”

A pause.

“You’re telling me,” Rhodes said, “that after we watched Blair Peyton get air-mailed to London, you’re now making a deal with Cairo?”

“Yes,” Graham said. “But, and hear me out now, it’s a different deal. One that helps us win. One we can actually afford.”

Rhodes made a noise somewhere between a groan and a high-stakes investment meeting sigh. “I swear to God, Luna, if this is one of those analytics trades where you bring in a guy with a .201 average but a WAR you promise me is ‘sneaky,’ I’m going to launch myself into the Indian Ocean.”

“Not sneaky,” Graham said. “Just good. Dima Rozinov. Age 26. Shortstop. Human vacuum. Elite defensive metrics. He’s tied for the league lead in fielding percentage. Second in Zone Rating. First in the metric we invented called ‘Plays That Make Our Third Base Coach Say Wow.’”

“And he can hit?”

“He’s not a middle-of-the-order threat,” Graham admitted. “But he led the league in doubles a few years ago, makes consistent line-drive contact, and doesn’t immediately combust when you put him in the eight-hole.”

“Wonderful. And?”

“And we also get Jay Chapman. All-Star reliever this year. Thirty-eight years old, lefty, workhouse and solid vet.”

Rhodes paused to take it all in. “Fine. Who are we giving up?”

“Albert Romano,” Graham said. “Legit arm in Double-A. Five-pitch mix, ranked #33 in the GBC. Nabibukhsh Bhat, decent pop, should have a long career in the league, #47 overall. And Joseph Alexander, who I’m mostly including for salary purposes and because I’m scared if we call him up in September, he’ll organize a union.”

There was another pause.

“I don’t hate it,” Rhodes said.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“But if this Rozinov guy tweaks his hamstring during the anthem,” Rhodes added, “I will come down there and personally convert your standing desk into a dunk tank.”

“Understood,” Graham said. “I’ll handle it.”

He hung up and exhaled hard enough to fog the window. Then he left his office and found Rosario in the executive lobby, halfway through a lukewarm coffee and skimming the 2059 Johannesburg Gold inaugural season media guide.

“Well?” Rosario asked, rising.

“Rhodes is in,” Graham said. “Technically.”

They began a corridor stroll, past the player development wing where someone had drawn angry eyebrows on a whiteboard photo of Blair Peyton in a London uniform, and past Mal, who was filming a parody of “This Is Fine” with cardboard cutouts of GBC mascots and a slowly burning churro.

Rosario scrolled his tablet as they walked. “So Rozinov, 26, defense-first, good plate discipline. Should make us deadly up the middle when we shift Essam to second.”

“Correct.”

“Chapman, aging bullpen lefty, still effective against lefties, good playoff experience, which most our team lacks entirely.”

“Also correct.”

“And we’re giving up Romano, who, and don't get me wrong, I love but whose control issues are like watching a toddler wield a steak knife, Bhat and Alexander?”

“That’s the package.”

Rosario nodded. “It's not nothing. But it makes us better now. I like it.”

“Me too.”

“You calling Dymek?” Rosario asked.

Graham nodded. “Might even do the old ‘call from the hallway so I sound busy’ trick.”

Rosario grinned as Graham pulled out his phone as he thought to himself, This deal made sense. It was steady. It was rational. It was exactly what Johannesburg needed, not flashy or seismic, just... effective.

Which, in a division race hanging by a half-game, might be the flashiest move of all.

He stepped into a quiet hallway. Dialed.

And smiled as the line began to ring.