2042.3: The Regular Season's Last Act

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2042.3: The Regular Season's Last Act

Post by Rubaboo » Wed May 20, 2020 9:39 pm

Tension. Angst. Hope. Exhilaration.

Game 162 versus the Las Vegas Hustlers has all of us riding on a rollercoaster of emotion. All the other games of the 2042 regular season are finished. We know the situation - Win, and we're in. It's that simple. We know it, they know it. The players, fans, mascots, bat boys, vendors. Everyone knows it. All eyes are on us.

It's a tight game. Vegas scores 4 in the top of the 4th, we get 3 back in the bottom. We tie it up in the 6th, Vegas gets one to go up 5-4 in the 7th and escape the inning still ahead. Gerard Wagner comes on and keeps the top of the Hustlers' order off the board in the 8th. Hustlers 5, Aztecs 4. You can feel the tension in the room as we watch Vegas uber-reliever Shawn Huber stride to the mound in the bottom of the 8th. Huber starts the inning by rudely sending Jose Ayala back the dugout on a 5 pitch strikeout. Second batter of the inning is the $20 Million Man, Hsin Mei. Mei is content to let Huber pick around the corners and takes a 5 pitch walk. As Mei trots to first base, Juan Rocha begins the walk from the on-deck circle to the plate. Juan Rocha. Juan 'minus 2.5 WAR' Rocha.

Rocha takes a couple of warm up swings and digs in. Huber's first offering is off the plate, Rocha stands with his bat on his shoulder. Ball 1. Huber's second pitch is in there, Rocha, still standing with his bat on his shoulder, watches strike 1. 1-1. The nerves in the box are slowly fraying. I hear someone mutter something wondering if Rocha is awake in there. I sit and watch, transfixed. Huber winds and fires pitch 3 of the at bat. Rocha finally bestirs himself and takes a cut at it. The smack of the bat, followed by the heavy silence as we all watch the ball is something I'll never forget. That brief moment is frozen in a Wonder World-esque diorama in my mind for all eternity. As the world returns to normal speed, Rocha's ball carries on and on into the heavy Mexico City evening air before landing 418 feet from where it started in the seats behind right center field.

Pandemonium erupts. All the angst about the poor play the last few weeks, all the anger, all the worry about the offseason if we miss another playoff this season, forgotten for an instant. An instant of pure, unadulterated joy. The stadium erupts into a cacophony of noise and frenzied movement. In the owner's box food and drinks are flying, people are screaming and jumping, high fiving and hugging. The euphoria of the moment lasts through most of Rocha's trot around the bases, then the realization hits us in the box - we still have a game to finish. As Rocha gets mobbed and congratulated by his teammates in the dugout, the mood in the box sobers enough that we can all regain our seats. The fans stay on their feet, living in the moment a bit longer. Huber retires the next two batters, Isworth and Flores, without much fanfare and we go to the 9th inning up by a run. We've struggled to hold on to late leads this season, and as the defensive replacements take their positions on the field a small sense of foreboding settles into our group. Wagner gets Bartolo Ortiz to fly out in two pitches. Next up is Jim Ashford. He rips a 1-0 offering right up second base for a single. With a man on, into the box strides Zach Reid. He watches a first pitch ball, then takes a called strike and another ball. He takes a cut at the 2-1 pitch and hits a sharp grounder right to Dashiell Faireborn. Faireborn flips to Rovilson Cereza, who steps on second and fires the ball to Ayala waiting at first. Double play, game over. The pandemonium begins anew. As the owner's box again erupts into insanity around me, I can't help but just sit.

There's a part of me that can't believe what I'm watching. We made the playoffs. After all the hand-wringing and all the press conferences and all the votes of confidence. All the self-doubt about the moves I made and decided not to. We made it. We did it. I'm not even sure what I'm feeling. Validation? Relief? Excitement? Some mix of all three, no doubt. I snap back to reality as a hand slaps me hard on the back. "Fuck, look excited will you?" a voice shouts above the din at me. I couldn't tell you where it came from but I stand up and begin to join in the celebration. 2042 was a rollercoaster but we made it to the end and we're where we want to be. Bring on the playoffs!
Fred Holmes
General Manager
Mexico City Aztecs - BBA

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