2063.18 An Ominous Warning

[Trebro]

GM Rob McMonigal was working on adjusting some of the language the support staff had written for the upcoming press releases on the coaching staffs when his phone rang.

It was Wardman.

Typically, McMonigal just pressed "ignore" and moved on. But he was feeling charitable. Despite the challenges of the start of the off-season, things were going well. He'd gotten some new blood in that he thought would be very good, including pulling Dave O'Reilly out of the amateur scouting area and into the pitching coaching ranks and asking Mal Fountain if he'd like to see if he could make things work as a batting coach. So why not humor the worst sports reporter on earth?

"What do you want?" he said to the phone, not even trying to be nice.

"And a fine hello to you, too," said Wardman. "Thanks so much for taking my call."

"I'm already regretting it. Why are you calling me?"

"I just want you to know that in a few days, you're going to have a very bad few days. Possibly even your last as the Nine General Manager."

"Good Grief, Ethan. How much longer will this go on?" McMonigal mocked the tag line on almost every single story Wardman wrote these days. He'd been doing it for years now.

"Laugh all you want, but I've got you this time. Even if Bo doesn't fire you, the League will. You're in big trouble, MAC."

"Oh really now? What are you doing, starting a bake sale to buy the team and fire me that way? Are all fifteen of your subscribers going to chip in?" McMonigal couldn't contain his laughter. Taking this call had been a good idea.

"I bet we have more subscribers than you get season ticket sales after what I know becomes common knowledge."

"And just what do you know?" McMonigal asked.

"That's for me to know and for you to get fired over. Enjoy your last few days, McMonigal."

The line went dead.

McMonigal resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. Mostly because it took too long to program a new one. Wardman was up to something.

But what?