Off Topic
Travelblog of Thom S. Hunter
Editor’s Note: This is a running blog that will cover minor league players in the Yellow Springs organization. We initiated it because this kid reporter was hired without my knowledge and we needed to do something with him. He seems flaky to me. Seems like a waste of good cash. But what do I know? Good luck.
July 1, 2045: ALAMOGORDO – So I got busted down in Magdalena’s Watering Hole, a place I’ve come to like. They don’t really do air conditioning, but they’ve got these amazing ceiling fans made of feathers that spin like airplane propellers in old movies and create enough current to keep a guy cool while he’s eyeing the girls and pounding out another prospect review.
Actually, I should also say that I lied above.
I didn’t actually get busted. I almost got busted, but Maggie herself came by in the nick of time and got me ske-daddled out the back door.
Turns out one of the pieces I wrote when I first landed in New Mexico got published in the local rag of a paper, and there’s folks here not so interested in a little truth-telling. My money spends good for Magdalena, though, and I’ve talked to her enough that she understands I don’t mean no harm. Thank the powers for that. Those guys were big, and they had guns. Welcome to the Wild, Wild West, am I right? I'm going to have to talk to my uncle about this kind of thing. There's got to be something he can do.
I mean, crap, I barely had time to down my brewski before getting out of the joint. I need hazard pay is what I'm thinking.
Anyway, I was just finishing up my report on relief pitcher Caspar Mitchinson when the banditos came in and Maggie got me running. Mitchinson is an interesting guy, and a great example of what happens to folks in baseball—which, by the way, may be the true mixing pot of the world. I mean, baseball is what allowed this young Aussie to come first to Elkins (after being drafted by Charlotte) and then Alamogordo (after being traded to Yellow Springs and made the answer to the great trivia question, “who was acquired for Lucas McNeill?). My guess here is that baseball will soon be the reason this kid from Newcastle will soon be finding his way to Cat Island.
The kid had a rough time tonight, of course. Got blitz for four runs in less than three innings, but even a neophyte like me can see his stuff is ready for the next level. I’ve been to Cat Island, you see. I know the guys he’d play against. Given that I’m figuring that his loss of composure today was merely the pressure of having more press (me!) here to evaluate him.
On the whole, Mitchenson’s 6’5”, 200 body throws a middling repertoire that with a little work they all say could see him throwing in the majors someday. His numbers in 2045 (2.19 ERA, 10.2 K/9) back up some of the team’s sharper scouting reports that have suggested his base skill set has increased in some measurable sense. No one is projecting Nebraska-hood for Caspar Mitchinson as of yet, but things are looking up.
And on that note, I can say this is looking up, too. I’m leaving New Mexico!
My ploy worked! Apparently moved by my precarious situation, the boss has agreed to let me move on and find another prospect to write about. We’ll see where we go next, right? First, though, I think I need to sneak back to Magdalena’s tonight and thank Maggie right and proper for saving my life, eh?
July 1, 2045: ALAMOGORDO – So I got busted down in Magdalena’s Watering Hole, a place I’ve come to like. They don’t really do air conditioning, but they’ve got these amazing ceiling fans made of feathers that spin like airplane propellers in old movies and create enough current to keep a guy cool while he’s eyeing the girls and pounding out another prospect review.
Actually, I should also say that I lied above.
I didn’t actually get busted. I almost got busted, but Maggie herself came by in the nick of time and got me ske-daddled out the back door.
Turns out one of the pieces I wrote when I first landed in New Mexico got published in the local rag of a paper, and there’s folks here not so interested in a little truth-telling. My money spends good for Magdalena, though, and I’ve talked to her enough that she understands I don’t mean no harm. Thank the powers for that. Those guys were big, and they had guns. Welcome to the Wild, Wild West, am I right? I'm going to have to talk to my uncle about this kind of thing. There's got to be something he can do.
I mean, crap, I barely had time to down my brewski before getting out of the joint. I need hazard pay is what I'm thinking.
The kid had a rough time tonight, of course. Got blitz for four runs in less than three innings, but even a neophyte like me can see his stuff is ready for the next level. I’ve been to Cat Island, you see. I know the guys he’d play against. Given that I’m figuring that his loss of composure today was merely the pressure of having more press (me!) here to evaluate him.
On the whole, Mitchenson’s 6’5”, 200 body throws a middling repertoire that with a little work they all say could see him throwing in the majors someday. His numbers in 2045 (2.19 ERA, 10.2 K/9) back up some of the team’s sharper scouting reports that have suggested his base skill set has increased in some measurable sense. No one is projecting Nebraska-hood for Caspar Mitchinson as of yet, but things are looking up.
And on that note, I can say this is looking up, too. I’m leaving New Mexico!
My ploy worked! Apparently moved by my precarious situation, the boss has agreed to let me move on and find another prospect to write about. We’ll see where we go next, right? First, though, I think I need to sneak back to Magdalena’s tonight and thank Maggie right and proper for saving my life, eh?