2060.33 Tom and Geriatric

[Trebro]

GM Rob McMonigal wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but he had to do it. With the draft pick negotiations just about wrapped, it was time for some hard calls on the main roster.

At least this time, he'd called the person in, rather than having them storm the gates of his office castle, namely the reinforced door to his office. (McMonigal wasn't about to have a repeat of the Bo Jordan incident.)

"Tom, we need to have a chat," said McMonigal to the long-time Las Vegas Hustler star turned into a black hole, at least in terms of on-field quality. Tom Rudge might be a horrible baseball player now, but he was still an amazing human, handling the whole situation with grace. Manager Bill Inkster said he never complained a bit about his reduced playing time and was always helping the younger players in any way he could. Some day, probably very soon, McMonigal imagined Tom would be a coach in the Las Vegas system.

But today wasn't about the good things in his future. It was about the putrid performance in his present.

"I know. I suck," said Rudge, plopping himself in one of the chairs that looked out into the Yellow Springs skyline from McMonigal's office. "I have no idea why, but I just don't have it anymore."

McMonigal joined him, pulling out a pair of Columbus Brewing Company's "Dong-Po Double IPA" craft beers from the mini-fridge. Sitting opposite each other, they clinked cans and both drank deeply.

"It's a mystery to me, Tom. I know you've been trying. I see you watching tape, taking extra practices, talking to Jaime Chavez you're doing everything you can. I think it just might be time."

Rudge frowned and took another large swallow. "I just don't get it. I felt really good all off-season. All my practice and conditioning looked good. I felt like I had some more to give. But man, I've just been horrible. I literally can't hit my weight. It's embarrassing, Mac."

"Look, it's not your fault. Age catches up to everyone. Yours just hit at the worst possible time. I can tell you the scouts still loved everything about you this past off-season. Hell, I keep asking them even now 'What do you see?' and they keep coming back with 'He looks above average across the board to me.'"

"Scouts. Can't live with 'em, can't field a team without 'em,"said Rudge, doing a mock salute with his can.

"You don't know the half of it," said McMonigal, returning the gesture.

"So what now?" asked Rudge.

"I'll see if anyone wants to take a flier on you, but honestly, even if we aren't going to playoffs, I really do have to let you go, Tom."

"I understand," said Rudge. "Do what you can."

"I will," said McMonigal, meaning it. "In the meantime, how about another beer?"