The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
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The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
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The tips of cattails bowed beneath the swell of the breeze as duckweed sloshed upon the whipped water. The day had been calm, warm and bright. All morning, birds had blanketed the stretching wetland with their calls and songs, but now there was only the wind and its cries. A woman stood among the reeds and brush on the edge of the water, head dropped, and she allowed the cries to consume her.
She listened, and she was still. In the wind, she heard the shrieks of eagles and the bleating of mice. She heard the empty stomach of a dying coyote and the soft footfalls of long dead men carrying wooden spears. She heard the wailing of a mother and curses of the mad. The cries grasped at her in their angst. They circled and bit at her, but she allowed them no hold. She searched -- searched among the cries.
The wind slashed upon the wetland. Stalks broke under its screams as the water rolled violently over itself. The overcast sky above darkened and lowered, unleashing a torrent of rain. The woman flinched. Her face grimaced. And, she doubled over as her stomach emptied upon the brush. Yet, the wind and rain continued to drive at her. It pushed at her. It roared its might. The woman convulsed from the pain, clenching her teeth to hold her sanity. She covered her ears and shook her head as she tried to escape the squall in her mind. The cry she had searched cut through her. Her chest heaved. Her head was thrown back and blood crept like tears from her eyes.
The cry continued to thrash upon her, pushing her away from the water of the slough, centering its power upon her. The woman howled from the agony, but a hidden will crept from within the woman. She pushed herself forward into the water but fell to her knees as the muck grasped at her bare feet below, yet the woman dragged herself upward and further into the water. The cry became a red darkness, striking like lightning and cracking the woman's core with its thunder. She crumbled into the water and fell below its surface. The cry of the wind let out one last shout before relenting.
The wetlands went quiet. A sad stillness. The sky hung heavy with anger and pride. The cry of the wind remained, ready to pounce.
After several moments, the duckweed on the now still surface parted like oil from where the woman went under. At last, the woman bolted tall from beneath the water. In her hands she held the skeleton of a muskrat, and she raised it above her head. The wind screeched at the woman, swirling and flicking at her, but the cries within the wind recoiled.
The woman held the skeleton high above her head, and, as the wind fled, the form of the muskrat grew around its ancient bones, first sinew and guts, then muscle and fur. The wind retreated further, stabbing aimlessly as it fled from the wetlands. The muskrat breathed life and the world opened to its green eyes.
A bird chirped. And, the muskrat leapt from the woman's outstretched hands into the water. It dove deep, then surfaced several meters from the woman. It looked at her briefly, taking in her green eyes with its own, before slapping its tail upon the water and swimming off, far into the wetlands.
The woman trudged out of the slough and walked to where she parked several miles away. In her car, she grabbed her cell phone and made a call.
"Shoeless," the green eyed woman said into the phone. "Camacho has been chased away, just as I chased his foulness from your soul. Your ballpark may be built upon this land for his curse now wanders in other worlds."
---
SACRAMENTO (AP) -- The Sacramento Mad Popes announced today the construction of a new ballpark, The Basilica of Muskrat Slough, to be built upon the once inhospitable wetlands southwest of the city. Heavy machinery and labor crews are working around the clock to drain the slough beds and construct the new gem of the Brewster Baseball Association prior to opening day of 2045.
The tips of cattails bowed beneath the swell of the breeze as duckweed sloshed upon the whipped water. The day had been calm, warm and bright. All morning, birds had blanketed the stretching wetland with their calls and songs, but now there was only the wind and its cries. A woman stood among the reeds and brush on the edge of the water, head dropped, and she allowed the cries to consume her.
She listened, and she was still. In the wind, she heard the shrieks of eagles and the bleating of mice. She heard the empty stomach of a dying coyote and the soft footfalls of long dead men carrying wooden spears. She heard the wailing of a mother and curses of the mad. The cries grasped at her in their angst. They circled and bit at her, but she allowed them no hold. She searched -- searched among the cries.
The wind slashed upon the wetland. Stalks broke under its screams as the water rolled violently over itself. The overcast sky above darkened and lowered, unleashing a torrent of rain. The woman flinched. Her face grimaced. And, she doubled over as her stomach emptied upon the brush. Yet, the wind and rain continued to drive at her. It pushed at her. It roared its might. The woman convulsed from the pain, clenching her teeth to hold her sanity. She covered her ears and shook her head as she tried to escape the squall in her mind. The cry she had searched cut through her. Her chest heaved. Her head was thrown back and blood crept like tears from her eyes.
The cry continued to thrash upon her, pushing her away from the water of the slough, centering its power upon her. The woman howled from the agony, but a hidden will crept from within the woman. She pushed herself forward into the water but fell to her knees as the muck grasped at her bare feet below, yet the woman dragged herself upward and further into the water. The cry became a red darkness, striking like lightning and cracking the woman's core with its thunder. She crumbled into the water and fell below its surface. The cry of the wind let out one last shout before relenting.
The wetlands went quiet. A sad stillness. The sky hung heavy with anger and pride. The cry of the wind remained, ready to pounce.
After several moments, the duckweed on the now still surface parted like oil from where the woman went under. At last, the woman bolted tall from beneath the water. In her hands she held the skeleton of a muskrat, and she raised it above her head. The wind screeched at the woman, swirling and flicking at her, but the cries within the wind recoiled.
The woman held the skeleton high above her head, and, as the wind fled, the form of the muskrat grew around its ancient bones, first sinew and guts, then muscle and fur. The wind retreated further, stabbing aimlessly as it fled from the wetlands. The muskrat breathed life and the world opened to its green eyes.
A bird chirped. And, the muskrat leapt from the woman's outstretched hands into the water. It dove deep, then surfaced several meters from the woman. It looked at her briefly, taking in her green eyes with its own, before slapping its tail upon the water and swimming off, far into the wetlands.
The woman trudged out of the slough and walked to where she parked several miles away. In her car, she grabbed her cell phone and made a call.
"Shoeless," the green eyed woman said into the phone. "Camacho has been chased away, just as I chased his foulness from your soul. Your ballpark may be built upon this land for his curse now wanders in other worlds."
---
SACRAMENTO (AP) -- The Sacramento Mad Popes announced today the construction of a new ballpark, The Basilica of Muskrat Slough, to be built upon the once inhospitable wetlands southwest of the city. Heavy machinery and labor crews are working around the clock to drain the slough beds and construct the new gem of the Brewster Baseball Association prior to opening day of 2045.
Sacramento Mad Popes
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
- Jwalk100
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
Great story, nice park.........Sierra Club lawsuit to follow.
- tylertoo
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
Awesome piece.
Mike Dunn
Chicago Black Sox (1995-1996) (2049-2054)
Landis Champion: '95, '96
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Tripoli Piranhas (2044-2046)
Chicago Black Sox (1995-1996) (2049-2054)
Landis Champion: '95, '96
Edmonton Jackrabbits (2047-2048)
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- HoosierVic
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
Drain the Slough! Drain the Slough! Nah, doesn’t have the same ring ...
- shoeless.db
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
I think that sums up most of the other GMs feelings also...
Sacramento Mad Popes
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
It’s funny because Slough in England is pretty shitty too lol
Nigel Laverick
(former GM of El Paso Chilis #WeWereShitty) ,
Now GM Riyadh Red Crescents #WeBeNotSoNewNow #WeAreJustAsShitty
Riyadh GM since May 2046
JL Manager of the Year 2000 (Baltimore Monarchs)
Nothing since
An MBBA GM since 1995 (off & on)
(former GM of El Paso Chilis #WeWereShitty) ,
Now GM Riyadh Red Crescents #WeBeNotSoNewNow #WeAreJustAsShitty
Riyadh GM since May 2046
JL Manager of the Year 2000 (Baltimore Monarchs)
Nothing since
An MBBA GM since 1995 (off & on)
- shoeless.db
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Re: The Basilica at Muskrat Slough 45.01
Well, the default stadium build in Sacramento using the OOTP Park Generator already has the average modifier at .972 and the homer modifier at .952 for both RHB and LHB. Our geographical location is a pitcher's area, so the only logical thing to do was go to the extreme with our location's "strength". Thankfully, it also highlights the type of team I prefer fielding.
After playing with the Park Generator way too long, I'm coming to understand why certain players perform well for my squad and why others completely crap their king size beds.
Sacramento Mad Popes
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
-- Vic Caleca Team News Award Winner 2052
-- BBA Champion 2053
— The Heartland Sucks
-- Pacific Champs 2040, 2042, 2043, 2047, 2048, 2049, 2051, 2053, 2054, 2058
Life is a bit more beautiful when time is measured by the half inning rather than the half hour.
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