55.001 - In A Dungeon, Deep in the Basilica

[RonCo]

Carlos Camacho stood upright in the darkest cell of his basilica tower dungeon, breathing in the aromas of incense and a particularly delightful patchouli. His lips pulled back in a smile that on someone else might be considered wry or perhaps even wise, but on him was as enigmatic as ever.

“See what you have made me do, Mr. Too-Smarts-In-The-Pants?” he whispered to the shadow-draped figure that lay strapped to a stainless-steel table, feeding tubes and other assorted gadgets connected. The clatter of the machinery keeping the man alive made a chaotic hum in the background. “It’s not my fault you were too strong to stay in place. Not manipulatable like that dolt of a GM Shoeless was. And we were never going to win if we didn’t do things my way! Never! I came in and we won because I was able to make things happen…but then Shoeless’s brain dwindled to such a state that even my most intense powers could grab no purchase, and he found a way to do things behind my back…and, of course, once we were so rudderless, we lost! To the idiots from Charm City no less!”

Camacho gave a self-suffering squeal of anguish.

“Why did it have to be Charm City? One of the only teams I never even played on?”

He breathed a sigh of despair. He pressed a button and green lightning snapped over the form on the table, illuminating the craggy features of Sacramento GM Jesse Stollings, but nothing happened.

Camacho grit his teeth at the lack of response.

“See?” he said. “Even now you are too strong-willed to let me into your mind! And if I cannot get into your mind, I cannot override your directions! And things were going too well right now. You were getting a tailwind. People loved the team and despite the fact that the Mad Popes are doomed to fail without my directing hand, we are winning! So you see why I had to intervene, right? You see why I needed to find another dolt like Shoeless to sit at the helm? One with less fortitude, and weaker intellect? One, like Shoeless before, who I could control, but who might have enough gray matter to remain workable for longer?”

The man did not respond.

It didn't matter now, though. After a long search, he was pretty sure he had found the right dolt.

Camacho used an open hand to waft some smoke into his nostrils, then exhaled. “I only do it because I love the fans too much to let them down.” He smiled then, a wicked little expression that carried ages of power in it. “Or something like that,” he added with the twist of a lip.

He checked his phone.

Then sighed again.

“It’s time,” he said. “Sleep well, my friend.”

Carlos Camacho turned away in his basilica dungeon, and stepped through a wall, into a meeting…

# # #
It was supposed to be an everyday run-of-the-mill press briefing in which the team’s General Manager, who had been silent for so long, laid out the course for remaining at the top of heap on the run for the highly coveted Pacific Division title. But instead, Mad Pope Assistant General Manager Carlo Camacho surprised everyone when he emerged from nowhere, stepped forward, brushed a fleck of dust from the silk lining of his team jacket, and said. “It’s my pleasure to announce that, through absolutely no nefarious or unseemly actions on my part, the Sacramento Mad Popes have a new sheriff in town.”

With that, he gave a flourish and somewhat bewildered-looking Ron Collins arrived at the podium.

“Please welcome our new General Manager! Long may he reign!”

The audience gasped. Camera lights flashed and a round of questions cascaded.

“What the hell?” Collins said.

He was dressed in a catsup-stained Yellow Springs Nine T-shirt and a pair of saggy grey gym shorts.

“What is your plan to keep the Mad Popes on the top of the division?” the first reporter said.

“I, uh …” Collins blinked. “I, uh, well, I was just writing chapter twelve on my next book, so to be sure I don…um…” he shook his head and then blinked, seeming to become stable again. “I’ll be getting together with my staff over the next few days to come up with a plan. That’s how I operate, you know? Gather input from everyone and then build a plan.”

Carlos Camacho’s smile darkened as he disappeared back into the corner.

Yes, he thought as he felt control firming up in his mind. Collins was the right dolt for the job.

[Lane]

scariest story i ever did read

[neugey]

Were those really catsup stains or blood splatters from Heartland foes of the past?

Good luck Ron and have fun with that bodacious pitching staff!

[recte44]

Oh boy, it’s happening!!!!

[niles08]

Carlos Camacho stood upright in the darkest cell of his basilica tower dungeon, breathing in the aromas of incense and a particularly delightful patchouli. His lips pulled back in a smile that on someone else might be considered wry or perhaps even wise, but on him was as enigmatic as ever.

“See what you have made me do, Mr. Too-Smarts-In-The-Pants?” he whispered to the shadow-draped figure that lay strapped to a stainless-steel table, feeding tubes and other assorted gadgets connected. The clatter of the machinery keeping the man alive made a chaotic hum in the background. “It’s not my fault you were too strong to stay in place. Not like manipulatable that dolt of a GM Shoeless was. And we were never going to win if we didn’t do things my way! Never! I came in and we won because I was able to make things happen…but then Shoeless’s brain dwindled to such a state that even my most intense powers could grab no purchase, and he found a way to do things behind my back…and, of course, once we were so rudderless, we lost! To the idiots from Charm City no less!”

Camacho gave a self-suffering squeal of anguish.

“Why did it have to be Charm City? One of the only teams I never even played on?”

He breathed a sigh of despair. He pressed a button and green lightning snapped over the form on the table, illuminating the craggy features of Sacramento GM Jesse Stollings, but nothing happened.

Camacho grit his teeth at the lack of response.

“See?” he said. “Even now you are too strong-willed to let me into your mind! And if I cannot get into your mind, I cannot override your directions! And things were going too well right now. You were getting a tailwind. People loved the team and despite the fact that the Mad Popes are doomed to fail without my directing hand, we are winning! So you see why I had to intervene, right? You see why I needed to find another dolt like Shoeless to sit at the helm? One with less fortitude, and weaker intellect? One, like Shoeless before, who I could control, but who might have enough gray matter to remain workable for longer?”

The man did not respond.

It didn't matter now, though. After a long search, he was pretty sure he had found the right dolt.

Camacho used an open hand to waft some smoke into his nostrils, then exhaled. “I only do it because I love the fans too much to let them down.” He smiled then, a wicked little expression that carried ages of power in it. “Or something like that,” he added with the twist of a lip.

He checked his phone.

Then sighed again.

“It’s time,” he said. “Sleep well, my friend.”

Carlos Camacho turned away in his basilica dungeon, and stepped through a wall, into a meeting…

# # #
It was supposed to be an everyday run-of-the-mill press briefing in which the team’s General Manager, who had been silent for so long, laid out the course for remaining at the top of heap on the run for the highly coveted Pacific Division title. But instead, Mad Pope Assistant General Manager Carlo Camacho surprised everyone when he emerged from nowhere, stepped forward, brushed a fleck of dust from the silk lining of his team jacket, and said. “It’s my pleasure to announce that, through absolutely no nefarious or unseemly actions on my part, the Sacramento Mad Popes have a new sheriff in town.”

With that, he gave a flourish and somewhat bewildered-looking Ron Collins arrived at the podium.

“Please welcome our new General Manager! Long may he reign!”

The audience gasped. Camera lights flashed and a round of questions cascaded.

“What the hell?” Collins said.

He was dressed in a catsup-stained Yellow Springs Nine T-shirt and a pair of saggy grey gym shorts.

“What is your plan to keep the Mad Popes on the top of the division?” the first reporter said.

“I, uh …” Collins blinked. “I, uh, well, I was just writing chapter twelve on my next book, so to be sure I don…um…” he shook his head and then blinked, seeming to become stable again. “I’ll be getting together with my staff over the next few days to come up with a plan. That’s how I operate, you know? Gather input from everyone and then build a plan.”

Carlos Camacho’s smile darkened as he disappeared back into the corner.

Yes, he thought as he felt control firming up in his mind. Collins was the right dolt for the job.

I couldn't be more excited and thankful for this.

[CTBrewCrew]

Dont you dare start a Pacific Podcast….

[CTBrewCrew]

All eyes on August 8-11th when the prodigal son returns to YS9 for a series vs his old team.

[Dington]

Dont you dare start a Pacific Podcast….

Eww gross

[Dington]

Love this. Hate this. Lot of feelings going on in Nashville.

And of course you use catsup instead of ketchup. That’s the most Yellow Springs thing ever (probably).

Glad to have you back. Some of the newer GMs have no idea what’s in store for them. They’re all very lucky.

Easy Caleca frontrunner.

[Jwalk100]

Welcome back @RonCo!

[Dington]

Also, seeing that SAC avatar next to your name is gonna take some getting used to.

[woods]

Oh, this is going to be good.

[jiminyhopkins]

Wow this guy must be a writer or something

[GoldenOne]

Welcome back Ron!

[Trebro]

All eyes on August 8-11th when the prodigal son returns to YS9 for a series vs his old team.

That's a layup 3 game sweep for the Popes. We can't do anythig right.

[CTBrewCrew]

I’m pulling for a gentleman’s sweep

[trmmilwwi]

Chapter 12 is the new Step 2.