The Third Floor | The Summer of Our Discontent, pt. 1 (50.02)

[mragland]

It's August. Grant has his door closed. He sits at his desk, his forehead resting on the keyboard. On his main screen is an email with the subject line: "ghhjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj".

"This sucks," he says quietly to his otherwise empty office.

For weeks the third floor has been in a state of semi-shell shock. No one makes eye contact. There are no animated conversations in the halls. There is no laughter, because no one is telling any jokes. There is a pervading sense that no one is safe, that all are in danger.

Grant has seen his fair share of losing seasons in his career, Between Beirut and three seasons in Valencia. This one feels different though. He has never seen a club fall so spectacularly short of expectations as this one is in the process of doing.

The 2049 Stars were a finely tuned sports car, with platoons firing on all cylinders, generating just enough offense to overcome some lackluster fielding, and excellent pitching provided by pitchers who for the most part stayed healthy. Even their star catcher managed to stay in the lineup most of the year. It was a magical run to the postseason. Watching the team, you believed that they could do it again the next season with just about everybody returning.

Last season's team made everybody in the front office look like a genius. Grant found himself interviewing for higher paying positions for richer clubs, but the feeling that the upward trajectory of the Stars could be sustainable long-term kept him in Southern California, and he passed on the opportunity to relocate.

The downside of the finely tuned sports car is that when things start to go wrong, they can do so in a cascade of catastrophe. Failure in one area has knock-on effects somewhere else, which triggers more failures and pretty soon your car is on the lift, and the mechanics are scratching their heads, and suddenly the car is just no fun at all anymore.

Grant ponders these things, his head crushing the 'J' key. He recalls how other people, friends from school, mostly, would remark on the sense of dread they'd feel on Sunday afternoons, knowing that the next morning meant a return to work. He couldn't relate then, but he thinks he gets it now.

The funny thing is that nobody has lost their job, at least not yet. The club has been active, at least internally, dealing with injuries and batting slumps that seem more or less permanent. Maeda, in his first year as hitting coach, still comes to work every day. No one believes that he can't teach hitting, but several hitters have just lost it. Peebo just won Executive of the Year, so maybe his job is safe for a season or two (and how many chief executives actually get fired in this league anyway?). There's Alfredo, perhaps? The general manager seems like an easy fall guy. Fairly inexperienced and with an expiring contract. If his head rolls, maybe it will be enough.

[Jwalk100]

Valencia just had one of those strange down years. A few tweaks and you'll be back in the running.

[Dington]

Fire your team trainer. He really screwed your guys this season. At least that’s where I place the blame.

[mragland]

Injuries were certainly part of the problem, but pitchers get hurt all the time. Plus my trainer might be the one guy I have who is most well-qualified for his job.

And there it is, twenty-five posts. I managed minimally contribute.