Sofia (5) | (51.01)

[mragland]

11.14.2051 – Santa Monica, California

Sofia sat at a patio table next to the pool.  The weather was dingy and gray.  She intended this house, at least in part, to be her means of escaping east coast, November weather, but she seemed to have brought some of it with her, at least for today.  She stared at the screen of her tablet, propped on its little stand right next to her orange juice.

Her phone started gently pulsing.  She picked it up, glanced at it, and frowned for a moment before deciding to answer.

"I'll talk to you, but be forewarned that you're my second least favorite person right now," she said by way of greeting.

. . .

"No, your timing is fine.  I'm reading an article about your old team, as a matter of fact. Moving to London it appears."

. . .

"It's interesting, but I don't see how it's sustainable with that footprint.  Those poor players are going to be sleepwalking through games with all the travel they'll be doing.  SST's can get you there fast enough, maybe, but jet lag is jet lag.  And with the cost of fuel these days..."

. . . 

"Yes, let's get down to the matter at hand.  I can't figure out which was the fluke, your team in the playoffs two years ago, or your team in the gutter last season.  The palace can't figure it either, which irritates me to no end.  We have a great deal more than just baseball games riding on the strength of their predictive models.  Sara could provide me with no satisfactory answers.  I was not happy about that and told her so.  And this is how you escaped the full brunt of my wrath."

. . .

"Sure, but was Alfredo the problem, or were you just trying to show us you were being proactive?  I'm not some rube on the street corner you can hustle with a little misdirection.  I'll admit that I have no idea what's going on with the team, but it's your job to know what's going on, why things are the way they are, and all I get from you and Sara are shoulder shrugs?  For months this team floundered and what did we hear from you?  Nothing.  Complete radio silence."

. . . 

"Oh believe me, mister, Sara got it worse.  And busy or not you pick up the phone once in a while."

. . .

"Point zero two percent, to be exact.  She said only one sim in five thousand was even approaching this level of awful."

. . .

"Oh, you do?  Well, I can't say I'm looking forward to seeing it, but it would be good to read some useful analysis, assuming you have some."

. . .

"No, I have not reconsidered.  Christmas is canceled this year.  You're cut off from the ancillaries this go around.  You figure out a way to make the little green bar taller than the little red bar this season, and then we'll talk."

. . .

"Yes, I suggest you get to work. Goodbye."