Off Topic
A Voice From the Past Opts-In
December 1, 2057: Forever Land – The communications system gave a soft ping that drew Bikini General Manager Ron Collins’s attention from the various financial and development reports he’d been dug down into. With a sigh, he pushed back, feeling the omnipresent sensation that came with knowing both reports showed too few gains and too many losses.
Outside, the skies were growing ominously dark. That was how it was in Forever Land on the Atoll. It rained almost every day, but the weather was hit and run. Clouds and gales this moment, clear skies and humidity the next.
The tone said the call was from the states somewhere, but the information block on the system didn’t register it as coming from anyone he knew. Junk Call, he thought. Probably from Portland or Valencia if he had it traced. Both those clubs had been ramping up their fund raising efforts lately. Or maybe it was from Hawaii, but he wasn’t sure the Tropics had anyone in their organization intelligent enough to run a full remote fund-raising op. Either way, it was an annoying diversion, which had probably been their goal anyway. Keep him from working.
He turned the feed off and returned to the download he’d been reading.
But the tone came again, incessant this time.
Annoyed, Collins answered.
“Who is it?”
“Um,” the voice on the other line hesitated. “Can we do video?”
The voice was male. Middle-aged, with a mid-western accent that Collins had gotten used to during his time with Yellow Springs. For whatever reason, Collins trusted it. He used eye movement to toggle the system. An image snapped into place in the middle of his thatched hut. A man. Maybe forty-five years old. He looked familiar, but Collins couldn’t quite place him.
Finally it clicked.
“Well hell, man, if it’s not John Hickman. What are you up to these days?”
Hickman was a bigtime player in the Seattle organization back in the day. Collins remembered many times thinking about what it might take to trade for him. Played the outfield, mostly. A good switch hitter who you could almost pencil in for 25 homers and 90 RBI in his prime. For a moment, Collins pondered if the guy could still play. He needed someone to play good defense and hit from the right side. Hickman had been elite with the glove, too—he’d been a really solid all-arounder, if not quite Hall of Fame caliber. Hickman was also a steady guy, as he recalled. Someone the whole Yellow Springs organization thought would be a great fit in the clubhouse.
Unfortunately, the silver sheen in Hickman’s hair said that might have been too long ago.
“I’ve been keeping busy,” Hickman said. “Went back home to Indiana after hangin’ them up and dealt with my dad’s business for a bit. Got the kids outta the house and into school. You know how it is.”
“That’s great,” Collins said. “Glad to hear things are going good. So, what can I do for you?”
“Well,” Hickman said, squirming. “I was wondering if the franchise might have something for me to do.”
Collins smiled warmly. “My goodness, John. I’d love to have a guy like you in the mix. Are you thinking PR or something in the front office.” Collins leaned in and whispered. “To be honest, I’m thinking about finding a replacement for my assistant pretty soon. The guy kinda rubs everyone the wrong way.”
Hickman’s entire face relaxed. He’d been afraid to ask for a job, it seemed, and Collins’s excitement helped him wind down.
“To be honest, I’m thinking I’d like to do something on the field. Maybe teach kids how to play the game.”
“You want to coach?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time as an associate for the high schools here in Seymour. Mentoring and teaching kids how to hit. I think I might be good at it. And, you know, I mean, I looked at what you guys are doing with the old franchise and it seems pretty existing. I thought maybe I could help out?”
“That’s interesting, John,” Collins said, scratching his chin. He and the staff had been on a long quest to get the team’s minor league coaching system back on the straight path. There was still a lot of work to do. Maybe Hickman really could work out. “Would you be willing to start at the bottom? Hitting coach at Rookie ball?”
Hickman’s eyes blazed. “Rookie ball would be so perfect I couldn’t even tell you,” he said.
“We’ve got a guy there now,” Collins said. “But I’d be happy to buy him out to bring a guy like you on board.” He paused to look out the window briefly enough to see that the clouds had blown away. “The Ogden job’s yours if you want it?”
Hickman beamed. “Yeah. I want it.”
December 1, 2057: Forever Land – The communications system gave a soft ping that drew Bikini General Manager Ron Collins’s attention from the various financial and development reports he’d been dug down into. With a sigh, he pushed back, feeling the omnipresent sensation that came with knowing both reports showed too few gains and too many losses.
Outside, the skies were growing ominously dark. That was how it was in Forever Land on the Atoll. It rained almost every day, but the weather was hit and run. Clouds and gales this moment, clear skies and humidity the next.
The tone said the call was from the states somewhere, but the information block on the system didn’t register it as coming from anyone he knew. Junk Call, he thought. Probably from Portland or Valencia if he had it traced. Both those clubs had been ramping up their fund raising efforts lately. Or maybe it was from Hawaii, but he wasn’t sure the Tropics had anyone in their organization intelligent enough to run a full remote fund-raising op. Either way, it was an annoying diversion, which had probably been their goal anyway. Keep him from working.
He turned the feed off and returned to the download he’d been reading.
But the tone came again, incessant this time.
Annoyed, Collins answered.
“Who is it?”
“Um,” the voice on the other line hesitated. “Can we do video?”
The voice was male. Middle-aged, with a mid-western accent that Collins had gotten used to during his time with Yellow Springs. For whatever reason, Collins trusted it. He used eye movement to toggle the system. An image snapped into place in the middle of his thatched hut. A man. Maybe forty-five years old. He looked familiar, but Collins couldn’t quite place him.
Finally it clicked.
“Well hell, man, if it’s not John Hickman. What are you up to these days?”
Hickman was a bigtime player in the Seattle organization back in the day. Collins remembered many times thinking about what it might take to trade for him. Played the outfield, mostly. A good switch hitter who you could almost pencil in for 25 homers and 90 RBI in his prime. For a moment, Collins pondered if the guy could still play. He needed someone to play good defense and hit from the right side. Hickman had been elite with the glove, too—he’d been a really solid all-arounder, if not quite Hall of Fame caliber. Hickman was also a steady guy, as he recalled. Someone the whole Yellow Springs organization thought would be a great fit in the clubhouse.
Unfortunately, the silver sheen in Hickman’s hair said that might have been too long ago.
“I’ve been keeping busy,” Hickman said. “Went back home to Indiana after hangin’ them up and dealt with my dad’s business for a bit. Got the kids outta the house and into school. You know how it is.”
“That’s great,” Collins said. “Glad to hear things are going good. So, what can I do for you?”
“Well,” Hickman said, squirming. “I was wondering if the franchise might have something for me to do.”
Collins smiled warmly. “My goodness, John. I’d love to have a guy like you in the mix. Are you thinking PR or something in the front office.” Collins leaned in and whispered. “To be honest, I’m thinking about finding a replacement for my assistant pretty soon. The guy kinda rubs everyone the wrong way.”
Hickman’s entire face relaxed. He’d been afraid to ask for a job, it seemed, and Collins’s excitement helped him wind down.
“To be honest, I’m thinking I’d like to do something on the field. Maybe teach kids how to play the game.”
“You want to coach?”
“I’ve spent a lot of time as an associate for the high schools here in Seymour. Mentoring and teaching kids how to hit. I think I might be good at it. And, you know, I mean, I looked at what you guys are doing with the old franchise and it seems pretty existing. I thought maybe I could help out?”
“That’s interesting, John,” Collins said, scratching his chin. He and the staff had been on a long quest to get the team’s minor league coaching system back on the straight path. There was still a lot of work to do. Maybe Hickman really could work out. “Would you be willing to start at the bottom? Hitting coach at Rookie ball?”
Hickman’s eyes blazed. “Rookie ball would be so perfect I couldn’t even tell you,” he said.
“We’ve got a guy there now,” Collins said. “But I’d be happy to buy him out to bring a guy like you on board.” He paused to look out the window briefly enough to see that the clouds had blown away. “The Ogden job’s yours if you want it?”
Hickman beamed. “Yeah. I want it.”
