Off Topic
Transcript Leaked From Hidden Logs of the Bikini Krill Front Office
April 1, 2058: Forever Land: Bikini General Manager Ron Collins wipes his hands down the thigh of his pant legs. It’s come to this. Yes, it has. With a glance to the “spring” weather outside his window, which is really just the weather, since nothing ever really changes when it comes to that here in the Marshall Islands — Every day, rain. Every day, sun, every day a gentle breeze — and with the taste of salt in the air, Collins presses the final button to complete the call.
The phone rings twice.
“Hello,” the voice on the other end says.
“Richie, baby!” Collins replies. “So great to hear your voice again.”
”Excuse me, who is this again?
“Don’t play hard to get, this is Ron Collins, General Manager of the Bikini Krill.”
“Oh.” The pause goes on for a beat longer than awkward. “Oh, you mean the Ron Collins that said I suck at playing baseball?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Yeah, you’d say it more like: Rich Dares is not a championship second baseman, as I recall.”
“Well—”
“Or: Dares is a deep spy sent from the Nashville organization years ago.”
“Hey, that was a while ago, right? Heat of the moment.”
“Oh, all right. Well, then, um … what can this ‘not a championship second baseman’ do for you now?”
Collins breathes a slow breath. “Well, Rich, I was wondering if you would be interested in playing for the Krill. We could use a guy like you, you know? Good hitter from both sides, able to play across the infield? And don’t you think I haven’t remembered that Geoghegan Series MVP you won for us.”
“You mean the MVP that came in one of those championship series you keep losing?”
“Yeah,” Collins said, grimacing. If he didn’t have an ulcer already, this call was probably giving him one. “That series.”
“Well,” Dares says, thinking. “I admit the ballpark looks nice. And the kids wouldn’t mid a free pass to Forever Land.”
“We can make that happen, Richie baby. Not a problem.”
“What’s the number you had in mind?”
Collins pumps a fist. When you’re down to talking dollars, that means a deal can happen, and he needs a decent middle infielder enough to swallow his pride to make it happen. “Is a million cool?”
“One million? Dares replies.
“Indeed!”
“I’d say that’s not very cool at all.”
“Hmm. All right, two. Two million dollars to play in the most beautiful baseball park in the world.”
“Now you’re talking tuna,” Dares says.
“Fantastic!” Collins exclaims. “I’ll have a contract sent directly.
“Great,” Dares adds. “And don’t forget to add in the pain and suffering bonus.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two million to play. And another two million to forget that I’m not a championship second baseman.”
Collins grits his teeth, hearing the glee in Rich Dare’s voice. Not, he guesses, that he could blame him. “I see,” Collins replies. “You’re saying you want $4M.”
“Two million to play. And another two million to forget that I’m not a championship second baseman.” Dares repeats. “It was going to be $4M to forget I’m not a championship second baseman, but the kids really do want to go to Forever Land, and some things are worth more than a little extra cash.”
Collins drums his fingers against his desktop. Dares has the power here. And the club can afford it now. “All right,” he says. “I’ll have the contract sent your way. We’ll need to Door you to Sacramento for the game tonight.”
“Not a problem, Ronnie, baby. Not a problem."
April 1, 2058: Forever Land: Bikini General Manager Ron Collins wipes his hands down the thigh of his pant legs. It’s come to this. Yes, it has. With a glance to the “spring” weather outside his window, which is really just the weather, since nothing ever really changes when it comes to that here in the Marshall Islands — Every day, rain. Every day, sun, every day a gentle breeze — and with the taste of salt in the air, Collins presses the final button to complete the call.
The phone rings twice.
“Hello,” the voice on the other end says.
“Richie, baby!” Collins replies. “So great to hear your voice again.”
”Excuse me, who is this again?
“Don’t play hard to get, this is Ron Collins, General Manager of the Bikini Krill.”
“Oh.” The pause goes on for a beat longer than awkward. “Oh, you mean the Ron Collins that said I suck at playing baseball?”
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way.”
“Yeah, you’d say it more like: Rich Dares is not a championship second baseman, as I recall.”
“Well—”
“Or: Dares is a deep spy sent from the Nashville organization years ago.”
“Hey, that was a while ago, right? Heat of the moment.”
“Oh, all right. Well, then, um … what can this ‘not a championship second baseman’ do for you now?”
Collins breathes a slow breath. “Well, Rich, I was wondering if you would be interested in playing for the Krill. We could use a guy like you, you know? Good hitter from both sides, able to play across the infield? And don’t you think I haven’t remembered that Geoghegan Series MVP you won for us.”
“You mean the MVP that came in one of those championship series you keep losing?”
“Yeah,” Collins said, grimacing. If he didn’t have an ulcer already, this call was probably giving him one. “That series.”
“Well,” Dares says, thinking. “I admit the ballpark looks nice. And the kids wouldn’t mid a free pass to Forever Land.”
“We can make that happen, Richie baby. Not a problem.”
“What’s the number you had in mind?”
Collins pumps a fist. When you’re down to talking dollars, that means a deal can happen, and he needs a decent middle infielder enough to swallow his pride to make it happen. “Is a million cool?”
“One million? Dares replies.
“Indeed!”
“I’d say that’s not very cool at all.”
“Hmm. All right, two. Two million dollars to play in the most beautiful baseball park in the world.”
“Now you’re talking tuna,” Dares says.
“Fantastic!” Collins exclaims. “I’ll have a contract sent directly.
“Great,” Dares adds. “And don’t forget to add in the pain and suffering bonus.”
“Excuse me?”
“Two million to play. And another two million to forget that I’m not a championship second baseman.”
Collins grits his teeth, hearing the glee in Rich Dare’s voice. Not, he guesses, that he could blame him. “I see,” Collins replies. “You’re saying you want $4M.”
“Two million to play. And another two million to forget that I’m not a championship second baseman.” Dares repeats. “It was going to be $4M to forget I’m not a championship second baseman, but the kids really do want to go to Forever Land, and some things are worth more than a little extra cash.”
Collins drums his fingers against his desktop. Dares has the power here. And the club can afford it now. “All right,” he says. “I’ll have the contract sent your way. We’ll need to Door you to Sacramento for the game tonight.”
“Not a problem, Ronnie, baby. Not a problem."
