Off Topic
A Visit From Amit
September 23, 2058: Forever Land – General Manager Ron Collins is sitting in his office chair, spinning counterclockwise and feeling the late fall ocean breeze whistle through the open windows of the thatched hut that serves as his main office. It feels a lot like the early spring breeze, really. And the midsummer breeze, too. And the late summer breeze, for that matter. Every day is the same in the Marshall Islands. A little rain, a little sun, and a good salty breeze. The aroma of coconut brings a smile.
“It sucks to be me,” Collins says, whistling as he closes his eyes in preparation of a little nap.
The fact that it’s coming to the end of the season means it’s time to catch up on a little sleep and get prepared for the off-season flurry. That always takes a lot out of him.
As he’s zoning off, a sound comes that seems to be remarkably like a knock on the door.
Raising an eye, he sees it’s the youngster, Amit Hahn. The kid is literally brilliant. IQ off all the charts of charts. And he loves running numbers. Totally invaluable. Without him, Collins would never know the distribution of ground balls that have been hit to his shortstops all year, and where would he be without that kind of knowledge?
He gave an involuntary shiver.
“Amit,” Collins says, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Amit says, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a paly blue crystal that’s glowing with energy. “But I though you might need to see this.”
Collins sits forward, suddenly interested. “What is it? A new prospect in the Dominican?”
“No, sir,” Amit says as he puts the cube on the desk and presses a display projector. A sheet of data forms in midair. “It’s our chances for the playoffs.”
“Playoffs?” Collins says, his expression scrunched up in confusion.
“Um, yes. Playoffs.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s that exhibition thing that happens after the season is over,” says Monica Green, VP of Community Outreach, who has just stepped into he office.
“Oh. Right.” Collins scratches his head. “I kinda forgot about that.”
“Anyway,” Amit said. “We’ve still got a chance to make it in.”
“What?” Collins looks to the calendar to see that it is not, indeed, April 1st. “Get outta here. There’s only four games left in the season.”
Amit points to the report hovering over Collins’s desk. “I’m serious, sir. Look at this. We need a few things to happen, but it’s possible.”
Collins peers into the equations and the charts and the graphs, and as his brain settles he begins to see the full picture. A sweep of their last series with the Hapless Hawaii Tropics, and a Bluebird Sweep of Omaha would set up a Wild Card tie. Then the only things that would have to happen would be for San Fernando and Valencia to split their series with Sacramento and Vancouver.
“Jesus H. … “ Collins’s voice fades away. He looks to Green. “Is this real?”
“We’re already pitching it to the fan base to promote the Tropic series. Come see history in the making. Enter a raffle for playoff tickets. Yada, yada, yada. It’s going to be a great time.”
“What are the odds?” Collins said to Amit, suddenly breathless.
“I project them at something better than 200:1.”
“.5%,” Collins muttered.
“A lot better than 200:0,” Green said.
Collins chuckled. “That’s cool. If nothing else we can advertise that we’ve pulled a Phoenix.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Ron,” Green said. “Phoenix could still do that themselves.”
“13:1 odds on that, sir,” Amit broke in. “About 7%. Much more likely.”
Collins stood up and walked to the open window, running his hands through his hair, imagining a playoff spot, and then recalling his teams’ success rate in the silly exhibition. Games in October are…ugh. A few extra bucks would be nice, though. Then a new idea hits. His heart freezes. He whirls back to his visitors. “When does the season end?” he says.
“This Friday,” Green says.
Collins does mental math. “The 27th?”
“Right.”
“So you’re saying the silly exhibition season will start…”
“I don’t know,” Amit replies. “Maybe the 29th?”
“Of September?”
“Right.”
Collins brightens even further. “Thank you for this briefing,” he says. “It’s a lot to think about.” He goes back to his seat, and as his visitor leave the office, he spins his chair again, this time clockwise. There’s a chance, he thinks. A non-zero chance. And it if works out, well…
“September!” Collins chortles. “Postseason games in September!”
September 23, 2058: Forever Land – General Manager Ron Collins is sitting in his office chair, spinning counterclockwise and feeling the late fall ocean breeze whistle through the open windows of the thatched hut that serves as his main office. It feels a lot like the early spring breeze, really. And the midsummer breeze, too. And the late summer breeze, for that matter. Every day is the same in the Marshall Islands. A little rain, a little sun, and a good salty breeze. The aroma of coconut brings a smile.
“It sucks to be me,” Collins says, whistling as he closes his eyes in preparation of a little nap.
The fact that it’s coming to the end of the season means it’s time to catch up on a little sleep and get prepared for the off-season flurry. That always takes a lot out of him.
As he’s zoning off, a sound comes that seems to be remarkably like a knock on the door.
Raising an eye, he sees it’s the youngster, Amit Hahn. The kid is literally brilliant. IQ off all the charts of charts. And he loves running numbers. Totally invaluable. Without him, Collins would never know the distribution of ground balls that have been hit to his shortstops all year, and where would he be without that kind of knowledge?
He gave an involuntary shiver.
“Amit,” Collins says, “what can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir,” Amit says, stepping into the room. He’s carrying a paly blue crystal that’s glowing with energy. “But I though you might need to see this.”
Collins sits forward, suddenly interested. “What is it? A new prospect in the Dominican?”
“No, sir,” Amit says as he puts the cube on the desk and presses a display projector. A sheet of data forms in midair. “It’s our chances for the playoffs.”
“Playoffs?” Collins says, his expression scrunched up in confusion.
“Um, yes. Playoffs.”
“I don’t get it.”
“It’s that exhibition thing that happens after the season is over,” says Monica Green, VP of Community Outreach, who has just stepped into he office.
“Oh. Right.” Collins scratches his head. “I kinda forgot about that.”
“Anyway,” Amit said. “We’ve still got a chance to make it in.”
“What?” Collins looks to the calendar to see that it is not, indeed, April 1st. “Get outta here. There’s only four games left in the season.”
Amit points to the report hovering over Collins’s desk. “I’m serious, sir. Look at this. We need a few things to happen, but it’s possible.”
Collins peers into the equations and the charts and the graphs, and as his brain settles he begins to see the full picture. A sweep of their last series with the Hapless Hawaii Tropics, and a Bluebird Sweep of Omaha would set up a Wild Card tie. Then the only things that would have to happen would be for San Fernando and Valencia to split their series with Sacramento and Vancouver.
“Jesus H. … “ Collins’s voice fades away. He looks to Green. “Is this real?”
“We’re already pitching it to the fan base to promote the Tropic series. Come see history in the making. Enter a raffle for playoff tickets. Yada, yada, yada. It’s going to be a great time.”
“What are the odds?” Collins said to Amit, suddenly breathless.
“I project them at something better than 200:1.”
“.5%,” Collins muttered.
“A lot better than 200:0,” Green said.
Collins chuckled. “That’s cool. If nothing else we can advertise that we’ve pulled a Phoenix.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Ron,” Green said. “Phoenix could still do that themselves.”
“13:1 odds on that, sir,” Amit broke in. “About 7%. Much more likely.”
Collins stood up and walked to the open window, running his hands through his hair, imagining a playoff spot, and then recalling his teams’ success rate in the silly exhibition. Games in October are…ugh. A few extra bucks would be nice, though. Then a new idea hits. His heart freezes. He whirls back to his visitors. “When does the season end?” he says.
“This Friday,” Green says.
Collins does mental math. “The 27th?”
“Right.”
“So you’re saying the silly exhibition season will start…”
“I don’t know,” Amit replies. “Maybe the 29th?”
“Of September?”
“Right.”
Collins brightens even further. “Thank you for this briefing,” he says. “It’s a lot to think about.” He goes back to his seat, and as his visitor leave the office, he spins his chair again, this time clockwise. There’s a chance, he thinks. A non-zero chance. And it if works out, well…
“September!” Collins chortles. “Postseason games in September!”
