Director of Scouting
The Chicago Black Sox
Miskatonic, Iowa – I am not mad. I can assure you of that.
Nor have I imbibed of intoxicants or pharmaceutical consciousness-altering substances, like the sacrificial lambs sent by our franchise to carry out this suicide mission of despair last year.
And yet …
And yet, I have seen things … things no sane man can see and yet remain sane.
By now, you must know we are in Iowa … portal to the Nameless Mist, gateway to Yog-Sothoth ... and home of the Des Moines Kernels.
Pray for us.
*** We are late to our mission this year, slow to set out on our path to certain doom, but resigned nonetheless to our fate. Benny Vitale – the Black Sox General Manager and She-Who-Lurks-Behind-The-iMac – insisted that we give her a report on the Kernels, a doormat to some but a scourge to Chicago.
And so we begin, with the benefit of watching the Kernels’ first few games in the palace of pain they have re-Christened Edward Murphy Memorial Stadium to honor their beloved former General Manager. What we saw sends shudders of horror through our very being, for Des Moines looked … not hopeless.
The Starting Rotation
This rotation should be little more than a dry, empty husk with the departure of Don Smith, who was delivered to safety in the Arizona desert when the hive mind of Des Moines dealt him to Phoenix for a cluster of power hitters. But … there is still talent here: Timmy Karnes must grow further into his potential, but what potential there is. One recoils at the thought of what the coaching staff, no doubt in thrall to Atlach-Nacha, the Spinner in Darkness, might put him through to fulfill his promise … Juan Garcia (still one of two on staff) struggled through an injury-filled 2042, but has a track record of BBA success and would be welcome on most any staff … but there are still question marks here. In a stadium that does little to suppress the long ball, many on staff (Tsunesaburo Hashimoto, Ernesto Lopes, and new free agent acquisition Bobby Lynch) have pitch movement ratings in the 3-4 range. Could this come back to bite them? Will Chaugnar Faugn, the Horror From the Hills, even allow such a thing? Avert your eyes, I beg you …
The Bullpen
Pedro Tañón, and José Castro form the talented back end of the bullpen, and the other Juan Garcia has electric stuff (scouts peg his rating here at 12/13) but flaws in other areas of his game. In short, the bullpen talent pool is a bit shallow and even features Black Sox castoff Héctor Reyes (who had an 8.24 ERA for the Kernels last season). These unfortunates must up their games, lest they be cast into a pit with Cyäegha, The Waiting Dark …
The Lineup
Here we find cause for concern, because free agent signings and the wealth of offensive talent from Phoenix has brought smiles to the faces of the Des Moines overlords (except, of course, for the Byagoona, the Faceless Ones) … Manager Johnathan Henry (who may or may not be descended from Byatis, the Berkeley Toad) is experimenting with Héctor Cruz, a slugging left fielder, in the lead-off role. Of course, virtually anyone he puts in the leadoff role would be at least a borderline slugger: Cruz is 8/8 for home run power; 3B Kiichi Suzuki is 7/7; DH Lúcio De La Cruz is 10/10 and hit 40 bombs last year; CF Mitch Dalrymple is 6/6; 1B Juan Mateo, acquired from Phoenix, is 8/8; RF Norihisa Yokoyama, also from Phoenix, is 8/8; free agent Catcher Luis Barrera is 7/7; SS Alan Williamson is 6/6; and 2B Chua-Kah Yang, from Phoenix, is 8/10. And that’s just the group against right-handed pitchers … we lack the spiritual resolve to even go into the lineup against left-handers.
Endings and Contemplations
Now, as I steel myself to conclude this missive and send it off to Benny Vitale, I find myself contemplating the enigma of the Des Moines Kernels: this is a team that could hit a billion home runs, but allow a billion-and-one.
There is talent here, Lord help us. Not enough, likely, to escape the cellar of the Heartland Division this season, but enough to give the rest of the league pause for the future. And enough to devour the hopes and dreams of the Chicago Black Sox yet again this season. This year, like every year, the Kernels can be counted upon to toy with Sox hopes, much as Cthulhu (The Great Dreamer) toys with the hopes of humanity itself, and then dash them against the rocks of lost series and squandered momentum.
Now, sitting in the lobby of the Miskatonic Super 8, I can’t help but notice the desk clerk’s eyes are covered by nictitating membranes … which suggest he is something other than precisely human. His gaze has turned to me, and I know now that I have tarried too long in the belly of the beast.
I am not mad, I assure you.
But I can guess my destiny: the desk clerk at any moment will open a trans-dimensional portal behind the coffee kiosk and I shall be cast inside to meet my fate at the hands of Gog-Hoor, Eater of the Insane.
For I am here, at the edge of the Cornfields of Madness.