Woody Donahue was not interested in watching the Spuds game. He had it on, on an iPad on the corner of his desk, but he was more intrigued by what was happening on his computer screen, where he was looking at the splits of players in his farm system.On the iPad, the Spuds were losing to Phoenix for the second night in a row, in a series that was crucial if they wanted any hope of contending for a Wildcard spot.
His desk phone’s speaker buzzed and he was greeted by the sound of his assistant’s voice. “Uh, Frank Grigg on the line for you,” they said. “He sounds… worried.”
Donahue picked up the phone. “Frank,” he said.
“I’m worried,” responded Grigg.
“Yeah, and the sky is blue,” Donahue said. He heard some crowd noise on the other end of the line. “Are you at the game?”
“Well, I have this owner’s box, pity not to use it,” said Grigg. “I just wish I had a better team to watch. Even the Tater Thots are disappointing. What happened to the dark-haired girl who’s usually at the front?”
Donahue hesitated. “Yeah, I… I’ve been trying to get in touch with her for a couple weeks.”
“Woods, I’m worried,” continued Grigg. “I’m worried we didn’t get enough for Román. All the players we got in the deal are injured. Moelling; gone for the season. Vaughn; gone for the season. Yes, we got Camacho, but he can’t hit his weight. And let’s not forget about John Mellott, that ‘stud prospect’ you wanted. What’s his ERA in Short-A ball? A fucking 6? We gave up a superstar, and we got nothing.”
“Frank…” Donahue started.
“And now you trade Alfonzo away, for what? Some slapdick pitcher in A-ball?” Grigg carried on. “I don’t make money from selling tickets in fucking Tulsa! I need to sell them in Boise!”
“Would you rather have gotten nothing?” Donahue shot back. “Because that’s what would’ve happened when Alfonzo hit free agency.”
Donahue continued. “Look, trades are a long-term process. We’ll reap the rewards a couple years down the line. The first set of guys are starting to appear in the majors now. Look at John Adams and Mu'ayyad bin Tamir. In case you forgot, they were products of the French and Asseldonk trades in ’47. And now they’re both hitting over .300, and bin Tamir just won Rookie of the Month.”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to still have French and Asseldonk,” Grigg said. “Anyway, the trade deadline is this week. Don’t trade away any more of my players, or you’re out on your ass.”
He hung up, leaving Donahue to ponder his job security.
Donahue looked over at the iPad. Phoenix had scored two more runs, and Cornelio Lozano had been called from the bullpen to pitch for Boise. Lozano snapped off a vicious curveball that had Dick Walton flailing. He could be an interesting trade piece for a contending team. But was it worth risking his job?
He contemplated for a second, then shrugged. A couple phone calls couldn’t hurt. He rang his assistant. “Ada, get Chad Nason on the phone. Let’s see if Nashville wants a reunion with Lozano.”
