2065.07 - Sim 3 // Decision Time

[R.Umali]

Monday. April 20, 2065. Suchi Math & Science.

It was Monday afternoon after lunch, and Will and Mustafa were in their sanctuary again: the retro computer room, a haven for seniors tired of waiting for college decisions to finish loading. Will’s spirit ran higher than it had in weeks. His acceptance letter from the University of Wisconsin–Madison had landed Thursday evening like a power-up orb.

“It might be us, Moose,” Will said, descending into Werdna’s Deep Dungeon Level 7 in Wizardry. “In Madison.”

“No way, my droog!” Mustafa chirped without looking up. “Real horrorshow! You and me, my little chelloveck—dorm by the lake, moloko ice-cream every den, and coodies leering all nochy!”

Will rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the grin. A weight had evaporated. Chicago was home, but Madison had begun to glow in his mind like a save point lit up in the fog.

“Yes, I’m pleased.” He glanced at his modern device propped next to the Apple IIe. The Black Sox were halfway through tropical road trip last night (3 guys in Hawaii, then a long joint to Bikini Atoll), and he was almost through with the condensed highlights—or lowlights, more accurately.

Chicago got rinsed in Hawaii, despite Dave Matthes best efforts. Seeing him at the top of the lineup has been a bright spot. He had a 2-HR game on Saturday, and another one against the Krill late last night.

But the defense kept finding new ways to plummet. Jeff Feagin already had five errors through 17 games. Last Septemer's call-up version of Feagin was errorless and thrilling. Feels like a memory from a parallel universe. His bat this season was still thumping (4 HR, 9 RBI), but every twentieth ball hit his way seemed to roll through his fingers or fritz out his brain.

And Steveland Morris, still perfect on the bases (8-for-8), looked lost at third. Three errors in 29 chances. Not tenable.

Mustafa, a casual baseball fan if there ever was one, looked over and asked, “How’s my chelloveck Timofei Gadomsky? Any real fire?”

Gadomsky was one of the few Russians in the BBA, which made him the unofficial patron saint of Mustafa’s casual fandom.

“Oh, Full Pack’s killing it,” Will said. “On track for another 30-homer season. Tolya Shiller, on the other hand, got banished to long relief.”

“He shall slooshy his chance and rise again,” Mustafa intoned in mock prophecy.

“I’m not sure he rose even once!”

They both went back to their screens, their ancient machines humming like familiars at their elbows.

And somewhere in the background of Will’s mind, somewhere below the grind of dungeons and the relief of an acceptance letter, another uneasy truth flickered: if the Sox didn’t fix the leather soon, even easy-living Madison wasn’t far enough to escape the heartburn of being a Black Sox fan.
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A 2-4 Sim 3 contained a lot of confirmation bias in regard to defense. 7 errors in 6 games. Our FIP leads the league (3.66) while our errors trails it (18). Our defensive efficiency is a catastrophic .667 (?!?!). Pitching: playoff caliber. Defense: lottery caliber.