Passed By

Since today is Friday, and it is Friday the 13th, it is nevertheless Fiction Friday. So, let's get going.

I thought that it was funny how the situation worked out. I guess funny isn't quite the right word, but I guess ironic would be better. I had turned the kid on to baseball, but now he was the reason I was turned off. Maybe I better backup. A few years ago, Joe hadn't even wanted to touch a baseball. He simply had no interest in it, but, being his friend, I thought it would do him good to have something to do. With much convincing on my part, he finally caved in and came out to play. All of a sudden, it was like I couldn't keep him away from the game, and the problem was that he kept getting better. Soon, I that he would pass me by, and for some reason, even though he was my friend, I couldn't stand it. I knew that I was going to lose playing time to him, and I would even lose my starting position because he kept getting better. So in a way, I kind of knocked myself off the starting lineup, but of course you can't blame yourself, then only way I could give blame was by giving it to him.
Photo by Unhindered by Talent on Flickr

Loss of a Star

Today is Friday, so here comes some fiction!

The game sped along quickly as the Jaguars and Falcons did battle. These two giants of Florida basketball were squaring off for the first time ever as the Falcons were from the Miami area whereas the Jaguars were from the Panhandle. Fate had never brought them together until this night in March. Both teams ran a high-octane offense so there was little time for even the spectators to catch their breath. This night was a little bit different for the Falcons though. As much as their coach, Dan Smith, tried to run a very balanced offense, he was blessed or perhaps cursed by having the best player in Florida on his team who ran the offense most of the time. The blessing is how he led his team to an undefeated year while playing as good as any player in recent Florida history, but the curse comes when your team doesn't know how to run without him, and he happens to be hurt during the most important game of the year. Nothing throws off a team's balance like dropping the anchor of the team. But they had to play, they had to bring their A game tonight, or this season was over.
Photo by aturkus on Flickr

Fiction Friday Night Live

All right, there is no more winning streak for the Phillies. However, do not despair because today is Fiction Friday! I know that that just brightened up your day even though it is almost over.

As I sat in my hotel room in Sacramento with my elbow throbbing and the rest of my joints not quite what they used to be, I had to think about my future a relative lack thereof. It was evident that my days in the NBA were limited. At one point, I was on top of the depth chart, but now I was feeling the pressure of all that water on my head. When the team takes a first-round draft pick who happens to play your position, you get the hint that they might be searching for a replacement. When you're drafted out of high school, your joints don't hold up until you're 40 like the college graduates. I was only 34, but I already felt like someone twice my age. The problem was that I didn't want to admit that I was going downhill. When you play a sport and are constantly praised for your amazing fitness level, it's hard to admit that you don't quite have it anymore. But it was becoming obvious to me, I had to face the facts and deal with what looked like a painful rest of the year for me and my body.
Photo by Colin Gregory Palmer on Flickr

Alternate History

Today is Friday, and although my post is very late at night, it still remains as Fiction Friday. However, I want to change it up a little bit. I've watched many Phillies games on the opposing team's network. Although this doesn't happen anymore, I want to make my fiction today based on what could have happened had one specific trade not happened.

Let's say that Bobby Abreu was never traded from the Tampa Bay Rays to the Philadelphia Phillies for Kevin Stocker. The aging Stocker was wearing down even though he was only approaching 30, so the Rays decided to keep the young prospect Abreu. Without an answer in right field, the Phillies went out to drain a ton of money into a right fielder who happened to not pan out while Stocker retired a year later. Abreu, on the other hand, gave the Rays exactly what they needed to complement the savvy veterans on the original expansion roster and actually not be pathetic for so many years. What's more, the Phillies continue to stick with Stocker through his early 30s hoping that someday he will turn around his performance, and that totally miss on another young shortstop who should have debuted in 2000, Jimmy Rollins.

Although this is only a very brief alternate history, and you can see why one of the most talked about trades in recent Phillies history was vitally important to the franchise.
Photo by emples on Flickr

Demotion

Okay, today is Fiction Friday as you probably assumed. The countdown is at nine days until the Vermont Chargers hold a power soccer clinic at the University of Vermont. The Phillies will do better than they did last night. Now that I've said all that, on with the story.

"Hey Joe, Skip wants to see you."

As these words came out of the mouth of our pitching coach, my heart sank. Somehow I knew that this wouldn't be a happy talk. Why did I feel that way? Well I had been pitching badly, and since I was always aware, for good or for the bad, of my rearview mirror, I knew that there were a few guys in AA who were racking up wins and strikeouts.

I stepped away from my locker and walked across the room. Of course all my teammates knew where I was headed. Some of them probably didn't want me to go, some of them were probably ready to ship me to the farthest away team they could find. I didn't really care about them though; I just didn't want to take that step back. After working so hard to make AAA, one step away from the big leagues, I was about to be two steps away. But I knew that I had to open that door and face the music.

Photo by salvez on Flickr

All Alone

Finally, and sadly, we know that LeBron is in Miami, so now the sports world can move on to something new. However, for me, today is Fiction Friday, so without further ado...

How do they live in a world without sports? I think that it'd be pretty boring to be quite honest. However, I didn't need to think about it since I was living it. It seemed like the rules were different here. No baseball, no basketball. As far as I was concerned, I was entirely separated from civilization. Without sports, it seemed like I had somehow stepped back to a more primitive time. Of course, you know that I'm exaggerating greatly since sports are not quite everything, but it was an entirely different experience not to be able to walk outside, find some playground basketball court, and pick up a game. It didn't matter who you played with. All that really mattered was the point that you were playing, so I decided that I wanted to make that happen here. I stepped out of my new house and dribbled a few paces down the asphalt. I wasn't going to be the only one for very long, I would show them what they were missing.
Photo by (matt) on Flickr

Minor League Fiction

Naturally, since it is Friday, it is Fiction Friday!

I never thought that I would be in this situation right now. When you drafted right out of high school, you get your hopes up. However, just because you get that contract doesn't mean you're guaranteed for a future of stardom.

In fact, I was about as far from stardom as you could possibly get. I was standing on the pitcher's mound in a tiny ball park in basically a glorified men's league. It was quite the detour from where I intended to be as a 24-year-old right-handed pitcher with an 86 mph fastball and a pretty decent 12 to 6 curveball that occasionally hit the zone. Granted, I realized that I had a long way to improve, but I always thought that I would continue to improve. That is, I thought that until one night pitching in Clearwater, Florida when I felt that pop. I had always heard about arm injuries, but I never realized how devastating an arm injury could be when you run the edge of survival anyway. This was the beginning of the end for my professional career, or so I thought. However, I knew that I couldn't leave it forever, so I began to explore and find out where me and my slow fastball would still be wanted.

Photo by gregor_y

My Weakness

Whatever the reason, I couldn't get my mind off of that pitch. I could hit a fastball, curveball, even knuckleball (although I had never faced a Tim Wakefield caliber one), but I could not handle the crazy change up. There was something deceptive about that pitch, a thinly disguised fastball. However, I just couldn't handle it. I guess it was one of those things that no matter how many hours I spent in the batting cage or how many hitting camps I went to with how many retired professionals I just could never figure out.

I think something had to do with tension. When I stepped up to the plate, I was grabbed by a desire to swing. Something in my arm muscles or perhaps everything in my body wanted me to jump on every pitch. I guess when you are jumping on every pitch, it makes sense that a change up would be your downfall. I would step up to plate telling myself to be patient and to sit back on the inevitable pitch that I knew had to be coming. But the result was always the same, it had always been and always would be my downfall, but I tried to hide it as best I could and go on bashing fastballs.
Photo by parent5446 on Flickr

Shady Dealing

I forgot to write fiction yesterday; my bad. So, even though there is still much to write about today, I will backtrack to yesterday and give you a piece of fiction.

Glancing stealthily around the corner, Ben Wolfson wondered why he was even here. What on earth had possessed him to abuse the privilege to access the Commissioner's Office? He knew the answer to that one; he was being paid a lot of money. He knew that that wasn't enough reason to rig the draft, but somehow he justified this in his mind. He knew that what he was doing was a blatant abuse of his position. He was supposed to be there to make sure that the draft was fair and that every team got their appropriate level of first position chances. However, sometimes things change. For Ben, everything changed when he met Joe. Joe, who never liked his last name mentioned, came up to Ben in a bar, offering to buy him a drink and pulling up a chair. Not seeing anything wrong with this guy, Ben humored him and accepted the offer while initiating conversation. They chatted for a few minutes about the perceived common interest of basketball. Gradually, Joe drove the conversation toward the upcoming NBA draft. Feeling comfortable now, Ben talked about the important role he had in determining the eventual outcome. A slight smile came over Joe's face; he knew what he wanted this to go.

Remember, this is total fiction. Names, situation, and everything else is entirely fictional.

Photo by josh.liba on Flickr

Roughed Up on the Mound

Since today is Friday, as I have done customarily, I will write fiction.

Despite the fact that the sun was shining and a nice breeze was blowing in from left field, it was difficult to get comfortable on the pitcher's mound. For some reason, I couldn't find my footing along the rubber. If that wasn't enough of a problem, I also couldn't grip the seams well, and my curveball looked more like an underhanded lob because I couldn't get any snap on it.

I had struggled for the first three innings scattering five hits, four walks, and three runs around me. Having an ERA for the game of nine and a WHIP of three isn't too great, but entering the fourth inning, I started to see the hope for a change. I'm not sure what it was that all of a sudden made me feel so comfortable, but I knew I had to take advantage of it while it lasted because surely it couldn't last forever. Among my teammates, I was a notoriously fast worker not wanting to waste any daylight between pitches. However, this day by began to kick it into overdrive. No sooner had I gotten the ball back then I was already up on the mound delivering the next one. Again, when the flow comes you don't argue, you go with it. All of a sudden, I thought I might survive the game.
Photo by DJ Anto D on Flickr

Try to Get Published!

Hey everyone, before I write on Fiction Friday, I hope that some of you are speed writers. I just found out about this today, and luckily I already had a story written to enter. ESPN the Magazine is running a contest until June 1 requesting entries of sports fiction for potential publication in either ESPN the Magazine or Stymie, a journal of sports and literature. Here's the link to the flyer, and happy writing if you want to enter it with me! Now, on to my own writing today.

Joe Oken stood on the top step of the dugout watching his pitcher warm-up and infield take some grounders. He thought they looked pretty good, but it was hard to tell with baseball. Baseball is by far the most fickle sport. Some days you could throw a no-hitter, and some days you couldn't get anybody out. That was part of the reason he loved it, but there was more than that. How many other jobs give you an excuse to sit outside in the warm Georgia spring and watch a game being played that you were too old to play but still loved. He was 65 and recently retired from his job at the plant, but he could not retire from baseball. He had been coaching this team for 40 years at St. John's High School, he was now coaching kids of the kids he had started coaching in the 70s. That was kind of weird, he thought, but he really didn't worry too much about it. If you have something you love and the relationship is mutually beneficial, why bother leaving? He had taken the team to the state tournament 15 times and even had two state championships from the late 80s and early 90s. He would never forget that team; they could do everything well. Now, at the start of a new season, he was hoping to rekindle this magic that he hadn't felt on the field for a long time.
Photo by jdn on Flickr

Tryouts

How do I choose?

Standing on the sidelines, Coach Rick Williams was caught between the proverbial rock and hard place. He had nailed down nine spots on his select travel basketball team, but that one remaining spot was giving him more trouble than the previous nine combined. On one hand, he could take Luke, a kid who was clearly not at the level of all of the other players on that team but in terms of basketball IQ and potential "player-coach" material, he was unmatched. Rick could totally see him turning into a big-time coach someday; he just knew what to say to fire up his teammates and explain what had to be done. However, as a basketball player, he could not translate all that knowledge into on court performance.

On the other side, he could take Jake. As much as Luke knew the right thing to say, Jake knew what to say to turn off his teammates. His high school coach had told Rick that the one day that Jake missed practice all year was the most relaxing and positive practice of the year. If this team was about personality, there was no way he would have a place on it. However, basketball involves talent, and boy did Jake ever have that. At a very lean six foot five and 36 inch vertical, physical talent alone could get Jake on to anything he had ever tried out for. He had never played football before his freshman year of high school, but when he walked onto the field to try out, he made varsity.

So, how do you choose? Does it really matter how "coachable" a kid is? Maybe he just needs the right type of coach. Rick wanted to think that he was the right type of coach for everyone, but he knew that wasn't true. Now the choice was his; how could he ever decide?
Photo by DRB62

Absolute

Sorry I couldn't write yesterday. There's something about finals that puts all of us into overdrive. Anyway, enough with the apologies and onto Fiction Friday!

I returned back into the hole in the wall. I decided I had to go back. There is something awesome about freedom, but there's also something somewhat terrifying. How to operate without rules? Without some sort of absolute moral system, how could I ever know whether or not what I was doing was right? However, I knew that there had to be something beyond the walls of that city. In the city, we had no justification for why the laws are made. We had rules, and they were the absolute. If only we had some sort of book or manual for this type of thing. We had manuals to build things and directions to go to different parts of the city, but there was not even a book that outlines the laws. I had heard that a long time ago there were books that wrote down the laws so that people would know what they could and couldn't do. There even books that told what was right and wrong even beyond the law.

I desired this; I wanted to know there was something beyond just the words of the leaders. I wanted to know that there was something beyond the walls of our city. I had been outside the walls, and I didn't know what to do out there. How could I know what freedom was until I knew how to interpret it?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/candiedwomanire/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Freedom

I'll actually write fiction on Friday this week since I remembered.

I made it through the tunnel into the light on the other side. I noticed that it seemed much brighter than I remembered it. I climbed over the debris that had been left as the fissure had expanded. The world was a lot larger than I ever had imagined from within the wall of Status Quo. Apparently, our city was situated on some sort of a hill that overlooked a vast plain. I was so distracted by the view that I forgot why I had ever left the city. I began to hunt for the unkempt grass for the ball. However, as I looked through one particularly tall patch of grass, something sharp pricked my finger. I lifted my hand out and noticed some tiny black creature latched on to the edge of my finger and apparently biting it. Sure, I hurt a little bit, but I was more intrigued by this little creature with wings. I had never seen one within our city before. Apparently, he finished with his job and flew away. I returned to my hunt for the ball as I knew that Tom would be waiting for me, probably very impatiently.

I eventually found the ball and hustled back to the wall. However, as I looked at that hole in the wall, I wasn't really sure if I wanted to go back through it. Returning through that wall meant returning to confinement. Out here, there was freedom; there were no walls to contain my thoughts about what the world could be. If I returned through that crack, I knew that I would be surrendering some part of myself. Once you have found the true freedom, you realize that it has become a part of you.

I wasn't really sure; would I return to the familiar world I knew and loved, or would I take my chances in a world where I did not know the rules if the rules even existed?

http://www.flickr.com/photos/walla2chick/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Utopia

Welcome to the allegorical version of Fiction Friday!

It was an average day in the city. It was not too hot or too cold. I had gotten another mediocre C on my math test. My family was not rich or poor, but we lived a happy life in the city of Middletown. We were happy because nothing ever rattled us or our city. All that terrible stuff that happened outside the city physically could not come through one of the five gates. The town elders had voted before I was even born to erect a 20 foot wall to keep us from the radical fringes of society. They loved the wall so much that they even named it. How many walls do you know that have names? (I read about one in an underground antique book store that helped defend China or someplace like that). They had a large ceremony, and the wall of Status Quo was established. Nobody went outside it, and everything outside stayed outside despite the efforts they made to enter.

This wall defined the limits of my world both physically and mentally. The world outside of it did not matter because it did not affect my daily routine. The world inside of it consisted of a bureaucracy that was legislated by people disconnected from the population in favor of legislating.

One day, my friend Tom and I were playing by the wall on Circle 74. He lobbed the ball up high; in fact, he lobbed it over Status Quo. Being a somewhat impulsive preteen, I immediately looked for a way to get outside to retrieve our ball regardless of the implications. It took me all day, but finally I found the crack in the wall across from Idea Avenue. I grabbed a hold of this crack and crawled through despite the earnest warnings of Tom. This fissure by Idea seemed to take me through black space. I had no idea where I was going. It seemed like once I entered this world, I wanted to know where I was and to have somewhere to anchor my existence. Finally, as I pondered and puzzled out where I was, I began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I crawled toward the light not knowing what surprises awaited me beyond the wall of Status Quo.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/antonystanley/ / CC BY-SA 2.0

Discuss This

See, today is Friday. That means that I will be writing fiction. This fiction is going to be slightly different as I am hoping to do it all in dialogue. Here it goes.
"Hey man, what's goin' on?"
"Nothin' too much really, just the usual."
"It seems like that's all that really ever goes on, the usual. Nothing really changes around here."
"I know how that is; I've been going to the same newsstand every morning for the past 10 years to buy the same paper from the same clerk. For a society obsessed with progress, it seems like we got left behind."
"Did we get left behind, or did we choose to stay behind? It seems like they're just as many people who oppose all of the technological development as those who embrace it."
"I personally chose to advance with society, but that is where the problem lies. Just because I chose advanced technology, I am all of a sudden incompatible with those who wouldn't catch up. I benefit so much from using my new computer programs when I am working with users who have the program, but it takes me twice as long to convert back to the old-fashioned ways."
"Was it really worth it then to upgrade?"
"It's like anything; if you only do something halfway, it's going to be worse off. It's better to run less efficient compatible programs than to run incompatible programs that will take much more time to convert anyway. It's all in consistency; old or new, compatibility is what's important."
Photo by Klearchos Kapoutsis

Dream Come True

Sitting on the bench in Philadelphia during a rainy April night might not seem like a lot of fun to the average fan. All bench players do is sit on the edge of their seats and wait for maybe that one pitch that will be thrown to only one of them that night. However, for me, this is a dream come true. Any reason to play a game and get paid deserves some major credit. From the day I slapped my first baseball off our town's cheap plastic tee and ran the bases without fear of getting out, I knew that this game had captured my future. I knew that my future aspirations needed to be played on a bright green diamond in front of thousands of people. I never thought of myself as a particularly great player even in Little League. I would watch the Little League World Series on ESPN and think, "Those kids are so much better than I am." I hadn't realized yet that it was possible to fly under the radar throughout your baseball career. I hadn't realized that many baseball players are drafted from community college or junior college. You didn't need to go to a baseball powerhouse like you needed to go to a basketball powerhouse to be considered in the draft. I didn't learn this until I indeed had become one of the players who needed to fly under the radar. The fact that many baseball players had flown under the radar in the past became my hope for the future. I knew that if I wanted to make a run as a baseball player, I would need to embrace my role and thrive in it because giving up would have obviously not worked. Nevertheless, it took more than hard work to get me through my tough years and into my dream.
Photo by szlea

Winning

Okay, I am changing up the story for this week. Don't worry, I will return to the business world in a while, but right now enjoy another new installment of Fiction Friday!

How to make it to the goal effectively, how to somehow deke their goalie, and how to put another point on the board. These questions rotated through my head at intervals that were so regular I felt like I was watching the stock report on Bloomberg. I had been in somewhat of a slump lately. Coming off of my fifth consecutive game without a point, I felt like my hockey mates were expecting more from me. Granted, I expected more from myself too. I'm not exactly what you might call "a good loser." I am out there to win; as Vince Lombardi said, "Winning isn't everything; it's the only thing." This may not sound at all healthy; I probably sound insane to most of you, but it seems like I have some unquenchable thirst for victory. Winning makes me feel good; it makes me feel like I have fulfilled the hopes of my teammates. I don't want to win just for myself. I have seen my teammates break down in the locker room following a tough loss and have seen the pain they have gone through. My teammates are my brothers, and I will not allow family to be in pain. We need to watch out for each other and each other's best interests. That is why I must save my teammates from this; you would save your family from sorrow and disappointment, so I save mine. If only I was able to start dominating once again.
Photo by Chase N on Flikr

Back to Alternate Reality aka Fiction Friday

As I sat in my office working on my latest advertising campaign, I have to admit that neither my heart nor my head were really into it. I love my job; I love trying to figure out what turns people on and how I can play off of that and motivate them to buy a product. I realize that this might sound slightly creepy as if I am some mad scientist trying to achieve mind control; however, I am not that evil. I find it as a particular challenge to try to convince people; I never hooked them up to any creepy machine to mess with their brain waves.

Anyway, enough justifying my confusing mind. I was sitting at my desk attempting to develop some way to market frozen waffles. Honestly, I was drawing a major blank. Sure, I'd marketed food products before, but that was a long time ago. Recently, I had become a quasi-specialist for our company whenever a high-tech client came and needed me to saturate the Internet. I had viral marketing on my mind, and honestly there was no hope of shaking it. However, advertising on Facebook and utilizing other social media outlets did not seem like a good way to advertise frozen breakfast products, but that was all I could think about. I grabbed my head and figured that I just needed to step back and remember all I learned in business school.

As it always seems to happen, right when I was on the verge of some amazing idea that would develop into potentially the greatest campaign I had ever developed, I heard the very distinct bass beat that begins John Bon Jovi's classic anthem "Livin' on a Prayer." I realize that this song is relatively popular and could be heard in many different places included in an office that always had the radio on, but how many reasons are there for John Bon Jovi echoing out of your coat pocket? I all but dove at my jacket and clamored for my iPhone which, as always seems to happen when you want something, got stuck on the way out. I stubbornly refused to give up and answered.

I don't want to bore you with a word for word transcription of our conversation, but I will tell you that I hadn't gotten the job... yet. I had to fly back to San Francisco for a second interview. Great, I thought, how am I ever going to tell my boss that I need another week off to interview for a job that is threatening to steal me away? However, I knew I had to do it, so I headed to the symbolic as well as literal corner office that was inhabited by my boss. After knocking and being admitted, I began what was apt to be a very awkward conversation.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/dasqfamily/ / CC BY 2.0

Fiction Friday #3

It seems as if some mornings come far too soon while others seem to be an entirely different century than the night before. This morning was like the latter; I felt as if the job confirmation or rejection was taking far too long. Practically, while the hours might have been long, I realized that my fear was irrational because many of those hours were overnight. However, that did not change the fact that I wanted a response now.

As I got ready for the day, I took extra care to make sure to make sure I looked presentable. When the call came, I wanted to feel good as well as look good. Practically again, I realized that the people on the phone would not see me, but I still felt the need to look slightly better than the usual. Pulling out my pale blue oxford and a conservative royal blue tie, I guess I was thinking that if I was going to tell my old boss that I was leaving for a better job in a bigger company, I wanted to look worthy of my new office.

No time for breakfast; I never really had an appetite in the morning. I hopped into my somewhat beat up Nissan Cube. I know, since I said I was one of the fastest rising executives in Creative Marketing Solutions, I bet you were thinking I would be driving a Porsche 911 or some other high end sports car. Well, in title, I was an executive, but if I recall my Civil War knowledge, I could call myself a brevet executive. I had been promoted to approximately an executive position, but I was told that the pay raise would be coming depending on my performance. Anyway, for now I was driving my Cube to the metro station, about 5 miles down the road from my apartment, in Owings Mills.

After the 20 minute subway ride, I got off at Shot Tower/Marketplace and headed to the office. I have been in offices where nobody ever talks and all they do is work. However, this was by no means our office. While we weren't as loose as Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company, the fact that we ran a marketing firm allowed us to have more creative collaboration and sharing than perhaps an accounting firm would. While this should be an ideal working environment, I felt like I needed more. Yes, we had a big business within the city of Baltimore, but that was it. I wanted more; I wanted to discover more challenges and experience greater success

However, all of that sat on a phone call that I was anxiously waiting for. As I booted up my Dell Studio laptop, I had the feeling that this day would be one of the longest days of my life.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/davies/ / CC BY 2.0