[Izulde]

Fifteen minutes before the game starts, I march into the park and to the dugout without a word, ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of my players. They don't need to be bothered with a longwinded explanation right now. I point at Martinez, then the mound. He nods slowly, trying a smile that doesn't quite work.

Out there already taking his warm-ups is none other than former Secret Cristian Chapa. He sees me pointing and jabs his index finger right back.

"You're going down, Moungey! I'm gonna make your sorry ass sorry that you ever traded me!"

I respond with an upraised middle finger and motion for Melvin to go up and start the game as leadoff. With a nod, he does, the rest of the team settling into silence on their seats in the dugout. No one wants to be the first one to break the mood I've established.

In the top of the second, Super Boy singles home Daddypimp Delbert and a few of the Secrets get up, mouths open as they're about to yell with glee, but at my knifehand, they nod and only clap mutely, silently hi-fiving Delbert as he comes in. 1-0 Racine.

Bonds comes through in the 3rd with a 2 RBI double, scoring The Team of Letendre and Taylor to make it 3-0 us. Again, there is only that soft, inaudible applause and touching of palms to those coming home.

Still in that inning, Cool Katamor singles in Harper and it's 4-0 Secrets. The same routine as the other runs is followed, the mystic enchantment maintained.

Zimmerman, apparently angry about the bad press he received in the three-way trade I engineered, tells his detractors where to stick it in the fourth inning after he poleaxes one to somewhere in the Atlantic, cutting our lead to 4-2.

Taveras replaces Chapa in the top of the 7th. I turn to the team and smirk, holding up my thumb in salutation of victory. They grin and return the sign. If nothing else, we showed that jerkoff he isn't going to be the one to beat us today.

Midway through a crucial at-bat in the 8th inning, Lucky Wenceslao tires out, so I send in F***head Francis, who happens to be our best strikeout reliever, even though he has a 7.50 ERA.

I'm highly annoyed when he walks the batter to load the bases, but Super Boy saves us with a scorcher of a throw at the next at-bat.

We get an insurance run in the top of the 9th after Taveras plunks Scotty Harper with the bases loaded to give us a 5-2 edge. All of us in the dugout silently snicker at Michael's moronic largesse.

Our Saviour sac-flies the next AB to racket it up to 6-2. I find myself tempted to leave Valderrama in there for the bottom of the 9th now, though it would deny our closer a shot at a save.

The bottom of the 9th rolls in and I finally break the spell of quiet that's been in place over us by turning to Moody Donald.

"You think you can close this game and nail these *******s for the win?"

He nods vigorously, jaw tight as he reaches for his glove and slides it on, his face a determined mask of stone.

"Hell yes I can, Coach Tim! We're winning this thing for you!"
"Thanks. I appreciate it."

And out to the mound he goes, Frumpy Francis looking ticked off at being pulled, but Franny will just have to deal. It's Don's game to win or lose.

Our closer's up against Zimmerman for the first duel. Yeah, *that* hacked off Zimmerman.... who grounds out to third.

Burges is up next. Wonder if he's a poet. If so, he's the poet who struck out.

Their last line of defense? Some Dude Named Calhoun. We're all leaning now, waiting with bated breath....

Damn, he singled. And up next is Miami's Wunderkind David Bailey. I'm going to be very angry if he gets a homerun right here.

But no! He grounds out to the Clutch God and we've won!

The partisan crowd is silent while we rush together, all the Secrets congregating en masse` at the mound. We don't know why, but half of us have tears in our eyes while the other half is screaming their heads off in exuberation.

It's as if we've won our Mini-River Series, in a way.... No matter what the cause, it feels damn good to have this win... More satisfying than any win we've had up to this point in the season.