Tim Moungey and the Whisperer League

[Izulde]

And I wonder
Will I ever make it home?
Will I ever leave the ground?
Leave this place so far behind
Till there is no turning back.
Will I ever make it home
Get to where I wanna be
Find the ones who wait for me
To the place where I belong
Will I ever make it home...
Will I ever make it home...
Will I ever make it home...

I've lived in this city my entire life and I tire of it. The declining population, the failing school district, the general sense of jaded apathy I see in every face when I walk the streets, no matter if it be two a.m. or two p.m... They have been wearing on me for years and now, more than ever, I long to escape this lifeless cage.

The offers are on the table: Racine, Savannah, Redmond, and Hartford. Each of them expansion teams in the Phoenix League. All of them calling for me, wanting me to lead them in the first year of the Octopus's successor.

And yet, I will refuse all of them.

It is more than my hometown that suffocates me...It is the thought of returning to managing those players, going back to play the other managers I'm come to loathe.

All of it is simply too exhausting. I long for freedom, the quiet sanctuary of lecture and paper. Academia has always been a safe haven for me, even when I failed to live up to my potential (and this has occurred more often than even I care to admit).

This morning, I dusted off the old recruitment letters from my senior year in high school. Colleges both large and small, public and private, scattered all across the country had come calling. I have already alluded before to the grave error I made in that fateful year.

Now the chance has come to rectify it.

Nevermore will I step onto a diamond or give commands from the dugout. My baseball days are done.

This I swear.

[Izulde]

"You should come and see me. It'll do you good to go on vacation before you head back to school."

Is it any surprise that my best friend is not one of the fat boys I've been friends with since high school, nor one of my former players, but a girl two thousand miles away?

Her voice is on the phone now, encouraging me to visit her, to let off a little steam and forget the stress of the past few months. Rejuvenate yourself is the unspoken phrase. Is there something more behind it? Some invitation at shedded clothes, impassioned contact, and a coupling that would be immensely satisfying? I must not get ahead of myself.

"I suppose I can do that, Annika. I've still got some money saved away from managing and it'd be nice to see you again." Why am I not more enthusiastic? Where is my vigour, my exuberant shout of acceptance? I should be screaming yes, yes, yes, of course!

But in these weeks of weariness, barren and dusty as an Arizona desert, there is no oasis of excitement. I feel as numb and dead as an armadillo on the side of the highway, the protective shell splintered open by an uncaring motorist's wheel, the guts inside mashed into nothingness by the cruel treads that have imprinted their black reaper's mark on once healthy organs.

"Great! We can go to Faire and you can meet everyone else at St. Jude's. The shows there are hilarious and the Poxy Boggards are great, but you know that. You've heard me sing them often enough."

"Yeah, I have. Sounds good, Annika. I'll let you know the details later when I get them."

Three days later, my flight is booked for the end of Indepedence Month. The sun-drenched palm tree city of Malibu awaits.

[Izulde]

In both my short-lived managing professional career and my personal life I have often been simultaneously blessed and cursed with the opportunity to travel via plane to places.

The positive comes in the swift movement from point to point. The negative is in the pain that it causes in my ears, even with the judicious use of juicy chewing gum.

But I have commented at length before on different modes of travel and so I won't belabour the point here, lest I grow tiresome and weary to God or whoever else might be able to read my thoughts now.

Some hours after leaving General Mitchell in Milwaukee, I at last touch down at Malibu. Having packed lightly enough to only need a carry-on, I quickly navigate through the airport and find my way outside into the blazing, searing sunlight, my eyes shuttered closed by the blinding spots of iridescent light that pop across my inner and outer vision alike.

"Hey you."

Two deliciously thin and soft brown arms wrap around me and the next thing I know, I'm being hugged by the girl I know better than any other in the world.

"Hey, Annika."

She eventually releases me and I get enough control over the newly brilliant horizon to open my eyes and see her for the first time in well over a year.

Still slender, even at twenty-four, her smile is enchanting, her hair long as it flows to her rear, and a curious sort of brunette that blends well with her skin.

Dressed in an aqua tank top and crisp white shorts, she looks simply amazing, glowing and vivacious against that far-reaching midday sun.

Apparently I've been staring a little too long, because she laughs and punches me on the arm while turning to walk to her car. When her back is to me, I see a band of gold running across her hair in the middle of her head's dorsal side. It's unique and it's inspiring and I instantly feel the urge to compose a quatrain or two to it.

"How was your flight?"

A question to answer. Snap out of it, Tim.

"Oh, it was okay", I grunt, piglike, while I apeishly lumber over to the car and haul my suitcase into the waiting open trunk, "How was the drive here?"

Another laugh from her dark-pink glossed lips as she opens the passenger door for me on her way to the driver's side.

"It was good. Now hop in so we can get going."

On the way, we make idle chatter and crack jokes about the things and people we see. There's no catching up to do really, as we talk every night on the Internet anyway, converse by phone at least once a week, and text message each other incessantly.

"I'm glad to be back from the East Coast. Pittsburgh is such a damn dreary place."

"I know you were never happy there. That's why I was happy to hear where you moved back home. You've always loved it here."

She smiles at that and leans her hand across to touch my cheek as she pulls into the driveway of a modest, single-story white house with Spanish red stucco roof.

"I still think you should move out here. You've always loved California and I know you're not happy back home."

"Yeah, I know."

Her eyes search my face, seeking out some greater answer than that, but none is forthcoming. She knows me well enough not to question further, that I'll open up when I'm ready to and not before then.

"Well", she finally replies, "Let's get your suitcase out of the trunk and get you situated."

As I'm walking up the steps to the house after I retrieve baggage, I find myself looking around. Though not the richest neighbourhood, the lawns here are well-kept and as is the case with much of Southern California, it is both beautiful and peaceful to gaze upon the scenery, both living and inanimate.

I could pontifacte more on my experiences with this area, but let me save it for another time.

Now that I am in Malibu, Annika awaits.

[Izulde]

"Whatever team you want to manage, it's yours for the taking."

That isn't Annika's voice saying those words, though I wish it was.

No, the person writing me the blank check of management is a man by the name of Ted Dupre. From what I can understand, he's an offshoot of the Nashville Dupres, some wealthy family back in his home state of Tennessee.

"I don't know about this, Ted. I mean, I was pretty sure I was done with the whole managing thing. I want to go back to school, get my degree, try some other career."

He sighs and rubs the underside of his stubbled chin, adjusting his black felt cowboy hat. When he first came to me with the proposal of being a manager for one of the teams in the league he's starting up, I said no straight out.

But he wouldn't let up on it. Said he knew I was the perfect man to be a face for the league and that Annika was spot on when she recommended me to him.

Yes, this whole thing is Annika's fault.

"Look, Tim. I know you're not too sure about this, but just do it for one season and see how you feel after that. The Whisperer League needs somebody like you to start it off."

I sigh and look at the papers in front of me. Though I refuse to admit it to him, the truth is I miss managing more than I realize. Coaching was always a dream of mine growing up and I loved it when I coached the Mustangs and yes, even when I managed the Secrets. I just couldn't stand to manage in the Phoenix League, not with Nigel gone.

"All right. I'll do it, Ted."

He smiles, bright as the noonday sun, and slaps me across the back, "Good! What team do you want? I'll pay for the relocation costs, so don't you worry about that none."

I look the list over again. Like the Octopus and Phoenix Leagues, it's split it up into East and West, four to a subleague or conference, as Ted calls them.

Whisperer League: West Conference

Laramie Ranchers
Owned by Ted himself, who is a big landowner with massive holdings in the Wyoming and Colorado area. He snubbed all the private colleges he could have gone to, including my dream school of Princeton, and chose to go to the University of Wyoming instead. Ever since, he's dreamed of starting his own professional baseball league and getting a team in his alma mater's town.

Las Vegas Glitterati
The first of a couple gambling-related owners, the Glitterati were purchased by one of the larger casino outfits in Sin City, I think the one that owns Circus-Circus and a bunch of other hotel/casinos on the Strip and in downtown. No surprise here; it's going to be all about getting people to the casinos in the owner's chain. I think it'll do well though. Vegas has been crying for a professional baseball franchise for a long time.

Moose Jaw True Patriots
Apparently one of Ted's wealthy friends moved to Canada some years ago and loved it so much there he became a naturalized citizen. The name comes from Canada's national anthem: Oh Canada, home and native land, true patriot love and all thy sons command, etc. I don't think baseball has really been seen in that part of the country, so maybe it'll catch on in western Canada.

Duluth Icebergs
An organization in Minnesota that promotes outdoor recreational activities bought this team, with some help from the interest groups who own the Minneapolis Lumberjacks in the Phoenix League, since a lot of them have the same basic interest in preserving the outdoors. And that's one of the main reasons for this team, to help educate others in outdoor safety. That and to promote outdoor recreation

Whisperer League East Conference

New Orleans Vampires
Remember how the Louisiana Board of Tourism sponsored the Mardi Gras? While, it was so successful that Anne Rice, that horrible incompetent of an authoress, herself decided to buy a team in the Whisperer League. This is the one team I won't manage. Ever. I can't respect Anne Rice and I never will be able to. Sadly, I think this team will do well even with competition from the Mardi Gras. She's that damn popular.

Indianapolis 500s
The owners of the track that the Indy 500 races on is another group that saw the success the Octopus League had and decided to jump in after their proposal was refused by the new Phoenix League management. Their main ambition, as you can expect, is to reach a new target market for the races held at their track.

Saratoga Springs Stallions
Another team, another race track owner. This time it's the famous horse track in Saratoga, New York that is getting in on the business. They were another finalist that was rebuffed by the Phoenix League. From what I understand, the Phoenix board didn't want anything that could have gambling connected to it.

Augusta Lobsters
The last team in the East are the Lobsters, who get their money from Maine's State Board of Tourism. Like was the case with the Mardi Gras, the draw here is to increase tourism, only for the Lobsters, it's hoping to get the whole state in. They would have called themselves the Maine Lobsters, but Ted insisted they name it for the city the team's based in, so they chose the state capital of Augusta.

"Well... none of these cities really appeal to me."

Ted's face droops as if I'd just told him his pet parakeet had been shot in a driveby.

"You sure Tim?"

"Yes. I don't want the pressure of working under the comissioner, I hate Vegas with every part of my being, I'd prefer to stay in the United States, and Duluth is too damn cold. Besides, I have bad memories of Minnesota.

As far as the East goes, I refuse to work with Anne Rice, Indianapolis is another city I just don't like, and Saratoga Springs and Augusta are both in cold states. Wherever I go to manage in, that's where I'm going to be living... and I want someplace warm."

After a long pause, Ted sighs and nods his agreement.

"All right, Tim. How does somewhere in Southern California suit you?"

"It suits me fine." I love SoCal. The girls are beautiful and the weather is wonderful. About the only thing that irks me is all the non-smoking, as I sometimes have the urge to light up, but that's a small price to pay for everything else.

"Good. We'll set up an Internet poll to decide which of the Western Conference teams will be removed then. The fans will dictate our course."

What fans? I wonder to myself. But I don't bother asking that. Instead I nod my approval.

It's a strange way to get a new managing job, but then, my whole life has been strange since the moment Nigel Benvuneto died.

[Travis]

Originally Posted by Izulde

"I don't think baseball has really been seen in that part of the country, so maybe it'll catch on in western Canada.
.

Oh, I hope Moose Jaw doesn't lose their team and stomps whatever SoCal boys you throw against them. Oh yes indeed. And the long time western Canadian ball fans will be cheering the entire while :P

[Izulde]

Originally Posted by Travis

Oh, I hope Moose Jaw doesn't lose their team and stomps whatever SoCal boys you throw against them. Oh yes indeed. And the long time western Canadian ball fans will be cheering the entire while :P

Well, in the vote that's going on at the OOTP Boards right now, Moose Jaw is second on the list of teams to be booted off.

As of this post, Laramie has 1 vote for elimination, Las Vegas has 5 votes, Moose Jaw has 3, and Duluth has 2.

[Izulde]

Plink. Plink. Plink. DOINK.

I'm sitting on the banks of the quarry in my hometown of Racine. It's early morning, a little after 6. This time of day is the time you want to be at the quarry, before all the old people get here and hog it for swimming.

Ted told me last night that Las Vegas lost their franchise bid and that he's found a new team. It's not in Southern California like he'd promised. Turns out it's in Santa Cruz, but I've been given complete control of the team to make up for it. Everything is entirely at my disposal. I'm even listed as the team owner.

Funny, I didn't think I'd end up owning a professional sports team before I hit 30, but I'm not complaining. And truth be told, I'm rather glad that it's not in SoCal. Annika and I haven't talked since the last day of the Faire in Malibu.

The night was warm without being too hot. The humidity that plagues the other parts of the country was thankfully absent, one of the things I love most about the West.

We were walking towards the exit, with the plan that we would head out to coffee together. I'd acted a little strangely most of the day, with distant eyes and distracted attention span. All throughout my vacation there, I'd felt the pressure building up in my chest. My mind echoed insistently that I should make a move, admit to this bewitching half-Mexican sylph my love for her, no matter what it cost our friendship.

And then I did it.

I stepped in and gave her a full kiss on the lips. It's been a long time since I'd been the one to kiss a girl, so I'm afraid I wasn't as smooth and skilled in my technique as I should have been. We stayed that way, our mouths pressed together for a few moments. I began to panic when I realized, she wasn't kissing me back and the rolling sensation of nausea amplied itself all the more when she pushed my shoulders and moved me away from her, breaking the kiss.

Her soft, dark lips were turned downwards, sadness in her heather-hued eyes as she shook her head, the ethereal strands of her hair whisping around her with the negation.

"No, Tim. I'm sorry. I love you, I really do... but not like that. You're a brother to me, not a lover. I just don't feel for you in that way at all. I'm sorry."

All the apologies in the world and all the sweet words of honey that said I was one of those she cherished could not stop me from the sudden feeling that I'd been punched in the head and stomach and kicked in the groin. I groaned, doubled over to keep from passing out, and fought to stay upright, flashbombs starbursting in my vision.

"It's all right. I understand."

Of course I did. Of course I understood that once again Eros had smiled upon me with deviltry in his lips as he pulled back the bow and shot his black arrow of defeat directly into my heart. Oh Caritas, Caritas, how I tire of you! Where is my passion, my ardour, my carnal craving requited and realized?!

Not then, certainly not then. As Annika looked at me with anguish, it was in anguish that I turned into the nearest closed and darkened booth... and wept.

Would there ever be any end to this suffering in love?

It didn't feel like then and it doesn't feel like it now as I slump on the cold, indifferent sand, throwing the pebbles more wildly now.

PlunkplashTHUD.

A heavy rock crashes into the water with the same vexed rage that I feel. It erupts a small spray of agitated white foam and blue water, then sinks broodingly down to the bottom of the quarry. Forty-five seconds later, even the effect it had is gone, the wrinkles smoothed out by the patient hands of the wind.

Is this what my life will be like? A short flash of glory that matters only in its time, to be forgotten and rendered unimportant soon after I am dead and gone?

The thought dampens my already dark mood and so I sigh and get up, brushing what clingy remnants of sand I can from jeans.

Time to walk back home. Maybe the steady rhythm of footsteps will be the morphine that eases my agony.

I shan't hope for it though, for to hope is to suffer disappointment in the end.

[Izulde]

All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go
I'm standing here outside your door
I hate to wake you up to say goodbye
But the dawn is breaking it's early morn
The taxi's waiting he's blowing his horn
Already I'm so lonesome I could die

A song I've played time and time again and mentioned as many times.

With each passing day, I grow more and more dispirited. Santa Cruz is a city I love, true, and I do have friends there, or acquaintances at the very least.

But even the eternal warm weather and change of place will not be enough to wash the weariness from my soul. I'm lost, adrift on a sea that is not malicious, yet not calming. It simply is there, showing no reaction to anything I do.

The water is dark grey, brooding as my own soul in this early morning as I stare at the puddle left over from last night's thunderstorm. Already summer has passed into the football season of fall.

Will I winter in Wisconsin for one more year or will I flee with blurry tears and vision to the little piece of heaven that is Santa Cruz? It's something I should decide soon, but inertia has me in its grasp.

Let me sleep
So when I sleep I dream that you are here
You're mine
And all my fears are left behind
I float
On air
The nightingale sings gentle lullabies
So let me close my eyes
And sleep perchance to dream
So I can see the face I long to touch
To kiss,
But only dreams can bring me this
So let the moon
Shine softly on the girl I long to see
So maybe when she dreams,
She'll dream of me.
I hide beneath the clouds
And whisper to the evening stars
They tell me love is just a dream away
Dream away, dream away, dream away
A dream away

Kirsten Dunst's golden voice steals the show in Get Over It. Martin Short I hate with everything that I have in me and I always will. Why he receives such glowing accolades, I'll never know. Ms. Dunst is one of those girls who is cute without being exceptionally pretty. It works, works so well in fact, that I attend all her films. She was especially delicious in Wimbledon.

Once upon a time I thought a career in film was my destiny, but I discovered along the way that such was not within my realm of talents. Then again, I don't seem to be that good a manager either, but if I don't do well, I can always turn the field managing over to someone else, since I own the team now.

Tim Moungey, Owner of the Santa Cruz Chevaliers.

It has a nice ring to it, but that's the only nice thing in my life right now. Annika and I haven't spoken since that night. The Secrets are scattered to their offseason homes and I am alone, with the feeling that I've reverted back to the beginning, as if none of the things that have happened in the past year ever occurred. It's as though everything was just a dream I had during an overly long stretch of sleep.

The sky's flashing. Another thunderstorm is coming.

I don't care. I'll stand here, growing numb and cold as the rain falls on me.

At least it'll hide my tears.

[Izulde]

I can't stay here.

If I remain in Racine, I will see failure in every face I see, a reminder of what I once was and once could have become. Every moment of the day, I'll remember the past and only the past. I will not grow, but waste away, made withered and black by my unceasing despair.

If I am to be a phoenix, then I must spread my wings. A thornbush is no place for ressurection and rejuvenation.

So I will go then, go as so many young men did in days of yore, and head West to truly make my fortune and shatter the shackles that hold me in this submissive state that shames me so.

In the city of the sparkling sun, Santa Cruz, I will find who I am truly meant to be.