Chapter Ten
Miranda studied thelist of players and their associated statistics, the result of several days of research and discussion. Several sets of eyes bored holes in her. She glanced up at Cole, Jason, Lucas, and the wonder twins, her statisticians whose names she still didn’t know. Two young men with spectacles and the distracted look of people who spent their time hunched over keyboards and talking numbers, never really seeing other people or emerging from their data cave. Cole and Lucas assured her they were very good at their jobs and she was lucky to have them. Too bad they spoke a foreign language that she really never understood, despite passing statistics in college. They made her feel stupid and she was done with that feeling.
She laid the papers down. “So, bottom line it for me. Who do you recommend?”
Four sets of eyes blinked at her for a moment, then three voices started speaking at once. Of course, it was too much to hope for consensus. She held up her hand, already wishing for aspirin.
“Okay, let’s start on our options. Moreno, current catcher. Knows the team and our way of doing things.”
“I vote for him. He’s been working with these guys and knows the team.” Sam Monteleone’s voice shot out from the speakerphone, shouting as if he wanted to be heard from Florida spring training.
“He’s been struggling with passed balls all spring, Sam. Can his knees really handle the whole season?” Cole countered, eyes scanning a document in front of him. “We want more ground balls which mean lower pitches and possibly more movement, leading to more passed balls.”
“His pitch framing is on the low end, not stealing pitches for our guys. With lower pitches, we’ll need strong framing.” One of the stats guys spoke and the other nodded. “We recommend Prosser.”
“Prosser?” Sam snapped, scorn evident in his voice. “He’s a backup in Minnesota. We already discarded him weeks ago.”
“My father discarded him. I didn’t. Make the case.” She pointed to the stats duo.
“Excellent framing. Used to ground ball pitchers and even knuckle ballers. Guided a couple of young guys in Minnesota.”
“And cheap. Minnesota can’t keep him past this year and they know it. He’s too good for back up and they have a young guy in front of him and behind him. He doesn’t fit their model and they have needs.” Cole spoke up while Sam snorted.
“Can we fill their needs?” She asked.
Cole shrugged. “Depends what we’re willing to give up. They’d like Moreno, believe it or not. He can play first and DH for them. We don’t need a DH in the National League, not often enough at least.”
“Why isn’t Moreno our first baseman?” Miranda asked, trying to follow the conversation.
“Because we have Lockhart.” Sam’s voice exploded. “We decided all of this weeks ago, with your father. Why are we rehashing everything?”
She’d found her first opponent. The one guy she needed on her side to make everything work. If he wasn’t open to new players, would he be open to a new style of play? Doubtful.
She leaned towards the phone, lowering her voice to a more soothing tone. “Sam, we need a new catcher. I agree that Lockhart will probably be fine at first but Moreno just can’t handle the rigors of the season anymore and he’s not connecting with our pitching staff. We need to change some things around to get wins. We can’t sign big names, not that there are too many out there right now and we don’t have the farm system to trade for them. Minnesota might be willing to talk.”
“Who are you thinking of giving up? I don’t think they’ll accept Moreno alone.” Cole asked.
“Moreno and Hardesty,” Miranda replied.
“Hardesty? He’s our middle relief guy, more innings than anyone last season,” Sam yelled.
“And he gave up more fly balls and homeruns than any other middle relief. We want to focus on more ground balls this season, keeping the ball in the park and lowering the big innings.” Cole added his support with a quick glance at Miranda.
Lucas, meanwhile, observed the whole process, not saying anything, not revealing his thoughts. He leaned to one side, idly tapping a finger on the table. His intense stare penetrated Miranda’s calm and she shifted in her seat. Now he was quiet, after poking his nose into every other discussion? What was holding him back now?
“This is bullshit. You’re taking away everyone on my team. How do you expect me to win with this team?” Sam bellowed.
Jason finally leaned forward. “I have reservations too, Sam. But, we can’t keep playing the old way. Almost every other team has moved into this new model, and those that haven’t adapted haven’t made it to the playoffs. Clearly, there’s something to this. Maybe we should give it a chance?”
“Et tu, Jason?” Sam replied bitterly. “How will we win games without middle relief? None of the other guys are strong enough to pitch every day.”
“Then we rotate them,” one of the stats guys replied. “This spreads out the work, evens out the risk, and lowers our chances of injury.”
“So now we’re taking direction from a group of bean counters?” Sam sighed. “Fire me now because I can’t win this way.”
Miranda opened her mouth to respond but the dial tone stopped her. She narrowed her gaze at the phone, suppressing the flash of anger at Sam’s blatant disrespect for her, something he would have never done if it had been her father sitting here. Mentally she counted to ten, then ten again before raising her eyes. The two stats guys leaned together and spoke in rapid whispers, apprehension clear on their faces.
Miranda sighed heavily and looked at Cole. “I’ll deal with Sam later. Cole, Jason. What are your thoughts?”