Dreams In Indiana: A Short Story

In which a conversation between two baseball professionals splices the constructs of their sub-conscious.

"‘Ensign Mozeliak, you have performed exceptionally today.'

"‘Thank you, Captain.'

"‘Your bravery in the face of impossible odds saved this crew, this vessel, and is an example to us all. Number One?'

"‘Ensign John Mozeliak, as first officer of this ship, and with the heartfelt endorsement of Starfleet and Captain Picard, I promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, effective immediately.'

"‘Thank you sir!'

"‘Thank you, Number One. Lieutenant, congratulations. And let me take this moment to declare the news: I have granted you to a position on my bridge! You will now sit at the helm alongside Commander Data, and you will only have to go on away teams when it's really dramatic and a lot of the main cast are going.  Like boarding Borg ships or something.  Because otherwise they're pretty lame, frankly.'

"‘Understood, sir.'

"‘Your actions today were absolutely top drawer, Lieutenant. I'll see to it personally that you receive the Medal of Valor for this. Well done.'

"‘Congratulations, Lieutenant.'

"‘Thanks, Geordi.'

"‘Congratulations.'

"‘Lieutenant, I wonder, if you have a moment, if you'd like to stop by my quarters for a bit?'

"‘Counselor Troi? I'm . . . intrigued.'

"‘Back off, Troi. He needs to come see me down at sickbay immediately. I'm required to perform . . . anatomy exams after each promotion. Starfleet rules.'

"‘I saw him first, doctor.'

"‘Ladies, please! There's enough of Lieutenant Mo to go around. Now, let's the trois of us head down to Ten-Forward for a cocktail or six and see where the night takes us.'

"Ah! What-?! Damn. Alright alright. Hang on. Hello?"

"Penny for your thoughts."

"Who is this?"

"Rhymes with Neo and the name means ‘God'."

"Hey Theo. What time is it?"

"Almost 2. Were you asleep or something?"

"I think I was getting close."

"I just got back from this place called Rat Cellar or Rathskeller or something. Some German joint. Place felt like a wedding reception."

"Let me find the words to express to you how thrilled I am that you called me up at 2 AM to tell me that."

"This town's crap, man. I swear. After sundown, you'd think zombies had cleared the place out. Next year, let's petition MLB to have this thing in Miami. It could be better than last year. Last year rocked, remember? Vegas baby! Vegas!"

"Yeah, we all remember your Vince Vaughn impression. At least they put us up in a decent hotel."

"I'll grant you that. I was surprised. I didn't know Indy had a Holiday Inn, much less a four star hotel. When I saw it was Indy on the newsletter, I figured we'd be staying in a Howard Johnson."

"Yeah, well the Midwest ain't all dirt roads and Klan rallies. You should really give more cities in the Midwest a chance. St. Louis, for one. The Riverfront's a great place to-"

"Whatever. The Midwest is lame. The only time I travel with the team is when they stay on the coasts or when they play the White Sox. I got stuck in Cleveland for a four game series my first season on the job. I got three words for you. Co. Ma. Tose."

"Yeah. Cincy is the low priority for me as far as out-of-town trips during the season. Ohio as a whole . . . meh."

"Me, I need some excitement. One time in the Bronx, I took Cashman out after the Sox swept a three-game set. We were out till 7 in the morning, man! It felt like college all over again."

"You and Cash? Seems like he'd be a wet blanket."

"Yeah, he's hopeless. He drank Buckler. Fill in the rest."

"And what do you mean ‘felt like college again'? You went to Yale."

"Mo. Mo. Mo. My naïve little friend."

"So I guess my question is, do you ever get any sleep when there's work to be done?"

"Nah. Don't need it man. You can sleep when you're dead. You only get to be GM of a team with a $120-plus million dollar payroll that's won two championships under your hand making you the hottest thing in your city since Dropkick Murphys once in a lifetime, brother. Take advantage."

"Yeah, I think it's way less than once in a lifetime."

"Any time I don't spend out, I focus on my pet project."

"What's that?"

"My politically conscious punk rock group, Critical Truth."

"Um."

"We rock, man. We've been playing mostly open mikes around Fenway during the offseason, but we're about to blow up in a big way."

"Uh huh."

"We're all about speaking truth to power. Telling it how it is. Not afraid to get up in The Man's face."

"Theo, you're a millionaire white guy who's practically the king of Boston. Aren't you ‘The Man'?"

"So what's the deal with signing Penny. You looking to just copy the Theogony?"

"Copy you? What?"

"I give you Lugo. I dump Smoltz and you sign him. Penny tanks in Boston and you give him 7 and a half million."

"To be fair, Penny was in San Fran in between."

"Yeah, but come on man. Admit it."

"Admit what?"

"Man crush."

"Get lost. Man crush? On you?"

"You've been picking up my sloppy seconds like you wish you were me. Trying to build a Theocracy in St. Louis? You gonna sign Saito next?"

"I- Saito? The thought hadn't even crossed my mind."

"Why is your voice shaking, Mo?"

"Oh just give it up already!"

"Hey, I can't blame you man. I've been a victim of GM envy myself."

"You too? I mean- Uh. You've experienced this thing you totally just made up that I myself haven't experienced in the least?"

"I'll pretend I didn't hear you stumble your way through that sentence. But yeah, I've been there."

"Who was it?"

"Who do you think?"

"Billy?"

"Bingo."

"I can see that. So what were the symptoms?"

"Aw man. It was pretty bad for a while. It's just that for the longest time, he was the Man. It's not like today where everybody reads Fangraphs. Back then, Billy was the only game in town."

"Alright, so what was it like?"

"Well, I'll tell you what my bottom was."

"The lowest you went?"

"Yeah."

". . . So?"

"Moneyball fan fiction."

"Oh my God! What! This is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. How can you write fan fiction about a book that is itself non-fiction!"

"Look, ease up alright? I'm only telling you this to make you feel better about your Theo-loving self."

"Your voice sounds stretched. Are you flexing right now?"

"You know it! My closet door's got a full-length mirror. I'm getting a good look at what the female population of New England wishes was going to bed with them every night!"

"Jesus. Just tell me about the fan-fic. How do you even make it fictional?"

"Well, you know the chapter on Jeremy Brown? I just Ctrl-F'd through an electronic copy of the book and replaced‘Jeremy Brown' with ‘Theo "The Theo" Epstein'."

"Christ. You gave yourself the nickname 'The Theo'?"

"-and I replaced every mention of ‘catcher' or ‘player' with ‘immensely talented young executive who could totally make Billy Beane's job way easier and even rub Beane's shoulders if Billy wanted to in a totally not gay way'."

"This has got to be a joke."

"So the chapter was transformed into Beane's search for that perfect assistant GM who could totally be his hetero partner for life."

"This is beautiful. I wish I was taping this."

"That wasn't the only fan-fic I wrote."

"Oh yeah? Let me stifle a chuckle and ask you what else, Mr. Dickens, you happened to write."

"Billy Beane as Superman."

"Like, wearing a cape and fighting crime?"

"Yeah. The premise was that his name gives it away. Clark Kent. Billy Beane. Same consonant-sounds beginning both first- and last names."

"Wow."

"He's only the GM of the A's by day. But at a moment's notice, his super-hearing can clue him in when someone's in danger."

"So, let me guess. You were Lois Lane?"

"No dude! That's way too fruity."

"Alright, so how did you work yourself into it?"

"Well, you know Superman's got the Fortress of Solitude up at the North Pole right?"

"Right."

"Billy's Fortress of Solitude was my apartment on Comm Ave."

". . ."

"Mo?"

"Wow."

"Yeah, I told you man: I've been there.

"I don't know what to say."

"So what fan fiction have you written about me?"

"What?! Don't be ridiculous!"

"Come on man. Just admit it. I opened up to you. I made myself pretty vulnerable."

"Well . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Well . . . Sometimes I go to Over the Monster and post comments about how awesome you are and how you seem really cool."

"There, see? Nothing embarrassing about that. Frankly, I post comments on OTM about how awesome I am too. So there."

"Really? You comment on your own team's SBN blog?"

"Sure. Never about business. Just about stuff. You know: ‘Theo rocks!' Stuff like that. Oh, and I make sure to comment once a week about this awesome band I heard called Critical Truth."

"Jesus."

"They rock and they're not afraid to tell it like it is, you know?"

"Get over it, Theo."

"I comment on Viva El Birdos too, you know. It's not my favorite site; too little cussing. If I can't say [expletive deleted] or [expletive deleted] or [extensive and frighteningly creative expletive that makes you wonder if Theo's dad was a longshoreman or something, deleted] then there's only so much fun I can have."

"Jesus dude. Was your dad a longshoreman or something?"

"Novelist."

"Oh. That explains . . . nothing."

"Yeah, so it's not my favorite. But I get bored at OTM sometimes, so I troll around. I've been having quite a bit of fun at VEB lately. I've been perfecting this new avatar for a while now."

"VEB? I mean, I'll lurk there. But I never comment. They cover my own team, for God's sakes. I think it'd be too obvious if I commented. And I can't imagine what the office would think if they found out."

"Well, I've got a clever handle at VEB. Nobody would ever suspect that I'm a seven-figure GM."

"Oh! You gotta tell me what it is."

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah!"

"You really wanna know?"

"Dude, just tell me."

"ClemsonGirl."

"You're kidding me."

"Would I lie about something like that?"

"Yes! That would be the most ridiculous thing if it were true."

"You just re-read through ClemsonGirl's comments and tell me if you can imagine Theology sitting at the keyboard, Johnny boy."

"Come on, Theo. You've got to be pulling my leg on this. First Moneyball fan-fic. Then Beane-as-Superman coming to your apartment for backrubs during times of stress. Now you're a college student in love with pretty much every twenty-something centerfielder?"

". . ."

". . ."

"Nah, I'm just joshing you, man!"

"I knew it!"

"I had you going for a while though, right?"

"I don't know. It was pretty unbelievable from the start. I mean, who would spend hours of their day writing fictional accounts of what they suspect MLB GM's days are like?"

"A loser! That's who!"

"Yeah, well look, Theodred. I've gotta get to sleep. We've got a long day of dodging Rosenthal tomorrow."

"I hear ya, man. Sabean cornered me yesterday about some cockamamie trade idea. Then he talked about Coletti's boots for like twenty minutes, about how awesome they are and how he wishes he had a pair. Just go buy some, for God's sakes! Makes me wish they included cyanide capsules with the Winter Meetings brochure."

"Alright. I'll talk at you tomorrow."

"Hey John. All this was in confidence, yeah? I mean, sure I was spinning a yarn on you, but other people might not think so if they heard it."

"You can trust me . . . ClemsonGirl; what a riot."

"Night."

"Night."

"Three hours of sleep before the alarm. [Expletive deleted]. I can't wait to get back to Boston.

". . .

"‘Theo! I need your help!

"‘Billy?'

"‘"Billy" is only my mild mannered general-managing alter-ego. Please, call me Superman.'

"‘What are you doing here?!'

"‘This is my fortress of solitude, is it not? Commence with the backrubs!'

THE END