(no subject)
YAY I HAVE MY NEW KEYBOARD.
It feels weird; it has that new-computer stiffness in the keys, but it's the same computer I've had for over a year and a half. I'll have the same thing going with the Mac when I get it back, I think, because she mentioned something about having the keyboard replaced, probably because half the letters were worn off the keys. (That's a grudging point I can award to the Compaq over the iBook - I used that keyboard for longer than I did the iBook's, and the letters stayed just as clear as they were on day one. I do like my computers to show signs of wear, the same way I like it when my paperback books lose the new-cover shine because I've read them so many times, but it's nice to be able to identify the keys, too.) But anyway. I can now type like a human. And I shall celebrate by posting the beginning of an unfinished fic.
This fic is a baseball fic, since fuck knows I haven't written anything else in years, and it is - gasp - an A's fic. I started it not too long after Piazza's injury; it's written from Kendall's perspective, and was originally intended to end with Piazza going on the DL, but as what came to be famously known (in my journal, anyway) as the Ongoing A's Catching Saga became, well, ongoing, I started to flounder. I don't want to give up on this fic, but I don't know where it's going. It was supposed to be about Kendall being totally fine with Piazza's presence, and nobody buying that for a second, but as things went on, it seemed like it needed to be about more, and that the logical stopping point was not the injury, but Kendall's trade. That, however, is way damn more expansive and plotty than I am used to writing, so not only am I unsure of where it's going, I don't know how to get it there if I ever figure it out. At this point, I'm not even entirely convinced that it should be from Kendall's perspective, or at least not exclusively so. I don't know. So go ahead and take a look, and I can't promise anything further, but any advice or suggestions you have would be hugely appreciated.
When spring training starts, and Mike Piazza reports along with the pitchers and catchers, everyone starts looking sidelong at Kendall, watching him to see if he gets twitchy or short-tempered. Kendall supposes he can't blame them, with the way he gets sometimes, and he knows the way he makes a point of greeting Piazza with a friendly smile and a handshake looks fake as hell, but really he's okay.
He knows it's a joke in the clubhouse, one told quietly behind his back, how possessive he is about his position. For some guys, a day spent off the field is a mental and physical break; for others, it's a necessary annoyance. For Kendall, it's agony. He's no kid, and god knows he needs it some days, but. He gets all wound up and anxious on the bench, watching someone else in his spot, putting down his signs and talking to his pitchers. He tenses when the other guy gets a hit, gets still and compressed when a starter has a better game than the one he had with Kendall five days ago. By the time the game is over, the tension is so bad he feels like he could actually physically explode. It spills over into his movements and his speech, and it takes a couple hours working out before he's comfortable in his body again. He pisses guys off and management worries he might pull something. So there aren't a lot of days off, and that works just fine for Kendall. He's most at home in his gear behind the plate, or going over video and scouting reports with the pitchers. When he comes home with sore legs and back, regardless of the game, he knows it was a good day.
So, fair enough that everyone expects him to start getting wound up the second he lays eyes on Piazza. It's Mike Piazza, after all, future Hall of Famer, catcher extraordinaire, and nobody really believes Beane when he insists that Piazza will be DHing only.
The thing is, though, that Piazza spent fourteen years catching in the majors, and last year he had to share the position with Josh Bard in San Diego. Kendall knows all about the aches and pains that settle in early on for a catcher, and how each season weighs a little more heavily than the season before. He's been catching for eleven years, and it's easy to imagine another three years leaving him unable to move the morning after a start. So, yeah, Kendall's okay, because he knows better than anyone that Piazza couldn't steal his job if he wanted to. He claps Piazza on the shoulder with a grin, saying, "Welcome to the team, man," and he means it.
Geren tells Piazza early on not to bother picking up any catcher's gear, to just focus on his hitting. There's a part of Kendall that wonders if that might not come back to bite them - catching can be dangerous, can a team ever really have too many guys around ready to do it if needed? - but mostly he just feels vindicated. See, he thinks at his teammates, I saw that coming, I can be sensible.
Piazza seems relieved - "My joints are about a thousand fucking years old some days, you know how it is," Kendall hears him saying to Melhuse, "the last thing I need is to do any more catching" - and settles in to hit with a vengeance during spring training.
One of the new pitchers, Alan Embree, played in San Diego the year before. Embree is one of those guys who's been around so long that he has connections in a clubhouse before he even enters it; on the first day of Spring Training, Kendall said hello to both him and DiNardo at the same time, and found himself listening to a conversation rehashing injokes from Boston and sarcastic reminisce about the blood-thirsty press. Later it turns out that he also played with Kotsay way back when, on his first go-round through the Padres.
A week or so into Spring Training, Kendall is talking to Embree, pitching stuff, getting a feel for what Embree can do and what made 2006 different from the bad 2005 season that made the Red Sox drop him long after - Embree can admit honestly - they probably should have.
"Tell you what, though," Embree says with a chipmunk-cheeked smile, "I've been crazy lucky with catchers in the last few years. And from what I hear, that streak's still going."
Kendall gives him a smirky sort of grin, letting him know that the pre-emptive suck-up is both spotted and appreciated, and asks how much difference that might have made last year. It's Embree's turn to give him a look, the kind of look that comes from being told that this would come up with Kendall sooner or later.
"You're askin' about Piazza." Kendall laughs, and Embree grins. "I call 'em as I see 'em. You been told not to worry, right, 'cause he's just here to hit, but you wanna know if he got that memo."
Kendall nods, because it's easier than trying to explain that, no, he's really not paranoid, because any explanation will come off as overly defensive. And anyway. He does want to know. Always good to know what you can about the guys on your team.
Embree nods back. "There's definitely a little something extra with a guy like that behind the plate," he says. "No catcher hits the Majors and stays there without knowin' what he's doin', but with a guy like Piazza, you really know, you know? You trust him right off and in no time he proves you right. And he's not like one of those guys, you know, because everyone knows his name he thinks he's done his job and he can just relax. Mike's always workin'. Even now, you've seen him, he can't stop talkin' to pitchers to save his life."
Kendall nods, he has seen that, Piazza deep in conversation with Haren and Harden and Street. That's part of the veteran thing, though. It does twinge a bit, but no one, and least of all Kendall, expects a vet to keep his hard-earned knowledge to himself when he can use it to help his team.
"The thing I really liked about him, though," Embree continues, "is that he didn't pull the superstar routine. He respects guys." He looks intently at Kendall. "He platooned with Josh Bard - kid had the worst fuckin' time in Boston, couldn't catch a knuckleball to save his life, got ripped to shreds and they couldn't punt his ass fast enough when it turned out they could get Doug back. He was pretty nerved up when he got to San Diego, still waitin' to get torn up for every mistake, but Mike talked him down and helped smooth him out. He ended up havin' a great year. And Mike, he helped that along too, because he never pulled that I'm-a-star-who-the-hell-are-you bullshit. He was glad to have someone to share the plate with. He never once, not once, tried to show Josh up. He was just a guy doin' his job, and he knew damn well that he couldn't do it proper anymore without someone to take some of the load off. I mean, the guy ain't perfect, he has his bullshit moments like anyone, but he knows when to be a fuckin' adult and put the team first." He revs up the look, clearly trying to drive a point home, and Kendall has to hide a smile at the total earnestness in his face. "And not steppin' on your territory, that's best for the team. He'll talk to the guys, yeah, all season, but when it gets to the now stuff, gettin' ready for a game, he'll send 'em to you. Just you watch."
Kendall nods yet again and thanks him seriously, lets Embree think that his solemn lecture has freed him of all worry and provided a turning point.
It feels weird; it has that new-computer stiffness in the keys, but it's the same computer I've had for over a year and a half. I'll have the same thing going with the Mac when I get it back, I think, because she mentioned something about having the keyboard replaced, probably because half the letters were worn off the keys. (That's a grudging point I can award to the Compaq over the iBook - I used that keyboard for longer than I did the iBook's, and the letters stayed just as clear as they were on day one. I do like my computers to show signs of wear, the same way I like it when my paperback books lose the new-cover shine because I've read them so many times, but it's nice to be able to identify the keys, too.) But anyway. I can now type like a human. And I shall celebrate by posting the beginning of an unfinished fic.
This fic is a baseball fic, since fuck knows I haven't written anything else in years, and it is - gasp - an A's fic. I started it not too long after Piazza's injury; it's written from Kendall's perspective, and was originally intended to end with Piazza going on the DL, but as what came to be famously known (in my journal, anyway) as the Ongoing A's Catching Saga became, well, ongoing, I started to flounder. I don't want to give up on this fic, but I don't know where it's going. It was supposed to be about Kendall being totally fine with Piazza's presence, and nobody buying that for a second, but as things went on, it seemed like it needed to be about more, and that the logical stopping point was not the injury, but Kendall's trade. That, however, is way damn more expansive and plotty than I am used to writing, so not only am I unsure of where it's going, I don't know how to get it there if I ever figure it out. At this point, I'm not even entirely convinced that it should be from Kendall's perspective, or at least not exclusively so. I don't know. So go ahead and take a look, and I can't promise anything further, but any advice or suggestions you have would be hugely appreciated.
When spring training starts, and Mike Piazza reports along with the pitchers and catchers, everyone starts looking sidelong at Kendall, watching him to see if he gets twitchy or short-tempered. Kendall supposes he can't blame them, with the way he gets sometimes, and he knows the way he makes a point of greeting Piazza with a friendly smile and a handshake looks fake as hell, but really he's okay.
He knows it's a joke in the clubhouse, one told quietly behind his back, how possessive he is about his position. For some guys, a day spent off the field is a mental and physical break; for others, it's a necessary annoyance. For Kendall, it's agony. He's no kid, and god knows he needs it some days, but. He gets all wound up and anxious on the bench, watching someone else in his spot, putting down his signs and talking to his pitchers. He tenses when the other guy gets a hit, gets still and compressed when a starter has a better game than the one he had with Kendall five days ago. By the time the game is over, the tension is so bad he feels like he could actually physically explode. It spills over into his movements and his speech, and it takes a couple hours working out before he's comfortable in his body again. He pisses guys off and management worries he might pull something. So there aren't a lot of days off, and that works just fine for Kendall. He's most at home in his gear behind the plate, or going over video and scouting reports with the pitchers. When he comes home with sore legs and back, regardless of the game, he knows it was a good day.
So, fair enough that everyone expects him to start getting wound up the second he lays eyes on Piazza. It's Mike Piazza, after all, future Hall of Famer, catcher extraordinaire, and nobody really believes Beane when he insists that Piazza will be DHing only.
The thing is, though, that Piazza spent fourteen years catching in the majors, and last year he had to share the position with Josh Bard in San Diego. Kendall knows all about the aches and pains that settle in early on for a catcher, and how each season weighs a little more heavily than the season before. He's been catching for eleven years, and it's easy to imagine another three years leaving him unable to move the morning after a start. So, yeah, Kendall's okay, because he knows better than anyone that Piazza couldn't steal his job if he wanted to. He claps Piazza on the shoulder with a grin, saying, "Welcome to the team, man," and he means it.
Geren tells Piazza early on not to bother picking up any catcher's gear, to just focus on his hitting. There's a part of Kendall that wonders if that might not come back to bite them - catching can be dangerous, can a team ever really have too many guys around ready to do it if needed? - but mostly he just feels vindicated. See, he thinks at his teammates, I saw that coming, I can be sensible.
Piazza seems relieved - "My joints are about a thousand fucking years old some days, you know how it is," Kendall hears him saying to Melhuse, "the last thing I need is to do any more catching" - and settles in to hit with a vengeance during spring training.
One of the new pitchers, Alan Embree, played in San Diego the year before. Embree is one of those guys who's been around so long that he has connections in a clubhouse before he even enters it; on the first day of Spring Training, Kendall said hello to both him and DiNardo at the same time, and found himself listening to a conversation rehashing injokes from Boston and sarcastic reminisce about the blood-thirsty press. Later it turns out that he also played with Kotsay way back when, on his first go-round through the Padres.
A week or so into Spring Training, Kendall is talking to Embree, pitching stuff, getting a feel for what Embree can do and what made 2006 different from the bad 2005 season that made the Red Sox drop him long after - Embree can admit honestly - they probably should have.
"Tell you what, though," Embree says with a chipmunk-cheeked smile, "I've been crazy lucky with catchers in the last few years. And from what I hear, that streak's still going."
Kendall gives him a smirky sort of grin, letting him know that the pre-emptive suck-up is both spotted and appreciated, and asks how much difference that might have made last year. It's Embree's turn to give him a look, the kind of look that comes from being told that this would come up with Kendall sooner or later.
"You're askin' about Piazza." Kendall laughs, and Embree grins. "I call 'em as I see 'em. You been told not to worry, right, 'cause he's just here to hit, but you wanna know if he got that memo."
Kendall nods, because it's easier than trying to explain that, no, he's really not paranoid, because any explanation will come off as overly defensive. And anyway. He does want to know. Always good to know what you can about the guys on your team.
Embree nods back. "There's definitely a little something extra with a guy like that behind the plate," he says. "No catcher hits the Majors and stays there without knowin' what he's doin', but with a guy like Piazza, you really know, you know? You trust him right off and in no time he proves you right. And he's not like one of those guys, you know, because everyone knows his name he thinks he's done his job and he can just relax. Mike's always workin'. Even now, you've seen him, he can't stop talkin' to pitchers to save his life."
Kendall nods, he has seen that, Piazza deep in conversation with Haren and Harden and Street. That's part of the veteran thing, though. It does twinge a bit, but no one, and least of all Kendall, expects a vet to keep his hard-earned knowledge to himself when he can use it to help his team.
"The thing I really liked about him, though," Embree continues, "is that he didn't pull the superstar routine. He respects guys." He looks intently at Kendall. "He platooned with Josh Bard - kid had the worst fuckin' time in Boston, couldn't catch a knuckleball to save his life, got ripped to shreds and they couldn't punt his ass fast enough when it turned out they could get Doug back. He was pretty nerved up when he got to San Diego, still waitin' to get torn up for every mistake, but Mike talked him down and helped smooth him out. He ended up havin' a great year. And Mike, he helped that along too, because he never pulled that I'm-a-star-who-the-hell-are-you bullshit. He was glad to have someone to share the plate with. He never once, not once, tried to show Josh up. He was just a guy doin' his job, and he knew damn well that he couldn't do it proper anymore without someone to take some of the load off. I mean, the guy ain't perfect, he has his bullshit moments like anyone, but he knows when to be a fuckin' adult and put the team first." He revs up the look, clearly trying to drive a point home, and Kendall has to hide a smile at the total earnestness in his face. "And not steppin' on your territory, that's best for the team. He'll talk to the guys, yeah, all season, but when it gets to the now stuff, gettin' ready for a game, he'll send 'em to you. Just you watch."
Kendall nods yet again and thanks him seriously, lets Embree think that his solemn lecture has freed him of all worry and provided a turning point.