Power Pros Forum

“Now batting for your Chattanooga Lookouts: The second baseman, M.J. MacKenzie!”

Christ...

The pitcher, Johnson, stroked his beard before stepping onto the rubber. His piercing eyes made MacKenzie shudder. He nodded and wound up. A slider pounded the catcher's mitt, gliding right under M.J.'s bat.

Christ.... He stepped out of the box, adjusting his batting gloves and belt before stepping back in. Johnson nodded once again. His delivery was the same, MacKenzie noted, slider.

Unfortunately, it was a fastball. And a pretty good one, to boot, MacKenzie swung about 2 seconds after the ball had hit the catcher's glove.

Well... That didn't go as planned.

Johnson didn't even bother taking a sign for his third pitch, dropping a change-up in the dirt from the stretch. M.J. didn't swing. With the count now 1-2, M.J. didn't know what to expect. Johnson took the mound again, his catcher unhappy. He nodded.

A fastball up and in.

"HUWAH!" the umpire yelled.

"Crap." MacKenzie said, lowering his head. His bat dragged behind him in the dirt as he made his way back to the dugout.

Alvin Barron coolly walked past the dejected MacKenzie and settled into the right-handed batter’s box. Hand raised to the umpire, he dug into the dirt with his right foot before addressing the pitcher with the end of his 35-inch bat. Johnson, clearly handling the 2-for-3 Barron carefully, missed low with two fastballs to start the at-bat. The Suns’ catcher called for time and trotted out to the mound. After a brief conference, Johnson settled back onto the mound. With the count heavily in his favor, Barron was looking for another fastball.

Johnson stepped into his windup and Barron loaded, taking a slightly higher leg kick then normal. He had guessed right; Johnson hummed a fastball right down the middle, and Barron swung wildly, making contact a few inches in front of the plate. The ball sailed high and deep to straightaway center, and Barron took off. The Jacksonville center fielder raced back, and as Alvin rounded first he saw the ball settle into his glove at the warning track.

Desmond Jacobs put his arm around cleanup hitter, Matthew Ratajczyk, "Alright, Ratajcuh... Uh, Matt, I've got confidence in you. Barron got good wood on it. Wait for the fastball."

"Right." He responded blankly.

Matthew took his spot in the now worn right-handed batter's box, and rested the bat on his shoulder. Johnson, weary of throwing his best pitch, began the at-bat with a low slider. Ball one.

His second attempt was a changeup that made it about 58 feet. Ball two.

A fastball that got past the catcher moved the count to 3-0. Johnson had no choice but to throw one in the zone, and Ratajczyk knew it.

Johnson presented a meatball on a platter right down the chute.

"Crack!" Ratajczyk threw the stump of the bat in a huff and jogged to first.

The third baseman took two steps to his right and made the catch to end the inning.

Michael Montgomery threw one last pitch to his bullpen catcher as the Suns cleared the field. Montgomery took his time, jogging deliberately to the pitcher’s mound and making sure to soak in the stadium atmosphere.

AA sucks, he concluded as “Lil’ Lookouts” engaged in some activity along the baselines.

Montgomery reached the mound in time and began warming up, regaining his feel for the mound at AT&T Field. He flashed a casual thumbs up to catcher Josh Randall, who threw the ball down to second base. It was then relayed from MacKenzie, to Ribeiro, to Washington, and back to Montgomery. The leadoff batter settled in. Montgomery quickly worked the count to 1-2 with three sliders. Randall signalled for a fastball, but Montgomery shook him off. He wound up and threw a fourth straight slider, but he started it too far in, and it was slapped to right for a single. Phillips fielded the ball on a backhand and got it in to MacKenzie, who tossed it to Michael.

“Throw what I tell you.”

Michael turned to see Josh Randall standing next to him, mask in hand.

“It’s under control.”
“That’s what you said last time. I know what I’m doing.”
“And I don’t?”

Josh brushed him off and headed back behind home plate.

“*(censored)* kid,” he muttered as he walked.

Josh Randall squatted behind the plate and threw down his index finger. Montgomery shook him off again.

Jesus *(censored)*... He put down two fingers, a slider. Montgomery shook him off again. What the fu- whatever.

Josh put down one finger once again. His middle finger. Michael chuckled and grinned smugly. He lifted his leg and threw a... knuckle curve?!

A bat flew past the right side of Randall's face and made a distinctive crack. *(censored)* idiot. Randall stared at Michael's exasperated face as Jacobs took the ball from his hand and called for a new pitcher, who quickly retired the next two batters to end the inning, the Lookouts now trailing 5-4.

This is a good start! I'm excited to see where you're going with this. And lol at the middle finger

Ouch rough outing poor dude

"Washington! Don't *(censored)* this up."

Django Washington, even with his massive build, was quick to agree to his manager's tired demands.

The Suns' new pitcher, an 18 year old left-hander named James, took the mound. Django could see the fear in the kid's eyes.

He started off the at-bat with a hanging curveball that Django roped to left, hitting the fence. "Good." He said, stopping at first.

He looked back towards the dugout to see the stout, but surprisingly sprightly, Pablo Santiago coming in his direction. "Good job today, Washington." He said in passing.

"Yeah."

Santiago was known for his speed back in Puerto Rico. He was going to steal. Keyshawn Phillips knew it, Jacobs knew it, the whole stadium knew it. Unfortunately for him, James knew it too.

He caught him off guard, making a quick move to first.

"OUT!"

"*(censored)*!" yelled Jacobs from across the diamond.

“There goes my chance at a walk-off,” said Keyshawn Phillips from home plate. He stepped out of the batter’s box as the opposing catcher let out a light chuckle. Phillips quickly wiped away the smile that had crept onto his face and settled in for the first pitch a second time.

James, back in the windup, smirked and threw a pitch that started right down the middle. Keyshawn swung, but the change-up dipped just below his bat for a strike. The next pitch was a curveball in the dirt, and the third was just off the outside corner. James stepped into his windup a fourth time, and Keyshawn’s eyes lit up at another pitch down the middle. It was a fastball - no, a change-up, but he made this adjustment too late; he started his swing too early and was way out in front.

“Son of a bitch.”

Already 0-for-3 with a pair of strikeouts, Phillips wasn’t about to go down swinging again. With the count at 2-2, he knew James still retained the option of not coming in with one. So when the pitch came, Phillips immediately recognized it as a fastball high-and-away. He’d worked the count full.

“HUWAH!”

Keyshawn smiled back at the umpire. “You’ve got to be kidding me, man.”

Without waiting for a response, he returned to the dugout, shaking his head. Robert Tomlinson offered him a silent low five on his way by, and Phillips obliged.

Tomlinson reached the batter’s box and wasted no time readying himself for the first pitch. He knew the drill: James had started both batters offspeed. Concentrating on the bill of the pitcher’s cap as he wound up, Robert then tracked the ball out of the pitcher’s hand.

Curveball.

Robert kept his weight back just long enough to yank the slow breaking ball barely fair down the left field line. His heart raced as he rounded first. Sliding into second with a smile on his face, Tomlinson clapped twice, soaking in the moderate applause. Even AA still felt like a dream.

Danilo Ribeiro ran a hand through his silky black hair as he took a step onto the field, helmet in hand.

“Dan!”

He looked back and saw Desmond Jacobs approaching him.

“It’s Danilo, sir.”
“Farmer’s hitting for you.”

Ribeiro’s skin flushed. He tossed his bat and helmet aside and stormed to the end of the dugout, slamming his fist on the wood bench as he sat.

"Whoa, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed, heheh." Farmer walked behind the umpire and the catcher, taking his place in the lefty batter's box. "Strange he's putting me in against a lefty, don't you think?"

The umpire responded with an empty glare. "Yeah, I hear ya." Farmer said, looking towards the mound, "I'm gonna hit one out." He said to no one in particular.

The first pitch James threw was a cutter that broke out of the zone. Farmer swung and missed. "Darn." James followed up with a fastball down and out, providing the same result.

Farmer now down 0-2 emptied his mind. "Whatever comes, I'm hitting it out." He reassured himself. James kicked his leg high.

"Curveball? I dunno."

It was a curveball. In the dirt.

"HUWAH!"

Farmer's bat sat on his right shoulder, his face crunched, soul crushed, he let out a grunt.

Final Score:
Suns - 5
Lookouts - 4


Lineup:
1. Yates Douglas - CF
2. M.J. MacKenzie - 2B
3. Alvin Barron - DH
4. Matthew Ratajczyk - 1B
5. Django Washington - 3B
6. Keyshawn Phillips - RF
7. Robert Tomlinson - LF
8. Danilo Ribeiro - SS
9. Josh Randall - C

Bench:
2B/SS John Farmer
IF Pablo Santiago
OF Vincent Snow
C Nick Mattson

Jeesh, rough game for the Lookouts.

It was a darn close game. We'll get 'em next time!

Which one is it?

It's Jacobs, heh

JP....................

Ha ha, that confused be when I first read it

April 14th, 2014
10:57 P.M.

"*(censored)* bullshit."

Danilo Ribeiro tossed his bag onto the passenger seat of his '99 Camry and slammed the door. He shoved the key into the ignition on the second try and turned it. The engine sputtered.

"No, no, no!"

Danilo turned the key a second time, then a third.

"Not this shit again."

Danilo looked around the parking lot. Several other players were still filing into their cars. He resolved to swallow his pride and ask someone for help. But who?
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Ribeiro's owner should PM me with what character they'd like Danilo to approach.

April 14th, 2014
11:01 P.M.

Drungo Hazewood checked his cell phone as he walked to the driver-side door of his rusting pickup. One missed call. He would have to return that later. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he was about to open the door when he saw that small Brazilian approaching. The latter ran a hand through his hair.

"Hey, man, I'm having trouble with my car and I noticed you have a pickup. Think you could give me hand?"

Drungo looked the man over. He contrasted sharply with Hazewood's massive frame.

"Hello? Do you speak English? Can you tow car?" The Brazilian held up his hands as if he was turning a steering wheel. Drungo stared.

"Do you understand?" He waved his hands wildly. "Truck." He pointed at Drungo's pickup. "Tow." He latched his right finger onto his left fist. "Car." He gestured to his car across the lot. It was small and weak, like him.

"You can call a mechanic."

The Brazilian's eyes widened. His brow furrowed. "Hey, what's the big deal here? Can't help out a *(censored)* teammate?"

Drungo, who had begun to open the door to his truck, slammed it shut. He walked over to the man and stared down at him from at least five inches above. The Brazilian put his hand on Drungo's chest, who swatted it away.

"You think you're tough?"

A few players - Phillips, Washington, and Farmer - watched the confrontation from across the lot.
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Keyshawn Phillips, Django Washington, and John Farmer: Try to break it up, or leave them to figure it out on their own? (Each make a decision separately and PM it to me)

April 14th, 2014
11:07 P.M.

John Farmer heard a door slam. A voice bellowed through the dark parking lot. “You think you’re tough?”

“What was that?” He made his way over.

Deep in the night, the sound was off-setting, but he knew that it was his “civic duty!” to check it out. “Don’t want any killers around here,” he, weakly, said to justify his action.

A small man, “Ribeiro,” and a large man, “is that Django or Drungo? I can never tell,” looked tense.

The bigger one spoke. “I suggest you get out of here before I lose my patience.”

“Oh shit,” Farmer picked up his pace to make it over to his fighting teammates. Before he could get to the two of them, though, six-foot-seven-inch Django Washington stepped in between them. Keyshawn Phillips wasn’t far behind.

“What you doing, Drungo?” Django grabbed Hazewood’s arm before he could swing at the much shorter Ribeiro.

“Pests need to be taken care of,” came the reply.

“I’m not a pest!”

“Hey man!” Farmer opened his mouth. Wise? No. Brave? Yes. “That’s my double play mate!”

Drungo laughed. “You turn double plays from the bench now?”

“H-Hey… I-”

“Shut your mouth, Drungo.” Django interposed. He knew that he was bigger than Drungo. Plus, Phillips was there too. “It would be unwise for you to continue. Pick on someone your own size.”

Drungo shifted, and his stern gaze faltered. “You people aren’t worth my time.” He backed away from Washington and into his truck.

“Yeah, keep walking!” Farmer threw his fist in the general direction of Drungo’s pickup. “Bitch.” He added some seconds later.

“How you doin’, little man?” Django patted Ribeiro on the head.

Danilo, though visibly shaken, jerked away from Django. “I don’t need your help.”

“It sure looked like you did.”

“I was fine.”

“Do you need help with your car? I’ve got jumper cables if your battery’s dead,” offered Phillips.

“I’ll call a mechanic.” Ribeiro retreated to his Camry.

John Farmer looked Keyshawn and Django over. “You know, me and you two would make for a good sitcom.”

Phillips let out a hearty laugh. Django gave a blank stare, turned around, and walked briskly back to his Honda Civic. “It’s a ‘97, isn’t it?” Farmer asked, his voice getting louder with each word. Django ignored him.

“Yeah, it’s a ‘97. Ugly as shit.” Farmer turned around. His brand new 2009 Audi A3 awaited.

Hey, nobody died.

Is Keyshawn Philips named after Keisha Phillips?

April 15th, 2014
3:01 AM

"Oh damn... It's tomorrow. How long have I been out?"
Yates Douglas checked his car's clock again, "3:01, huh? What time did the game end? 10:30? Phew..."

He pulled to a red light.
It's so calming, the streets this early in the morning. Nobody to bother me, a little bit of dew on everything... Just me, my baby Porsche, and the road... Oh, how I lov-
Yates heard some commotion coming from the other side of the intersection.
It was a man and a woman arguing.

He couldn't exactly hear what they were saying, but he could tell that there was some violent screaming going down.
The man raised his fist...

The light turned green...

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What does Yates do? (If the owner of Yates could PM me, that would be great tysm)