GMS/TEAMS
SEASONS
CAREER STATS
July 2, 1910
"Hey Bobby...Old Man Momberg wants to see you in his office!"
No matter how many years you're in the league, getting called to the owner's office sends a little bit of a tingle up your spine. I didn't know our owner/GM well, but there was something slimy about him that gave me the creeps. I headed to his office with trepidation.
"Come on in, Bobby...have a seat. Care for a little something from the bar? I never touch the stuff myself, but I keep it around for the sake of hospitality."
I took that remark with a grain of salt; I know a drinker's nose when I see one, and his was like an eggplant. "No thanks, Mr. Momberg, I'm fine. What can I do for you today?"
"Well Bobby, let me get down to brass tacks. The team just doesn't seem to have the old ginger, and the fans are clamoring for a change. Oh heck, I'll get right down to it: how would you like to be the manager of this club?"
Honestly, Mr. Momberg, I wouldn't like it too much at all. I don't know that I'm the manager type, and I'd like to concentrate on my playing. Isn't there someone else? Kling, or Willis, maybe?"
"Kling only cares about his billiards, and Willis- I can't see myself looking at his ugly phiz across a desk on a regular basis. No, it's you, Bobby. No man can escape his destiny, and this is yours."
"Well, I'd have to think about it. Not to be too blunt, sir, but what kind of extra money can I expect?"
"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear enough. The Peoria Caterpillars are offering you the job of player-manager. The job of player only that you currently hold is not available to you anymore. In other words, Bobby- take the job, or we'll release you to seek your fortune elsewhere as a 36-year-old backup infielder."
Well, that was pretty much the ace of trump. "OK, Mr. Momberg, I'll do my best for the rest of the season and then we'll see."
"Glad to have you aboard, Bobby. And one more thing: now, don't go putting yourself in the lineup too often. You need to be objective about those kind of things, and objectively, you aren't the player you once were."
I dragged myself back down to the clubhouse like I was pulling a grand piano. Now what the heck was I going to do?
Roderick John Wallace