"You guys have to be smarter than I am," Doc Wakley complained to the rail at Big Itchy's. "For the life of me, I just can't figure it out."
"Whuzzat, Doc?" Mouse Hollow had just dug out from a seven inch snowstorm, and now fresh flakes were swirling over Main Street yet again, visible through the plate glass window in the front of the saloon. The Minnesota Twins were scheduled to face the Pittsburgh Pirates at 5 PM. Thankfully the game was being played in Pittsburgh.
"Have any of you seen the forecast through the next seven days? A minimum of two more snow events, and no daytime highs out of the thirties. How can Major League Baseball expect their product not to suffer by scheduling our hometown nine in conditions like this?"
"Don't they go back on the road after the Seattle series?"
"Hell, no!" Doc snorted. "They're here through April 19th. In fact, of the twenty-seven games scheduled for the Twins through the end of April, sixteen are at home and only eleven on the road."
Steve had started scrolling through his phone. "Beginning the 20th, the Twins go to Tampa Bay, then New York, and then they come back home through May 2nd. Then to Guaranteed Rate Field for a four game series."
"Guaranteed What?" asked Fiona.
"The Chicago White Sox."
"God is punishing us for regarding the name 'Comisky Park' as too poetic," Doc surmised.
"In May," Steve resumed, "the Twins' schedule is reversed. We're at home for eleven games and on the road for sixteen. We close out our season series against the Mariners before Memorial Day. Also the Cardinals. There's a home-and-away four game split in the middle of May."
"A crying shame that that's past the end of the snow season."
"No need to wax facetious, Doc. Leave that to the people who write these schedules."
"Visiting St Louis in may is fine, but how about putting the Cardinals in Minnesota in early August, when the Cards would be fine getting out of their sweat box for a two game series?"
"Four games against the Yanks in April. Then they come here in September for three," Steve observed, still studying his phone. "And the season ends on September 30th. Does that eliminate the need for November baseball?"
"We can only hope so. If the Twins improve this year as much as they did last year, they'll win over one hundred games and be playoff favorites."
"You know that's not going to happen, Doc."
"You don't know anything to the contrary. Your crystal ball is just as fractured as mine."
"What would happen if all the first few weeks of the season were played in the south?" Goldy asked.
"Bless your innocent heart, Goldy. The fans would revolt."
"There aren't enough venues in the south."
"I'm not sure that's true," Steve replied to this last. With only a moment's hesitation, he was able to declare that each league, American and National, had eight teams which either played their home baseball south of the Mason-Dixon Line, or on the Left Coast, where the Pacific breezes whisper moderation.
"The Mason-Dixon Line ended in Pennsylvania," came the objection.
"Thirty-nine degrees, forty-three minutes. The Mason-Dixon is a line of latitude. Those don't end anywhere," Steve defended. "Coors Field misses the cut. It's at 39.45, two minutes north."
"I'm with Goldy," Doc declared.
"Doc, I was just asking a simple question!"
"Fine, I'll defend it."
At this point Fox Sports North began its baseball broadcast from PNC Park. There was a close-up of Jake Odorizzi, the Twins starting pitcher, blinking in a light, swirling snow.
"Are you sure this game isn't being played here? Look outside. The weather's identical!"
"As I was about to say," Doc said loudly, "there is no reason whatsoever that a home opener has to occur in the first week of the season. It's a tradition? Fine, let's start a new tradition. Let's have a three day break between spring training and the regular season for exhibition games and conjugal visits. What's the minimum pay for a major league rookie these days?"
"This year, $545,000."
"For that kind of money, you can't fly your girlfriend to San Diego?"
"It would still be a tough sell," opined Theory. "It's not as though Minnesota sports fans don't have appropriate winter gear. Let's keep giving us the opportunity to show it off."
"And put the players in thermal undies?" Doc persisted. "They'll be pulling muscles regardless. You can stand in the outfield for three hours and never record a chance, or be obligated to sprint after a line drive to the gap in the eighth inning with the game on the line. The pitchers struggle to grip the ball, and can't hit their spots. They issue more walks in cold weather, slowing down the game. The hitters are sluggish."
Here Doc stopped for a breath. "So you try to play as many games as possible in moderate weather."
"Fine!" declared Theory, an outdoorsman to his core. "You've got me convinced, Doc. And since all the owners in the majors listen attentively to everything I have to say, I'll just send them a group e-mail, and we'll have your schedule in place next year."
Doc wasn't to be rattled. "Consider this scenario: the Commissioner's Office notifies each team that it is considering a schedule in which northern teams may, upon request, opt to play the first three weeks of their season in the southern tier. Do you really imagine there would be no takers?"
"Actually I don't."
Jake Odorizzi, who in his first start had thrown six shutout innings against Baltimore, was busy grooving a 432 foot, two run homer to Josh Bell. And it was only the first inning. You could see this on both screens surrounding the Buzztime quiz.
"You might be surprised, Theory," Fiona took up, once the groans had subsided. "This isn't the era of captains of industry starving their general managers for cash. Nowadays success is based on metrics and analytics, and it's inconceivable that there is a front office which wouldn't try to mine a warm weather schedule to advantage. A northern team plays in better weather, and then receives a back-loaded home schedule. A southern team, playing at home, can jump ahead of its divisional rivals, and play in less exhausting weather once it hits 90-90 on a daily basis. The number of road and home games remains the same. The difference in travel expenses is negligible..."
"And a pulled hamstring costing a $10 mill ballplayer six weeks of his season?" Doc inquired.
The group lapsed into silence. One or two or them had played Countdown through the polemics, a couple others took it up; and the remainder were content to watch the ball game, in which Eddie Rosario launched a high popup, a popup so high that it disappeared among the snowflakes descending on PNC Field.
Rosario was convinced that his pop fly was a foul ball. Discounting the wind, it might have been. But when it landed halfway between the pitcher's mound and the first base line, among a trio of puzzled infielders, Rosario was still in the batter's box. Someone picked up the ball and threw it to first base, retiring the Twins' left fielder on what was scored as a ground ball out.
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