You were looking over the stats when the phone rang. They were pleasing. No, more than that, exciting, exhilarating. Darn near perfect, in your humble opinion. No team had done so well. Ever. Of the last six games your team played, three were no-hitters, two were total blow-outs, and the first game of the season was the only real challenge. That first one had you worried for a little bit, but your boys pulled through with flying colors. Every game after that had only been a better trouncing of the opposing teams. In fact, the last game, four days ago, had your boys pitted against the second team in the league, and you almost stopped the game out of pity. Yes, definitely it only looked up from here. Your team already had established seven new records on runs scored, stolen bases, innings-without-errors, and no-hitters. The men on your team seemed to transcend the game and humanity because of your careful, caring, loving coaching. They were demigods made in your own image.
Of course, you are a good coach, so you do not let your excitement and pride get away with you. After the second no-hitter, you counseled yourself in the quiet of the hotel room after the game. You went over every preventable possibility of something going wrong: players getting put in jail, the team stops practicing because of arrogance, the team begins to break-up, players get sick, coaches get sick, communication breaks down, you suffer major errors in judgment, and even if the bat boy decides to quit. You mulled and sweated over these and more, yet you could not foresee any of these happening. Your team was just too good. Nothing could break them apart and nothing could stop them from playing the game they loved. So, while the sun began to peek through the flimsy white curtains of the hotel room, you cautiously went against your instincts and began to invest some hope and expectations in your team. You were beginning to be convinced the only thing which could stop you from a World Championship was an act of God. But after this miraculous early season, you were convinced that even He was wearing your ball cap.
Maybe nothing could stop you from winning. Or at least that’s what you were beginning to think before the phone call.
“Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Stan. How are you doing?”
“Oh, good morning, Stan. I’m doing great. I was just looking over the team stats.”
“Yeah, yeah, our boys are doing really good. . .” the the team owner trails off.
“Are you calling to ask if I am calling on supernatural forces? I assure you, I don’t use voodoo.”
“No. No, not at all. In fact, I’m calling for a much different reason.”
Your curiosity rises, a bad feeling balls in your stomach, “Oh?”
Stan pauses. You can hear him suck in a breath before he begins again, “Yes, I’ve called to tell you that you has been removed from your coaching position for the reminder of the season.”
“What?” but then you begin to laugh as the ball uncoils inside, “That’s real funny, Stan, but please don’t do it again. You might jinx me.”
Stan’s voice raises, “I am jinxing you! This is not a joke! I’m sorry, but you can’t coach anymore. I’m sorry. You and your boys were doing real good this year.”
There was silence except for the clinking of an ice cube as your boss sucked down a liquid.
“You’re serious.”
“Yes, I’m serious! I wouldn’t joke about something like this!”
You whisper out of your astonishment, “Why?”
“Because.”
This time you roar, “Why!?”
“Because you can’t win.”
“What are you talking about! We are damn near perfect! We will win! How do you know we can’t win?”
“Because YOU can’t. I don’t know why, but there is just no hope for the team with you as the coach.”
“Look, because of my coaching OUR team is the best there ever has been! Why are you saying there is no hope!?”
“I said I don’t know why! There just isn’t! I just feel it!”
“What’s wrong with my coaching? Why do you want me out? What did I do?”
“Nothing! You did nothing! There is nothing wrong with you or your coaching!”
Now you thunder, “THEN WHY ARE YOU FIRING ME!?”
“Because you can’t win!”
“What the –!” you cut off, gritting your teeth and pinching the bridge of your nose.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to do this, but I just had this feeling that it was hopeless with you.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Yes, I can. And I just did.”
“I will be coaching by the end of this year!”
“No, you won’t. It’s hopeless. Give it up and find a new team.”
Stan’s phone clicks, and you are left in silence and a rising fury.
Out of the confusion one thought crawls up, “A new team? What other teams are there? I love this team.”
