Hard news earlier today for Saul McCormick. His record of two saves and six blown saves was brought to his (and everyone's) attention this afternoon by the front office. In a meeting in the clubhouse, Cub's GM Larry Pierce told him to shape up or ship out, and the evil words "triple A" were spoken by Pierce, as well as Coach Ray Hankish and others.

Today was not the best of days for Saul.

That evening, during the late stages of a close game, Coach Hankish made the bell south call.

***

Top of the Ninth.

Okay Saul thought, just one more out and I get a win. Bantazien was the next batter; a switch hitter batting .381 from the left, but Saul, also a southpaw, had a secret weapon.

The cone-shaped loud speakers introduced Lamont Bantazien as pinch hitter for the Card's. The cone-shaped speaker also informed the crowd that the score was Cub's 5 Card's 4, the bases were loaded, and it was the top of the ninth.

Then the speakers were overrun by the sound of fifty-thousand-plus Cub's fans cheering for Saul McCormick. "GO SAUL GO!" they screamed in a rumbling single voice. Even with his pathetic record, the fans loved him, probably because of his off-field antics more so than his pitching.

Saul, #18 and Rookie of the Year in 2001, paraded halfway around the mound, stopped behind the rubber, and flipped up his rosin bag with one foot. This prompted another hurrah from the folks in the stands. He always got a cheer or nice applause when he hacky-sacked the rosin bag.

He backhanded the bag over his shoulder as he stepped to the center of the mound.

Bantazien stood at the plate awaiting the first pitch.

Saul stepped to the rubber, and after taking a look at first base and third base, threw a ninety-eight mile-per-hour fastball.

A very fat umpire with an expression of disdain said, "Strike."

Bantazien seemed displeased with this call, he'd thought the pitch to be outside.

Saul—on the other hand—was elated, as was the hometown crowd. Cheers louder than an airplane crash filled the stadium.

The runners returned to tag their respective bases and Billy the Catcher threw the baseball back to Saul the Closing Pitcher.

After another hacky-sack with the rosin bag, Saul came set. Billy dropped two fingers between his legs, fastball, then also came set.

Saul didn't want this game to go to the bottom of the inning, he wanted to end it now. He threw.

Bantazien clobbered the fuck out of the ball.

Everyone in attendance (except the black man selling warm Pepsi in C-section) watched the ball fly towards the foul post in right field.

Hooking... hooking...

"Foul ball," the loudspeakers said. "The count is oh and two."

Again the fans in the bleachers went wild, standing at attention and hooting like morons.

Saul saw the light at the end of the tunnel now. He had at least three pitches left to get this fucker out and he felt qualified for the job. And besides, he reasoned, if worse comes to worse he had a secret weapon.

He again came set.

Billy showed three fingers; a curve.

Saul pitched from the wind-up this time, not really worried about the runners. His only concern was the pitch.

He let loose, the call was low and outside.

The next pitch was high and outside.

With the count two balls and two strikes, Billy the Catcher went to the mound. "Can you get him?"

"Oh fuck yeah, he's so off balance he'll never even come close to hitting. I'll keep ‘em low so if he does manage to make contact, it won't get out of the infield."

"I hope you know what you're doing Saul. You know if you blow this game you'll be back in triple A."

"There ain't no way I'm gonna loose Billy, I got a secret weapon. So don't worry, just get back to your spot and catch the ball like you're suppose to."

"Okay," Billy replied questionably. Then he walked away.

Saul did the rosin bag trick again, much to the delight of the audience. Then, as he rubbed up the baseball, he touched the nonofficial portion of his mitt. The portion that he'd created right after today's meeting. A nonofficial slit that was held shut—and thereby rendered invisible—with Velcro.

Once again, Saul came set.

The audience hushed. Bantazien spiraled the bat over his left shoulder in a lazy orbit, and the fat umpire got down on one knee.

Saul concentrated on the center of the catcher's mitt. Nothing else existed right then. There was no batter, no crowd, no managers or coaches; only a cowhide glove sixty feet away and a ball destined to land inside said glove.

As if entranced, he wound up and delivered. The baseball flew away from him at 99 miles an hour. It followed a very slight arc as it traveled to its destination. At the exact moment the ball was going over the inside edge of home plate, a baseball bat was not coming to greet it.

Then there was a thud as the ball hit Billy's gloved hand.

"Ball," the fat umpire said.

Fifty thousand fans moaned while two rosters of ball players sounded off; one team squealing in delight, the other groaning like they were at a funeral.

Hankish came out of the Cub's dugout in a royal hurry and got right in the home plate umpire's face. This was a mistake, he got ejected and missed the murder.

"Play ball," the ump said.

"I ain't going back down to the minors," Saul yelled at Bantazien. "So you can just forget it."

Bantazien didn't say a thing in return, he felt it unbecoming for a professional athlete to act childish during a game. Afterwards though, he might beat the tar out of Saul, but for now he remained quiet. Quiet and professional.

Saul came set, the runners took their leads, the umpire crouched into position.

Three balls and two strikes, it's Secret Weapon time Saul thought. With his hands behind his back, no one—not even the runner on second—saw him pull a six inch throwing dagger from his modified glove.

No wind-up this time, he brought his left arm under his shoulder like a bowler might do.

Saul McCormick released a long pointed object into play. Even with the underhanded throw, the thin dagger traveled in excess of 110 MPH.

Before Bantazien could tell what was coming, it was there. A perfect strike right between his eyes. The tip of the dagger protruded from the back of his head about an inch or so, greasy and snotty looking. A small amount of blood collected in his hair as Bantazien uttered a bubbly, raspy breath, then fell dead in the chalk of the batter's box.

Saul calmly said, "Yer out."