Chapter XV:
Sandy’s Statistics

“AND SO I shall become the proprietor of seven more Knights. Who are they, Sandy? Where do they play—league as well as position? What are their stats?” His gaze, still directed out the window, which was still curtained with rivulets of magical rainwater, looked very far away. I felt my impatience swell. “Will you tell me eftsoons?”

He gave me a startled look. “Eftsoons? Eh, what, eftsoons?”

I suppressed a sigh. “Yes, eftsoons. As in, sometime before I turn sixteen hundred and nine.”

“Ah, yes! Of course, Boss. I have to consult with the scouts, the DPD, and the other managers, but you’ll have my full report by week’s end, or the Monday after at the very latest.”

I knew that would have to do; meetings being a royal pain in the derriere to arrange and conduct, to say nothing of the inevitable differences of opinion regarding prospects’ skills, projected as well as current. It would take at least that much time for him and his subordinates to hash out something approaching what I needed. I dismissed him with a nod, and he left the office, chuckling softly and repeating “eftsoons” as if it were the most endearing word he had ever heard. His manner of saying it made it the most endearing word I had ever heard.

As for Sandy’s reports, I had seen them many times before and knew what to expect.

Since I had commanded him to acquire hitters, this of course would be the focus; no Mendoza Line mendacity permitted. Heading the list—not acquisitions, per se—would be all rehabilitating players due to come off Disabled status in the immediate future, perhaps two or three. Then would come writeups of farm-team players, another handful at best, whom Stan Ebnetter, the director of player development, believed worthy to be called up to the majors, my philosophy being that it is always more cost-effective to promote from within, and it fans the hopes of the other farmboys to believe their turn will come one day, too, if they work hard enough, which helps to better their performances and the revenues at their respective ballparks. It being the postseason, free agents would round out the field of candidates, and there always seem to be more than enough of them floating about at any given point till the trade deadline. I wanted seven; I knew Sandy would give me at least fifteen from which to make my final selections, for there are more issues than mere batting average to consider—among my Knights, a lot more. One of the first changes I instituted as owner was to banish the baggy old rejects from a pajama factory for a form-hugging uniform design, which has proven immensely popular, especially within the female age 18–80 demographic. My players must not only play well, they must look good while doing it, which boosts product endorsements, of which the franchise receives a healthy cut. Everybody wins.

It is indeed good to be queen.