STORY

A curious haunting, part II

by Kevin Clair

[Continuing our story... -Ed.]

The weirdest part was that, while all of this was going on, we were playing really well. We were finally out of last place, having huge offensive days; we climbed into fifth place, where we've been ever since. [Editor's note: They are now in seventh.] I can't explain it at all. We had fights and arguments last year, and the year before; losing brings that out in people. But it was nothing like what was going on during the end of April, when guys who'd been best friends would suddenly turn on each other over absolutely nothing.

Everything came to a head on May 5th. It started as just a bit of trash talk about our game with the Pirates the day before, which we'd won 10-0; Fielder and Hardy had combined for seven RBIs, and they were kind of giving Duffy a hard time about it. It was pretty good-natured at first; they were talking about how bad Pittsburgh was, but they were also saying how it was too bad Duff didn't play, maybe then it would have been closer. The usual stuff.

But then Matt Capps overheard and came over. Now, Capps, he's a little short-fused to begin with; frankly, I'm surprised none of the anger that had been brewing in the locker room all this time had affected him in any way. But he'd been a good pitcher up until then, and we were still holding out hope that he'd join Fuentes as a closer, so he was pretty important for the team. We tended to overlooked some of the rotten things he'd occasionally say. This time, though, everything just stopped as he walked over to where Fielder and Duffy were.

-- Lay off, Princess, he said.
-- Come on, Matt, we're just playing, J.J. said, trying to intervene. We don't mean it.
-- We're all in this together, man, Prince added. He sounded uncomfortable.
-- Yeah, well, I don't need to hear you act all big just because you're winning now. Don't act like you've never been in the shit with us before.
-- Come on, Matt, said Duffy. Let's just go out and play.
-- You know, Capps, you've got a lip on you for a nothing reliever, Prince said. Better watch yourself before I make it fat.

While this was going on, J.J. and Duffy had backed off, and we were all pretty shocked; I'm not sure Prince even really knew why he was talking the way he was. Matt got up in Prince's face at this point; they couldn't have been much closer than they were now.

-- What, you're threatening me now? You'd better watch yourself.
-- Why, you gonna throw at me? You'd probably miss and put the ball in the seats, fool.
-- Keep talking, you're just asking for it.
-- I'm not afraid of you, Capps. You're just some big, dumb kid. You're lucky the Pirates are so cheap or no one would pay you.

At this point Matt took a step closer to him, and looked him directly in the eyes. -- You talk like that to your daddy? he said.

Prince got real grim after that, and Matt was angrier than I'd ever seen him before. Prince stood there for a couple seconds, then stormed off, bumping Matt in the shoulder as he passed with such ferocity that, even in his state, he stumbled back a few steps before regaining his balance. J.J. took a couple of steps to catch Prince as he stormed out of the locker room, but thought better of it and sat back down.

Matt was a little out of it, in his own world, before snapping out of his angry reverie and walking back to his locker. As he left, I caught a glimpse of Dmitri, who had been on the other side of this scene the whole time. I'll never forget his face. He had a sick, devilish grin, his eyes full of anger. I swear on my life they were glowing red. I never want to see anything like it again.

You know what happened next; Capps came in to pitch during the seventh, he threw at Fielder, and he got tossed. Neither of them were around after the game, which was just as well; God knows what would have happened had they been there, or who would have been drawn into it. Dmitri was there after the game, sitting at his locker, staring at the wall. No one talked to him. We weren't sure what would happen next.

That night I was awoken by the telephone. I rolled over in bed and picked it up.

-- Hello?

The voice on the other end was digitally distorted. -- Team meeting. Seven a.m. Don't miss it.

Then they hung up. I didn't know what to think, but at this point it didn't make any less sense than anything else that had been happening. And so I went. The rest of the club had arrived; it was clear they'd all received the same phone call, but no one stepped up to claim responsibility for it. Suddenly, behind us the door opened, and someone stepped in; I knew instantly who it was.

-- Tony?
-- That's right, Tony Graffanino at your service. He had a ridiculous smile on his face.
-- What's this all about? said Jeff.
-- Well, I saw what happened at the game yesterday, and J.J. told me what was going on, and how Dmitri Young always seemed to be at the center of it. And that whole thing with you and Marcus, and the stuff he said... I just thought it was real fishy.
-- That's right! said Marcus. But what's that got to do with you?
-- Well, I'm obviously pretty tight with J.J. and Ben, and all your Brewers guys. And I did play with the Catholics for a while. And the Dmitri situation... it was evil. Had you picked up on that? I had to do something.

We just stared. Tony continued.

-- After you all left - I know because J.J. told me he was the last to go last night - I came round to the stadium. I know the back entrances from the week I spent here - I never forget these things, you know - and so I came in and looked around. Sure enough, after a while I saw Dmitri lurking around the hallways, up to who-knows-what. And I thought to myself, this is it. I have to get him now, before something horrible happens to this team.

-- And so what happened was, I got a bottle of holy water - you never know when it's handy - and I sprinkled some of it all over one of Dmitri's bats, just to confirm my suspicions. The sound it made! It was horrifying, like all of the worst spirits were being exorcised from this team all at once. I had to turn away; I couldn't look. Of course he heard, and ere long he was storming back into the locker room, demanding to know what was the commotion. He turned the corner and stared; I stared; it was him and me. He made the first move, bounding at me to try and steal the bat; I ducked out of his way, and in a quick motion turned 180 degrees and threw my arms around him, clutching the bat to his neck. He let out a blood-curdling scream; the holy water on the bat was having its effect. "Be gone, evil spirits!" I whispered in his ear. "Curse not this team you have bedeviled. Leave this place and never come back." His screams were constant; I was terrified, yet devoted unrelentingly to the cause. The beast had to go.

-- After a great struggle, my will against his, finally he surrendered. I felt him weaken and fall, collapsing to the ground, heaving great sighs as he fell. The beast was defeated; the man was weak. I kneeled beside him. "Dmitri," I said, "you must go. You have cast a pall on this place; your evil has nigh brought it down. But I, Graffanino, have brought you low, and now I cast you out." He continued to gasp for breath, but before long he was standing again, looking around, leaving the clubhouse. And that is how I stand before you today.

We were all a little taken aback. Sensing this, Tony took a bat from the pack he was carrying. Pulling a little bottle from his front jacket pocket, he opened it and sprinkled a little of the liquid within on the bat. Instantly a hellish sound filled the room; a great wind began to blow, and violent screams were all we could hear. A hint of sulphurous air surrounded us. We all shielded our faces and averted our gaze from what was happening before us. After what seemed an eternity, the din faded, and we looked back. Tony returned our gaze, sternly, holding the bat in the same way as he was before.

-- You see now what was infecting you, he said. And why it was necessary for me to intervene. I did not want the evil presence of Dmitri Young to affect you any longer.

There was silence for a time. Suddenly, someone began to clap. I looked behind me, and it was Jeff Francoeur. His applause spread, from one person to another, until we all found ourselves clapping for what Tony did. Capps and Fielder embraced, apologizing for what they said and did; they knew now what they could not have known only 24 hours before. A great weight was lifted from all of us. We had all, in our own ways, acted insidiously to ourselves and each other; now, we were free.

And so it went. Since then, we've actually been scuffling a little bit, and really it seems unlikely that even if we were playing well, we'd rise much higher than fourth place. We kept Graff around for a little while, but had to let him go; even an exorcist can't keep his roster spot if he can barely keep himself over the Mendoza line. And Aaron Boone's been hitting the ball so well in his place! But it was still hard to see him go, after everything he did for us. I had a chance to talk to him before he left.

-- Thank you, Tony, for everything.
-- Oh, don't mention it. You gave me a chance when no one else would, and I know that I'm not the best player. I'll step aside for the greater good.
-- I have to know, though: how did you know about Dmitri? The signs were all there, now, but you weren't here. You couldn't have just known from what J.J. said.

Tony smiled a bit as he reflected; I sensed that he was beyond himself as he thought of an answer. -- Sometimes, he began. Sometimes... there are people you just *know* are trouble.

And with that, he was gone.

We're carrying on now, much as before. People are hurt, people come back. Gorzelanny's still having his breakout year. I've been trying to get my strikeout pitches back; they come and go. Marcus and Jeff are still making trouble. Capps is closing now, and I think he's mellowed out a lot; Tom and Barry have really calmed him down. He and Prince are getting along again.

Things are different, no doubt about that; we can't forget what's been done and said. People are more conscious about how they act and talk around each other. But we're moving on. We're still the Catholics; we still have fun, and we're still trying to move up in the league, to where we were before.

I wonder about Dmitri sometimes, where he'll go next, whether we'll ever see him again. He can still hit the ball; some team, somewhere, is going to give him a look. I wish them the best of luck. But I hope they know what they're getting into.

Thanks for listening, Diary. Go Brewers!

Sincerely,
Ben.