Spooker
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Grass Eaters 2 | 48 | Inside Baseball
🕑 Added 2024-09-04 16:47:01 +0000 UTCRed Sands Stadium, Mars
After the invention of the inertial compensator, the baseball community divided bitterly into two factions in what outsiders called the Great Baseball Schism.
The traditionalist faction insisted that real baseball could only be played at one standard gravity: under Terra gravity conditions, even if it meant setting up an expensive — at the time — gravity field on another planet or moon to do it. The adaptationist faction laughed at the traditionalists and pointed out that baseball had always been about adapting to new equipment, new fields each with distinct atmospheric conditions and dimensions, and consistency was a fool’s errand.
The traditionalists controlled key positions in the game’s well-funded leagues, tournaments, and rules committees. They had the weight of institution and historical record on their side. They ran public relations campaigns with former players who loudly proclaimed the sanctity of the game and denounced detractors as outsiders who were just trying to dilute their homerun records. They carefully inspected and certified regulation fields off-Terra that used gravity devices to ensure 1G conditions.
The traditionalists then went even further: they shamed players who dabbled in less strict forms of the game on extraterrestrial courses: those who were filmed or found playing in non-1G fields, even if only in their free time, found their sponsorships withdrawn and their careers ruined. An all-star second baseman for the New York Yankees found that no teams were lining up to offer him a new contract when his was up after he controversially posted a link on his social media to a video of Alan Shepard playing golf (an entirely different sport) on the lunar surface in 1971. When adaptationists pointed out the absurdity of the snub, traditionalists claimed that “he was washed anyway”. The second baseman later led a minorly successful career in lunar golf, a sport which did not experience a similar schism, until he was forced to retire after a designer steroids scandal. The traditionalists used the opportunity to strip his eligibility for the Hall of Fame.
On the other hand, the adaptationists took the then-virtually-free land right outside the Senate Complex on Luna and set up a massive baseball stadium with discounts for elderly Atlas residents.
The adaptationists won.
A few years after the schism began, groundbreaking civil rights legislation from the newly formed Terran Republic prohibited discrimination based on planetary origin and the Supreme Court of the Republic confirmed (13 votes to 8) that baseball organizations discriminating against non-1G players were in violation of their Basic Terran Rights.
Of course, that changed nobody’s mind.
The traditionalists simply turned off the game in protest or angrily muttered about “not real baseball” when they were forced to watch Lunar players make the headlines breaking record after record, even after they successfully lobbied for The Records to be separated.
After a while, the last great players of the traditionalist era faded away from memory, the second baseman got into the Hall of Fame via Veterans’ Committee, and think pieces by bored sports journalists declared the end of the Great Baseball Schism.
(Instead, everyone moved onto arguing over the new controversy of a handful of Malgeir players entering the sport, who turned out to be unsurprisingly dominant on defense, especially in the outfielder positions.)
Like most other stadiums on Mars, Red Sands Stadium built in the outskirts of Marineris eventually ditched its 1G gravity devices.
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POV: Seimur Eisson, Terran (Senator)
“Senator Eisson?” an aide whispered into Seimur’s earpiece as he watched the ongoing exhibition game in his reserved box seat.
“What is it?” he asked impatiently.
“There’s a former Senator at your stadium. He made an introduction through his assistant.”
He sat up. “Former Senator? Which district?”
“From the other team… the Thunderbirds’ district.”
The other team was some supposedly championship-caliber team from Ganymede. But their inexperience in Martian gravity was clearly showing against his Red Devils on their home turf. They were getting thrashed, 5 runs to 21. As Seimur watched, the stadium roared their approval as the Red Devils scored another one off an embarrassing dropped infield catch by the opponent team.
5 to 22.
He waited until the noise subsided. “From Nanshe Settlement? But I don’t even know their current Senator.”
“Their current Senator is… Senator Micah Strauch.”
“Ah, never mind. I remember who that is. I met him at that dinner for that mediation… uh… what was that for?”
“District 3 and 37 trade negotiations?”
He nodded. “Right. That one. Something about trees. Anyway, what about this former Senator?”
“Joshua Klauber. I looked him up. No major legislative achievements or committee assignments in his two terms in office. He was known for being kidnapped by Resistance terrorists back in 98 for collaboration with the Republic, before he was in the Senate. Major security breach and scandal. Several high-ranking Navy and Marine officers were forced to resign.”
“Forced Navy and Marine officers to resign? Wow, I like him already,” Seimur chuckled to himself. “What does he want?”
“He didn’t specify. Just introductions. Should I tell him to go through proper channels?”
“No, that’s fine. Let him in here.”
A few minutes later, the former Senator entered his box.
“Welcome to Marineris, Senator Klauber,” Seimur greeted him with a smile and a handshake, showing him to a seat with a perfect view of the game.
“Please, call me Josh. I’ve been retired for a while now.”
“Josh it is, as long as you’ll call me Seimur,” he then pointed towards the field. “Enjoying the game?”
Josh flashed him a wide grin. “I’ve seen better. And worse, for that matter.”
Seimur let out a hearty laugh. “Fair enough. The Red Devils may not be making the Red League playoffs this season, but we’ll take them over any non-Martian team here.”
Josh smiled ruefully. “Our Thunderbirds actually do pretty well in the off-world lunar divisions and are competitive on Terra. But there’s just something about these Martian fields.”
“That’s what they all say,” Seimur winked. “Anyway, much as you’re welcome here any time… my gut tells me that you’re not here for the baseball.”
“Not just here for the baseball,” Josh replied, returning his wink.
“Oh? What brings you out here then?”
“The war,” Josh replied more somberly.
“Which one?”
“Ah, that’s the question. Isn’t it?”
“It sure is,” Seimur muttered. “What’s your interest in it?”
“I’ve been going around, trying to see who to talk to about this, and your name kept coming up in conversation. I’ve been trying to get some of our long-range assets out to help the Malgeir fight their war, but there’s some kind of a deployment hold blocking—”
“Yeah, my Oversight Committee,” Seimur replied. “We’re holding the Navy ships in the system, so they’ll fight in the Red Zone first. Or else those alien-friendly officers keep trying to divert resources away from the Red Zone. Navy politics. You know how it is, I’m sure.”
Josh nodded. “That’s what I figured, but we’ve got a problem coming up: the Malgeir are saying they won’t send more troops for the Red Zone campaign until we start helping them. So I figure, alright, we don’t need that many of our fleet ships inside the Red Zone, sitting around looking pretty—”
“They’re bluffing. They must be,” Seimur cut him off insistently.
Josh shook his head. “They’re not messing around this time, Seimur. I just talked to their ambassador on Luna. They’re mad.”
“Mad?! About what? We’ve been sending so much to help them in their war! The Navy thinks I don’t know, but I know for a fact they’re sending extra weapons in those supply shipments with their creative budgetary accounting.”
Josh shrugged. “Well, you know… the aliens don’t think rationally about war like we do.”
Seimur nodded. “That’s why they’re in this mess in the first place! I say… they dug themselves into trouble, they can dig themselves out!”
“The problem is they just don’t see it that way. Not anymore. They’re saying no more Marines for us until we release our ships to help them fight.”
“What changed?” Seimur asked, crossing his arms. “They’ve done nothing but complain about it so far.”
“There was a video leaked onto social media yesterday—”
“That hostage rescue video from Titan?! My office is still trying to figure out who leaked it! If it isn’t a fabrication in the first place—”
Josh shrugged again. “Well, they’ve all seen it now. And the Navy leadership not denying its authenticity doesn’t help things… The Malgeir — they’re… not happy about the way the hostages were treated in captivity. It reminds them of what the Znosians do to their people, and that’s— that’s not a good thing.”
“They should take that up with the damn Red Zoners!” Seimur exclaimed. “They know we didn’t do that! The scumbags in the Red Zone did! Shouldn’t that make them want to send even more troops?”
“Well, nobody likes to see their people— Anyway, like I said, the aliens, they’re not fully rational like you and me. And they’re threatening to cut off the flow of Marines to our campaign in the Red Zone.”
“But then— then… we’ll have to use our own Marines in the Red Zone,” Seimur said, the horrifying political and electoral prospect of that beginning to sink in.
“Exactly,” Josh nodded. “And some of my friends — well, they’ve got kids in the Republic Marine Corps, you know?”
“It’s— it’s a sacrifice,” Seimur stuttered. “A sacrifice we’ll have to make. To keep our kids safe from another Tharsis Massacre.”
A year having passed after the event, that line was becoming less effective by the day, and while there wasn’t as much pressure this time given that the troops doing the dying were aliens, the political capital that came with Seimur’s election was drying up…
“An unnecessary sacrifice, no?” Josh pressed.
Seimur hesitated, unsure how to prioritize his hatred of the Resistance versus contrarian antagonism towards the aliens.
Josh continued, “And those ships we’re holding onto, they haven’t even fired a single shot in the Red Zone this whole time. Not a single real mission. They’re just… wasting fuel and taxpayer credits out there.”
The hatred won out. “Fine, fine. We can negotiate with the aliens. How many ships are they insisting on this time?”
Sensing the opening, Josh took it. “Just the Task Force for now, it seems.”
“Admiral Waters’ task force? Frontier or whatever it’s called.”
“Yeah, just the two ships available now. Well, just the one really since the Amazon is already out there. Originally, they wanted all of Squadrons 9 and 10, but I convinced them to step off the ledge for now if we can get the hold lifted by the end of today.”
“Just the one ship then. For today? It must be really urgent, huh?” Seimur mused. “I read in the reports they got some kind of thing going on, near the frontlines.”
“Yeah, Gruccud. That’s the one we helped them retake last year.”
“Alright, whatever. I’ll call a remote meeting and vote to lift the hold later today, but they better be sending those Marines,” Seimur said, relenting.
“Great,” Josh said, sighing in relief and holding his hand out for a handshake. “Thank you, Seimur, I owe you one. Now I still need to talk to the other two Senators—”
“Don’t worry about them, Josh,” Seimur patted him on the shoulder assuringly. “They’ll vote with me on this.”
“Really? Thank you again, Seimur. This is a huge relief to me and my family.”
“Hmm… no problem,” Seimur said, squinting closely at his face. “But what’s your actual stake in all this?”
“Hm? Stake? Oh. Like I said, I’ve got friends whose children—”
Seimur shook his head. “No, that’s not it. I buy the threat from the alien ambassador. That’s real. But I don’t buy your story.”
“Hmm? What do you mean?”
“This is closely personal for you,” Seimur insisted. “You’ve got family in the Marines?”
Caught, Josh grinned cheekily. “My wife’s in the Navy.”
“Ah,” Seimur looked into his eyes for a second and nodded. “See? That one I’ll buy. You didn’t have to hide that from me, Josh.”
“And my wife, she asked me to tell you that despite her very public disagreements with your politics, she respects that you can still be reasonable at a time like this when the Republic needs us to all work together to find solutions for our common problems.”
“Public disagreements? That I can still b—be r—reasonable—” he stuttered. “Your wife… huh… Ah. Of course. Admiral Amelia Waters.” Seimur shook his head, grinning ruefully. “I knew she was married to one of you former Senators—”
“I get that a lot. I married up quite a bit, didn’t I?” Josh asked, chuckling.
Seimur guffawed. “You’re a real go-getter, I’ll give you that.”
“Hey, no hard feelings?”
“Nah. I knew something about this whole thing smelled off all along,” Seimur smiled, pointing a finger at him. “You can tell your less diplomatic half that this will be a one-time thing though.”
“When she comes back.”
Seeing his somber expression, Seimur patted Josh on the back sympathetically. “When she comes back. But if you can get word out to her before that, tell her I wish her luck out there, whatever she’s doing. At the end of the day, we’re still all batting for the same team, right?”
Josh nodded understandingly. “Hm… what about— would you release Squadrons 9 and 10 for deployment too if she promises to campaign for your re-election after she retires?” he asked, his eyes mischievous.
“Not a fucking chance. Nice try, though, Josh.”
“I don’t know… Amelia’s pretty popular with Martian voters these days, I hear. Lots of goodwill for her command in the Red Zone—”
Seimur chuckled. “Yeah, but I know her well enough to know that she’s not retiring from the Navy before I retire from the Senate.”
Josh sighed. “No, probably not.”
“Well, hey, I appreciate you stopping by my district. I’ll look you guys up next time I’m on Ganymede.”
“Sure, and we’ll hook you up with tickets to a real baseball game, to show you what that the Thunderbirds look like without being held back by all this extra gravity.”
“Oh, you’re on.”
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Outpost McMurdo, McMurdo System (600 Ls)
POV: Zwena Tanith, Terran Republic Navy (Rank: Commander)
“Commander, we’re getting signal from Atlas again,” Bert said, standing up at his console.
Zwena sat up immediately, reading the updates they’ve been missing in their inbox. “Looks like— I— I’ll be damned.”
“ I guess pigs do fly. What should we report to Atlas, Commander?”
Zwena thought for a second, and then dictated, “There was an unscheduled training exercise in which McMurdo’s systems experienced heavy FTL jamming to simulate covert observation in an impermissive, near-peer operating environment. All training objectives were achieved. Refer to Admiral Waters’s full training and evaluation report for more details… Anyone have any objections to my characterization of the communication disruption event?”
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Meta
Malgeir baseball players would be incredibly unfair on defense. My dog is like a quarter the size/height of a Malgeir. If he had 70 more IQ points and the size, he would absolutely dominate at any baseball position that leverages his skill and speed at playing catch.
Comments
Spooker
Probably not. I think the best home team advantage in the MLB is like 20%. And this is an exhibition game. Probably not a lot of odds on it, though I'm sure there would always be over/under betting.
ColonelCodfish
I’m with the traditionalists on this one. I’d imagine teams that train and play in one gravity would understandably get bodied as soon as they ventured off their home turf. Casually it makes sense, but I couldn’t imagine a serious competitive scene when the home-field advantage is an actually massive factor. I’d love to see what the gambling scene looks like, though I doubt anyone would bet against the home team.
M
Is baseball just playing catch for humans, after all?
