Cost Control

"I've never counted this much cash at once", remarked the young bank teller. Adam Eaton nodded expressionlessly, but did not respond. He loaded his World Series share of $351,504 into a nondescript black briefcase. He had run into a bit of bad luck on the poker tables, and needed to cover his losses. As he exited the bank, he thought about how that bad luck had stuck with him after his unfortunate 2008 season. If his BABIP had been lower than an unwieldy .322, things would have gone more smoothly for him during the Phillies' Championship season. He was easily the second-best starter in the rotation, but Phillies management just didn't seem to agree with his self-assessment. No matter. Frankly, if they wanted to pay him to take the last few months of the season off, that was their own damn problem. As he turned the corner into the parking lot, his eyes barely had time to register a flash of maroon, before everything when dark. When he regained consciousness, the briefcase was nowhere to be found. All Adam Eaton had left to show for his 2008 campaign was a 5.29 FIP and a copy of The Perfect Season DVD. Well, those, and the $7.958 million in salary he had earned.

Rudy Seanez' fighter's instinct had been roused. He had returned home for lunch from his offseason job at Cold Stone Creamery, where he sensed another, unexpected, presence. He moved slowly towards his study, where his safe was hidden behind an autographed photo of UFC great Royce Gracie. The ROOGY/martial arts expert pushed the door to his study open, and instantly assumed a fighting stance. A huge maroon blur connected with Seanez' temple, knocking the journeyman ballplayer into oblivion.

Steve Smith stands at the street corner, as his submits his report to the police. "There were two of them, both over seven feet tall, dressed all in red", the former Phillies coach indicates. "They were pretty far away, and then, all of a sudden, they were right on top of me!" Smith pauses to wave a group of elementary students across the busy street. An orange pickup truck swerves into the wrong lane, narrowly avoiding a school bus. The youthful pedestrians scurry for cover, reaching the opposite side of the street with only minor injuries. "Those giants took all the cash I had", Smith continued. The detectives finished their report, but were not optimistic that Smith's money would be recovered. "Well, it's a good thing I got this new job", the newly-minted Traffic Management Specialist remarks, as he strides confidently into the crosswalk.

The maroon-garbed behemoth enters the office, arriving at the foot of the GM's desk in one long stride. Phillies GM Ruben Amaro, Jr. is unimpressed. "Take off that hood. You're not really a ninja, T.J.", the GM chastises. Former Phillies OF T.J. Bohn removes the hood, revealing Nordic features and an uncertain expression. The six and a half foot career minor leaguer wordlessly places three cloth bags full of cash on Amaro's desk. The rookie GM nods. "Next on your list is Geoff Jenkins", Amaro directs. Bohn replaces his hood, and leaves the office without comment.
Amaro depresses a button on his desk, and Assistant GM Scott Proefrock enters the room in an instant. Amaro tosses Proefrock a sack of money. "Give this to Eyre, and get Ohman's agent on the phone", Amaro instructs.