Chapter 8

It's a long drive from Bluefield to Baltimore, so the three of us left early. By 2 p.m., we were in town, and registered into two adjoining rooms at the Sheraton, overlooking Camden Yards.

We had a late lunch in the hotel dining room. I'd invited Orlie to accompany me to meet Mike Flanagan in the Orioles' Old Warehouse office suite. I knew she'd get a kick out of meeting Flanagan. Mike had been a big-time major league pitcher in his own right.

But Orlie declined. "It sounds like it's a business meeting," she said. "I'd just be in the way. I'll get Maria to settle down and take a nap, so she'll last through tonight's game."

Around 4:30 p.m., I was waiting outside Mike's office.

When I was invited in, Jim Beattie was there with him.

Both of the Orioles' top guys. Impressive.

"Here," Flanagan said, handing me an envelope. "Tony said to give you these, in lieu of sending you to the 'will call' window, like you were a tourist.

The envelope contained tickets to all three games in the Red Sox series.

"Thanks, Mike," I said. "This will be a blast -- Orlie and her daughter are huge fans. And if anybody on the current club ever played in Bluefield, they'll know about it."

"There's also a note in there from me," Mike said, "directed to the door guard at the Orioles' box. If you decide to come by there tonight, it'll get all three of you inside. You should do it -- the ham and cheese sandwiches in there are magnificent!"

"I appreciate the VIP treatment," I said. "Not bad for a .240 hitter."

"Hey," Jim Beattie said. "Mike and I were both pitchers -- .240 hitters were our best friends!"

"Yeah, well, there's that," I said.

"Reason we asked you to come by," Mike said, "was that Dee Bronwyn's leaving the club at Bowie. He's going to be bench coach for the Mariners next year."

Bowie was Baltimore's Double-A club in the Eastern League.

"We'd like for you to manage the Baysox next season," Mike said.

Double-A. Bowie, Maryland was a stone's throw from Baltimore. Right here in the same metro area. Close to D.C., too!

"That's a very nice offer," I said.

Beattie smiled. "We thought so -- for a .240 hitter, anyway."

"I really want to do it," I said. "But there's someone I've got to discuss it with, first. When do you need an answer?"

"Hey, the season's not even over yet," Mike laughed. "Take your time. Get back to us before you leave town, if you can. But no rush."

I got back to the hotel and knocked on the connecting door between my room and Orlie's. Or maybe between Maria's room and mine-and-Orlie's. That hadn't been determined just yet.

Orlie opened the door on their side and I walked in. Maria was awake and staring out of the 19th-floor window. Nothing in Bluefield had 19 stories.

"How do you like this area?" I asked Orlie.

"Well, considering we've been in town for three hours and came directly to this hotel, it's a little early to judge," she said.

"Well. I'd like you to be thinking about it for the next few days, while we're here," I said. "I've been offered the manager's job at Bowie."

"Where's Bowie?" Maria asked.

"It's near here," I explained. "It's the Orioles' Double-A farm -- their second-highest classification team. They send their best young prospects there. Hell, sometimes they send their major league players there, for physical rehabbing, because it's so much closer to home than their Triple-A club in Ottawa."