Power Pros Forum

Wow this looks awesome. Am I too late to join as a free agent? lol

He says Everything is ok man but who in the hell are you?

He's from before your time... I think that's what you're asking.

Brewers, I think he's relating back to the story post. He was on in my last big stint.

If that's the case, directions aren't being read properly...

Ya, I guess he missed that.

April 25th, 2014
4:33 PM

“You’re late every single day, you know that?” catcher Josh Randall said to his battery-mate, Michael Montgomery as he buttoned up his uniform.
“Eh, I’ve got other things to do.”

Just as Josh was about to go into a volume-advanced rant about the importance of the team, he heard someone screaming in the hallway. He couldn’t understand it, but he knew that it was Hazewood.

“What’s he yelling about this time?” Josh wondered
Michael was quick to respond, “I dunno, ask Ribeiro.”
“I’m Brazilian,” Ribeiro called from the other side of the clubhouse.
“Your point?”
“Asno.”
“What did you just *(censored)* say?”

Randall, who was losing interest in this exchange by the second, was about to interject when the entire clubhouse was shook by a loud THUD!

“What the hell was that?!” someone yelled. Randall headed for the clubhouse door that led into the hall, and was nearly flattened by Drungo Hazewood as he charged into the room, furious as all hell.

“What’s going on, Drungo?” Randall inquired

The giant mountain of a man ignored his teammate and hastily grabbed his things from his locker before storming out in a huff. Randall looked out the swinging clubhouse door and saw Pablo Santiago alone in the hallway, visibly shaken. He walked in.

“Everything all right out here?” he asked.
Pablo took a moment to gather himself before replying.
“Sí everything is A-OK.”
“You, uh, you sure? Drungo looked pretty pissed.”
“I’m okay.”
“Alright. Come on inside then, we’re about to head out.”

Josh and Pablo walked into the locker room, and the moment they entered, they were met with the loud, smelly voice of their manager.

“Has anyone seen Hazewood?”

Not a soul in the room dared reply, since if anyone was the type to kill the messenger, it was Jacobs.

“Did you jackasses hear me? I need to talk to Hazewood. Where is he?”
Silence.
“WHERE THE *(censored)* IS HAZEWOOD?!”
John Farmer raised his hand tentatively. “He, uh, just kind of stormed in and then stormed out without a word.”
“Are you shitting me? That tall bastard… He needs to work on his temper.”
Michael Montgomery let out a stifled laugh.
Oh no... Randall readied himself for the verbal beatdown to come.

Jacobs walked over to where Montgomery was sitting.
“Something funny?”
Michael lifted his head, a crooked grin painted on his face. “No sir.” he said, giggling like a school girl.
“That’s what I thought.”

Jacobs went to the whiteboard and erased Hazewood’s name. “He’s the only one of you *(censored)* in the bullpen that’s worth a damn and he’s not here. Jesus.”

Ryota Masuda looked at his manager, his 0.00 ERA burning bright in his eyes, and shook his head.

“Anyways, this is the lineup. We're doing better lately, but we can’t lose tonight.”

Lineup:
1. M.J. MacKenzie - 2B
2. Danilo Ribeiro - SS
3. Alvin Barron - DH
4. Matthew Ratajczyk - 1B
5. Django Washington - 3B
6. Keyshawn Phillips - RF
7. Robert Tomlinson - CF
8. Josh Randall - C
9. Vincent Snow - LF

April 25th, 2014
9:59 PM

“Are you KIDDING me?! 11-2? ELEVEN TO TWO? You guys are so *(censored)* pathetic.” Desmond Jacobs was livid that his team had lost once again, making their record an unimpressive 10-13. Christopher Cook slumped his head, his six earned runs in less than three innings hanging over it.

The team could offer nothing in response to Jacobs’ criticisms. “And Cook,” Jacobs looked at the exasperated pitcher, “you have to work harder.” He left the locker room shaking his head.

Josh Randall tried to break the palpable silence, “Hey everyone… uh, yeah, that was a rough loss. We’ve got another game tomorrow night, so… we, uh, we have to keep our heads held high! We’re only three games under .500, and it’s still really early. We can turn this season around.” Josh’s rousing speech was met with indifference and the sound of a door shutting behind.

“Who left?” Josh asked
MacKenzie looked up from his phone, “Booker.”
“...oh.”

Randall went to his locker and took off his number 15 uniform. He looked at the dirt stylishly splattered across the “LOOKOUTS” on the front of it. He sighed, This is miserable...

He was startled by a slap on his shoulder, “Don’t worry there Joshy.” He turned around and was surprised to see Michael Montgomery on the other end of the hand.
“Huh, thanks Michael.”
“Yeah.” he responded flatly

Michael walked out of the locker room, phone to his ear, “Really now? Ooh, I didn’t know you were like that.” He giggled like a child as he left.

Keyshawn Phillips walked up to Randall’s locker.
“Hey, Josh, you doing anything tonight? Me and Ribeiro were going to head down to Bud’s, get some drinks. You wanna come?”

How does Randall respond?

_________________

If the owner of Josh Randall could PM dtigers with his response, that would be great ty

April 25th, 2014
10:18 PM

Bud’s Pub was a small establishment made to look run-down from years of economic downturn and poor management. In actuality, it was one of the most popular of several small bars that lined downtown Chattanooga, but the atmosphere was a part of its charm and so there was an unspoken mutual understanding among all its patrons that it was in bad taste to draw attention to the absurd and almost audacious nature of pretending to be poor.

Keyshawn Phillips, followed closely by Danilo Ribeiro and Josh Randall, entered the bar and headed straight for the lone open table, located near the large window along the front wall that pedestrians were to look through and see what fun they could be having if they just stopped in for a drink.

A gorgeous woman in her 20’s approached their table not more than thirty seconds after the party of three was seated. She wore tight jeans and a low-cut blouse and was obviously assigned to the section of tables closest the window as part of the pub’s draw. All three men simultaneously wondered if that flashy smile had been directed at them, and two of the three actively began designing plans to win her over.

“What can I get you?”

Josh Randall, slightly flustered and lost in thought, looked blankly around the table before realizing the waitress was speaking to him. “Oh! Uh… I’ll have a Miller. No, a Bud. Light. Draft.”

Keyshawn was next to speak, “I’ll have a cosmo.”
Danilo was flummoxed, “Wait, seriously?”
“Yeah, why not? I like it, so what’s it matter?” he deftly responded
“Uh, I dunno… I just didn't expect that”
“What can I say, a brotha loves him his cranberries.”

The waitress laughed warmly and turned her gaze to Danilo, “and for you?”
“Water.” He said, trying to look as apathetic as possible.
Keyshawn was quick to criticize his teammate’s choice, “you’re gonna say shit about me ordering a cosmo and they you gonna water? That’s some bull right there.”
Danilo glared at Keyshawn.

“Okay, I’ll be right back with those.” The waitress said, turning on her heels.

As Danilo continued to glare at Keyshawn, he noticed behind him a familiar face at the bar.
“Is that Booker?”

The other two turned to look.
“Shit. Yeah, it is.” Keyshawn said
“Well hey, I’ll go tell him to come over,” Danilo said. “Kind of weird that he’s here alone.”

Danilo got up from his chair and started towards the bar, but Josh Randall grabbed his arm.

“Stay here, I’ll go talk to him.”
“What do you mean? I’m just going to ask him to join us.”
“Let Josh go,” insisted Keyshawn.
A confused Danilo looked at his teammates and sat back down. “This is weird…”

Josh walked over to where Booker sat nursing a gin and tonic. Evidently Booker saw him, because before Josh had a chance to speak, he did.

“What am I doing?”
Josh was caught off guard. “I’m sorry?”
“I’m too old for this. 27 and I've been invited to one spring camp. I’m too old to be in double-A.”
Josh found himself at a loss for words while Booker turned over more in his mind, considering whether or not to open up to his catcher.
___________________________

If the owner of Booker would kindly PM yours truly, that would be wonderful.

April 25th, 2014
10:26 PM

Josh Randall looked his batterymate up and down. His clothes were worn, and the stubble on his face had been thickening for several days. He gripped his drink tightly as he spoke, as if he was afraid it might slip out of his trembling hand.

“I don’t belong.”
“What do you mean? Don’t belong in this league?”
“In this city, in this league. Hell, in this universe.”
Josh shifted on his barstool. “Maybe you could use some time at home. We all could. Life on the road is tough.”
“I’ve got nothing to go home to.”
“No family?”
Booker visible winced. “No.”

At this point Josh was feeling a little bit awkward. He tried not to show it, but he was moderately afraid of Booker, as any sane man was. Still, he mustered up the courage to say what he had originally intended to get at when he’d first approached his teammate:

“You shouldn’t be drinking, man.”

Booker glared.

“You think I like hanging out at bars and liquor stores all the *(censored)* time? It’s all I’ve got, so leave me alone. Unless you suggest I get back into gambling instead.”

Josh sat in silence for a moment before getting up and returning to his table without another word.

“Is he coming?” Danilo asked.
Josh turned to look at Booker, sitting at the bar.
“No, Danilo, he is not coming.”

Can we have 2 RPG's going at once? Which one will win out in this epic fight for supremacy? Stay tuned to find out!

April 26th, 2014
4:08 PM

The day after his "incident," Luis “Drungo” Hazewood arrived at AT&T Field two hours late.

From his office, manager Desmond Jacobs saw the 6’4” mountain of a man trudge through the door and walk to his locker. He took a deep breath, stood up, and walked out into the locker room.

“HAZEWOOD! MY OFFICE. RIGHT NOW!”

Drungo didn’t respond as he took out his uniform and started to put it on. Jacobs walked over to him, unfazed by his massive frame.

“You deaf, boy?” he said in a hushed tone.

Hazewood turned his head and glared deep into the eyes of his manager.

“Vete a la mierda anciano.”
“Speak English, you jackass.”

Drungo, by this point, was brimming with rage. He knew deep down that the man in front of him was in charge of his playing time, his evaluations, and thus his entire career, but Drungo was never much of one for discretion. In the course of about two or three seconds, as the two men stared unflinchingly with hatred into one another’s eyes, Drungo decided exactly how he would respond.

_______________________________________________________________________

Will the owner of Luis- er, Drungo please PM yours truly with how he (or she???) would like him to respond?

Thanks for continuing this, guys. It's much appreciated.

'tis our pleasure :}

April 26th, 2014
4:11 PM

Hazewood’s patience for his manager had officially run out.

“Tonto. Yo podría romperte.”
“I already told you, speak *(censored)*’ English.” Rather than the usual explosion, Jacobs’ rage was slowly coming to a boil.
“Beso mi culo, cerdo estúpido

Across the room, Miguel Jimenez, who had come back to fix a spike on his shoe, couldn’t help but chuckle at his teammate’s jab.Desmond Jacobs spun around and met Jimenez’ smiling face.
“What? What did he just *(censored)* say?” His voice was beginning to get louder.
Miguel Jimenez, a recent international signing at the age of just 18, trembled. “Uh, he…” Before he could squeak out a full sentence, Drungo spoke up himself.
“I said: kiss my ass, stupid pig.”

With that, Drungo finished buttoning up his uniform and casually walked out into the stadium.