First off, you should know that none of the characters in this ongoing saga are based on anyone, living or dead, despite some familiar sounding names. Most unfamiliar names came from a random name generator, so, if I use your name, apologies in advance.
Len Leoni, Fred Pound and Marty Abraham had been friends forever, if forever is measured in months or years, not decades. All three had been on the night shift at the paper mill for the past seven years. And, yes, the job was as boring as it might sound.
The lack of distraction by such mundane things as a heavy work load was viewed by the guys as a good thing. It allowed them to spend almost every night discussing their one true passion, women baseball. They would argue over it endlessly. Not just over their favorite teams or the stars of the day, but over the relative merits of players like Aaron Fultz, Adam Hyzdu and Ron Mahay. One thing they did agree on, though- that they would love to own a baseball team.
I'm going to move along quickly here, because you probably will never hear from Len, Fred or Marty after this segment of the story, because they also agreed that the "Steinbrenner Way" of running a team was not the way to do it. Unfortunately, the proper way to do it always seemed to elude them. Normally, this wouldn't, in and of itself, cause much of a problem. Except, one day, Len, Fred & Marty each pitched in five bucks and bought a Powerball ticket.
Now, they didn't win enough to go out and buy a Major League team. They were pretty sure Bub and the other owners wouldn't let them into the building, let alone into their little club. However, Len had a plan, and he sprung it on the others even before they had cashed their ticket.
"Guys! Now we can buy a team, a REAL team" Len exclaimed as they walked away from the timeclock.
"How do you figure?" grumbled Marty. "It's not like we are going to buy a real team. I mean we couldn't even buy the Marlins."
"The man's right, Len." added Fred.
"Not so fast my friend" Len replied.
Fred groaned. This phrased always led to an adventure in some other galaxy, far away when Len said it.
"Hear me out" Len near shouted. "I just heard of an upstart league that is starting this year."
"You know how we hate those independent leagues." replied Marty, "I'd ratheb buy shares of Newscorp."
"No, this one is different" protested Len. "It is supposed to be the real deal. It is supposed to be at least on the USFL level. I hear they may even have a TV deal. It's with Vs., so it isn't a big one, but its more than the Frontier League has.
"It's called the National Pastime League, and I hear some real heavyweights are going to invest. There is a rumor that even Mark Cuban might buy a team. Plus, the commissioner, some guy named Slane, has even lined up some quality talent. There's a chance some players may actually jump from the majors."
" You sure about this?" asked Fred. "Sounds too good to be true to me."
Well, enough with the conversatin' as they say. Bottom line, the boys decided it was a better idea than throwing there money away no new houses or college educations. Next thing you know, the boys are the proud owners of an American Conference East team in the NPL.
Of course, coming up with a team name they all could agree on was problematic. Since they had decided before hand that it had to be something they all agreed upon. The next three weeks were filled with votes of 2-1.
One night (it was their night off. Give me atl east another 500 words before I make my first continuity error), the boys were gathered at Marty's house, watching "Field of Dreams" for the eighty-seventh time.
Suddenly, as Ray and Terence decide to go to Fenway (paying a scalper a kings ransom along the way for tickets) Fred jumps up, and screams "That's it! The Moonlight Grahams! Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
After about three hours, Len and Marty agree to the name. They liked it straight away, but didn't want to let Fred get too cocky about com1ng up with it. That night, they also decided that, to do things right, they needed to hire a general manager. Marty said he knew just the guy.
"But don't you understand, I'm an actor, not a baseball guy? An old one too, I might add, too old to start off on a new career I know nothing about."
"What do you mean?" replied Marty, "Didn't you make that speach about how baseball was pure and good and they will come and all that?"
"It was a movie. Those were my lines. If they wanted me to suddenly clucking like a chicken, those clucks would have been my lines" responded a weary James Earl Jones. Needless to say, this conversation had been going on for a looonnggg time.
However, Jones knew, if only because he had tolerated this madman for so long, that, deep in his heart, he did want to do this. What a role to go out on, he thought. Connie Mack wasn't a ballplayer, and he managed until he was 87. Why not?
Marty was still making his pitch. Jones had stopped listening a while back, and waited till Marty paused to take a breath.
"OK, you win. I'll do it. At least for this year"
"W-w-w-what? You'll do it?" exclaimed Marty.
"Yeah, but only one one condition," answered Jones. "You let me screw this up on my own. I don't want one word of advice from you or your partners."
"I think we can live with that" said, Marty, both shocked and relieved.
Next time: Darth Vader hires a manager and players start showing up. At least they say they are players.
