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bigs. A tape measure job."
    Things didn't get much better. The next batter singled to center. Followed by a ground-rule double that bounced over the right center field wall. Runners at second and third, with no outs.
    At least Terry was feeling warmer. He glanced at Rick in the dugout. Rick's expression showed no emotion at all, however. Almost as if he too was in a state of shock.
    Terry pounded his fist into his glove with determination. The next hitter was a left hander. No sense considering intentionally walking him to load the bases and set up a possible double play, though. Not with no outs and the score already 13-1.
    Terry threw a fastball. He got the grounder he might have been looking for were the bases loaded. Except the ball scooted past diving second baseman Collie Quinn. Both runners scored and the batter went to second on a play at the plate which wasn't even close.
    Terry turned toward the outfield again and saw there was action in the Oakland bullpen. So far, he definitely hadn't been any better in the majors than he'd been lately in El Paso. Again, he glanced at Rick—still expressionless. Terry briefly scanned the grandstand and observed that many people seemed to be leaving. Who could blame them, with the score now 15-1?
    He sized up the next Texas hitter, a tall skinny right hander who wore his batting helmet to one side. Terry decided to try a curve, a pitch he used infrequently. With an open base at first, he didn't intend to throw it for a strike. But it broke nicely, right across the plate. The batter swung and lofted a long fly down the left field line. The ball kissed the foul pole for another home run.
    Rick didn't even bother to come to the mound himself to remove Terry from the game. Instead he sent one of his coaches. While trudging to the dugout, Terry could only shake his head. What a debut in "the show." He'd given up five runs without retiring even a single batter. Earned run average of infinity. And likely a one-way ticket back to Triple A, or worse. Or, more likely, an outright release.
    For the rest of the game and the remainder of the evening, Terry did manage to avoid Rick, so at least he didn't have to right away face the man who'd brought him to the majors. The man who'd done so much for him and his career.
    After the game, he got a ride back to his bungalow with Collie Quinn, who lived in Rick's complex, a block away. And he was certainly relieved that, rather than having to spend the night at Rick's, he'd decided to rent the new place. Regardless of the fact that he associated it with Texas.
    Very late that night, though, lying in bed at the bungalow, he couldn't help thinking about Rick. About how he had just endured an embarrassing 19-2 loss in his own debut, as a major league manager.
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    "Two things wrong with your knuckler," Rick told Terry. "One is, you've got to come more over the top. Your release point is too much from the side."
    Terry nodded. Both wearing Oakland practice gear, they stood together in the right field bullpen at the majestic new ball park in downtown Seattle. Of course Terry had never been here, and he found his initial contact with the stadium breathtaking.
    "And two," Rick continued, "you’ve got to keep your wrist stiff. I noticed you were bending it before you released the ball. That's fine for your fastball, not for your knuckler."
    "I understand." Terry replied.
    "The movement on your ball is too flat. We want more downward trajectory. Otherwise it's not a ‘diver’. Didn't Collum point that out?"
    "Collum hardly pointed anything out. We hardly spoke."
    "Let me guess," Rick said. "Didn't like the knuckler."
    Terry nodded again.
    "Whole organization's pretty conservative," Rick commented. "One reason I didn't mind leaving."
    Terry nodded once more. Their dialogue had been punctuated by sounds from a nearby batting cage, as Oakland players took turns hitting automated pitches. There was no game today and Rick had scheduled a voluntary