August 23, 1906.
It was noon when McKenzie woke up. He wasn’t in his bed, and his body ached from sleeping in a sitting position. The 35-year-old tried to get up but only managed to grunt. After his injury early in the season, he couldn’t do much and was in bad shape. Last night didn’t help his recovery because he walked a longer route than usual. Leo McKenzie lived close to Allegheny Avenue and Broad Street, not far from Boeselager Stadium. After 120 missed games – McKenzie didn’t count months but games instead – could walk a mile or two. Longer distances led to pain.
It had been a rough night for him. After the close win to tie the series against Brooklyn, McKenzie celebrated with his long-time friends and teammates Rusty Hall, Leonard Kindall, and Seamus Maynard.
Any Philadelphia Brewers fan knows the names, but none would play a role in this year’s League Cup outcome. Leonard Kindall served his team as a reliever the whole season but had to make room because of the switch to a three-man rotation for the playoffs. Seamus Maynard spent the entire season with the Langhorn Goats, and Rusty Hall had 249 plate appearances for the Brewers. Unfortunately, a .186 batting average wasn’t beneficial for his campaign, and the 38-year-old had to make room for players like John Walshaw and Mose Rylance. Poor Rusty.
McKenzie felt his pockets for a pack of smoke. A bad habit for an athlete, but he wouldn’t play any ball this year. After the postseason, he would quit. Recovery would become his daily routine soon. The club even hired a team trainer. Aaron Bender will take care of McKenzie from now on.
“You’re days of stealing so much are over.” Bender’s words still gave him shivers.
But that’s something to worry about another time. McKenzie dug deeper in his pocket but only managed to knock over a half-empty bottle of Boeselager Pils that leaned against his leg. “Shit,” he jumped up and tried to wipe off the seat. Luckily, he also became a subscriber of the Germantown Gazette. That useless paper finally had a purpose and soaked up the warm beer. Already, he knew what the annual season review would come up with. Legacy Cup win without McKenzie! Trade him for rookies before he gets too old! The reign of Lyon the Lion! Just now, he noticed Rusty Hall lying on the sofa.
“Finally awake, Leo?” Hall slowly sat up.
“I have no memory of last night,” McKenzie mumbled while still cleaning up the mess. “I remember leaving the ballpark and going to the German Corner, and that’s it.”
“When the pub closed, we marched on to the next one before we came to your place. Not sure what happened to Seamus and Leonard. Thanks for letting me stay, by the way.” Hall looked at McKenzie, who sensed that there was something on Hall’s mind. “Did you know we have 72 postseason games, and only Moriarty has more games?”
Now McKenzie knew where this conversation was going. The first few days after his injury, he worried about the team. Would they make it to the playoffs? Would they at least have a decent season? He rooted for them in the dugout. It didn’t last long until he realized that his team did perfectly fine without him. Lionel Lyon was the best batter on the team this season and a much more reliable fielder on first base. If Lyon were one of the younger players, he’d be concerned.
“It feels weird watching, doesn’t it,” McKenzie asked the current LBL all-time RBI leader. He examined the facial expression.
“Sure does.” Hall nodded. “The game changed a lot. And I think retirement is sneaking up on me…”
“Oh, stop it! You’re still in shape! You just had a bad year. Others will retire before you.”
“Nobody will trust a 38-year-old with such a poor season. The team has alternatives. Walshaw will take my spot, Moriarty might lose his to Butler, the Germans will throw money at the best pitcher in the off-season, and if you don’t recover well…,” Rusty Hall didn’t finish the sentence.
“Luckily, I’m only 35. I will work on my comeback, and you should do the same. Don’t quit with a batting average below .200. Also, you can easily reach the 700 RBI mark.”
“I think it’s time to head back home,” Hall got up and walked past McKenzie. He halted and reached out his hand.
“Thank you.”
Then he walked towards the door.
“Rusty.”
The veteran outfielder turned around.
“You know that there is still opportunity for heroics if we advance. Only drink a little in the next few days. It would be a shame if Mr. Bujak couldn’t reach you.”
After a resigned smile, Rusty stepped outside. McKenzie went to the window and watched how he walked up the street. Maybe his time was over. The body language said enough.
But if it was over for Rusty, when was it time for him to retire? Both players became the Philadelphia Brewers icons. Hard-hitting, offense oriented, and tough. With a shift to a more capable defense, Rusty moved to right field because he was a better outfielder than McKenzie. Slowly but surely, the demands for a better defense also reached the right field. Would first base be the next position?
McKenzie knew that he would have to let his bat speak. And she didn’t say a lot in 1906. Wilma XVIII. was still lusting for doubles and triples.