Chapter One: Welcome to Sweetgum
Maddie took a deep breath and savored the smell of fresh-cut grass with a hint of stale popcorn. She was back on a baseball diamond, just where she wanted to be. After the disaster in Akron last year, she was afraid her major league career was over. But here she was in Sweetgum, North Carolina, grateful to have a second chance. She didn’t even mind that she was at a Double-A minor league park for the Sliding Salamanders—the losingest, cheapest, most annoying team in the sport. She was home. She was at the ballpark on Opening Day. A day of supreme hope and excitement, no matter what team you rooted for. How could she not feel like the luckiest person alive? She couldn’t wait to start.
The sun had only been up for a couple hours, but the air was already heavy and humid. During most of the season, the heat would be brutal, and her hours would be long. Maddie didn’t care. She took off her new Salamanders cap, ran a hand through her short, auburn hair (which absolutely loved humidity), and used the bandana she always had tucked in her back pocket to wipe her damp brow.
Where to start? As the emergency-hire PR and promotions manager, she had one week to get her first events planned. Happily, the team—nicknamed the Manders—was away, playing the Lewistown Lugnuts, so she didn’t have to deal with Opening Day here. She also needed to meet the grounds crew, talk to the players and coaches, and go over the club’s finances with the GM.
And that was just the work part. She really had to find an apartment and meet up with her aunt Esme who lived nearby. Thanks to Maddie’s insane work schedule, she hadn’t been able to visit her aunt’s house for years. She felt guilty about that, especially since Esme had put her onto this job when she couldn’t even get hired to drive the train at the Brookfield Zoo back in Chicago, and she was so broke that peanut butter and crackers counted as the week’s groceries.
Maddie was about to head back to the administrative offices when she heard a shout.
“What are you doing on the field? Bat boys don’t report until next week!”
Maddie turned around and saw Rory Lampkin, the Manders’ general manager, gesturing and yelling at her.
“Mr. Lampkin! Hi. Great to see you. I’m Maddie Fields. The new PR person.”
“Really? I don’t remember you looking like a bat boy at the interview.”
Maddie tried not to take offense. “Well, sir, I wore a suit for the interview, but that didn’t seem necessary for checking out the field.” She decided to dive in and ask the most pressing question on her mind. “Do you have a minute to talk about sponsors and my budget? It looks like my predecessor didn’t have a chance to go to the trade conventions or book any acts. But I’m sure I can figure it out, once I know how much I can spend.”
Lampkin snorted. “Spend? Budget? Are you kidding me? We barely have enough money for your salary. Your budget is zero. That’s why your predecessor quit and why we have exactly no events planned and most of our sponsors have pulled out. We heard you were a wunderkind at promotions. Although, after that rubber ducky fiasco, you’re lucky anyone offered you a job.”
Maddie felt shell-shocked first and then flushed. Rory couldn’t be serious about the total lack of funds. And why did he have to bring up her Akron debacle? One mistake! she thought. OK, one pretty big mistake with a shitload of rubber ducks—and now she was getting punished by the baseball gods again. She was stuck in this ridiculous situation like a player caught in a hopeless rundown.
Maddie knew that Monty Ortzelbean, the billionaire who also owned the Chicago Gray Sox, had a reputation for stinginess and incompetence that trickled down to his farm teams like the Salamanders. But seriously, how was she supposed to do this job with no money at all?
Problems are just opportunities to think of creative solutions, Maddie reminded herself.
“Could we go back to Mr. Ortzelbean and make the case for a little money? I’ve got a portfolio of killer event ideas. If he just could see my plans and how much sales revenue it could generate—”
Rory blanched under his unnatural-looking tan and whipped off his Oakley sunglasses with Meta AI integration. Maddie had a wild urge to swipe them from his desk later and sell them online for her starter budget.
“No! We will do no such thing, and you are never, ever to mention anything like that again. Ever.”
“OK, what about a new lead sponsor? Any ideas? Any golfing buddies who might be interested? If you take a quick look at my list of events, maybe something will jump out at you. I can text them to you right now.”
Maddie felt sure that Rory did have golfing buddies. He was wearing an outfit that could only make sense on a golf course. She was sure his Johnston quarter zip sweater cost about a thousand bucks. Why in the world was he wearing a sweater in this weather, anyway?
“What don’t you understand? I said you have no funds and you’ll have to make do. Prove your worth, kid!”
“OK sure, maybe some fans will help me put on a bake sale,” Maddie said with more snark than she intended.
Rory scoffed. “Yeah, good luck with that!”
“Or how about a Go Fund Me account? It’s less work. But no cupcakes, which is sad.” Maddie was half serious.
“Don’t even start,” Rory sputtered. “Do you want to humiliate Monty? What’s wrong with you? I’m starting to think I made a mistake hiring you.”
Maddie couldn’t help thinking that Monty had already humiliated himself. The Salamanders and the Gray Sox had been dysfunctional for decades, and that was extra painful because the franchise had such a prestigious history. The team traced some of its origins back to the legendary Chicago American Giants and the Washington Homestead Grays from the Negro Leagues. But now the storied organization was a national joke thanks to its clueless and out-of-touch owner. Maddie couldn’t make things any worse.
Guess that’s why I was hired, she thought. That hurt.
“I’m sorry.” Maddie bristled at having to retreat, but she could tell that her new boss wasn’t going to lift a finger on her behalf. “Look, I won’t embarrass you or the organization in any way. But I will kick ass this season, and next year I will earn a budget.”
“Good girl. Now I’ve got to take off. I’m getting a new Bang and Olufsen home theater installed. You know how it is. Gotta wait all day for the installation guys. What a pain in the ass, huh?”
He saluted and jogged away.
Maddie watched him leave and couldn’t help but wonder about Rory’s relationship with the front office back in Chicago. He seemed awfully willing to kowtow to the big boss.
Maybe he had something juicy on Monty, and that’s how he got the job. Or he was so spineless, he was simply the perfect employee for this organization. Something weird had to be going on, because Maddie had been in the baseball business long enough to recognize the worst GM she’d ever seen.
“I’m not just good or a girl,” she said under her breath. Her determination rebounded. She was not going to fail this time around. She needed to engage directly with the fans and win them over, and she thought she had a way to do that.
This afternoon she was scheduled as a guest on the Manders Matter podcast. The show had an impressive following and excellent production values. Its trio of fanboy hosts spent every episode lambasting the Salamanders and their parent team’s ownership. They were so popular that they had started to penetrate the Chicago media market. If Maddie could forge a decent relationship with these guys, she might have a chance of reaching the whole fanbase.
The main host and executive producer was called “the Professor” and from the short clips Maddie had heard, he sounded reasonably intelligent and informed. He and his band of braying jackasses would come around to Maddie’s way of thinking once she showed them how much she cared about the team. All she had to do was be real and be herself. What could go wrong?
***
The Manders Matter studio address, 315 Magnolia Circle, wasn’t anywhere near Sweetgum’s ten-block business district. That meant exploring some meandering backroads. Normally Maddie would have enjoyed the ride on a beautiful spring day with the redbuds in bloom, but she didn’t own a car anymore. She had been promised access to a company car. That turned out to be a golf cart. An old golf cart that broke down a lot.
It’s fine, she told herself. This is zany! Pretend I’m in a screwball comedy. I’m secretly a madcap heiress hiding out like Claudette Colbert in It Happened One Night. She decided to name her golf cart “Harriet”. She didn’t know why. Somehow it looked like a Harriet. An erratic golf cart with a mind of its own could be another character in her imaginary movie. She’d have to think of a title.
Turn left at Magnolia Circle commanded the GPS voice on Maddie’s phone. Your destination will be on the right.
Maddie stopped the golf cart and double checked the address from the email she’d received confirming her interview. Yes, this was it. A beachy sort of bungalow surrounded by azalea and camellia bushes. Creamy white and pale pink dogwood trees flowered in the front yard. With any luck, this was a good sign. The house at least seemed pleasant, not intimidating. She hated to admit it, but her nerves had kicked into high gear about this interview. After her failed argument with Rory, she needed a win. She lugged her oversized work satchel out of Harriet’s front seat and rang the front doorbell. An older man with a gorgeous head of wavy, salt and pepper hair, a dazzling smile, and a permanent tan answered the door.
Maddie stalled for a second, unable to speak. Had Brad Pitt just appeared from nowhere? This man looked like the actor, but older. And older looked really good on him. It was Moneyball era Brad, too, Maddie’s favorite. But she wasn’t a panther, chasing men that were too old for her. She shifted her bag to the opposite shoulder and refocused her thoughts. “Uh, hi? I’m looking for the Sliding Salamanders podcast. I’m supposed to be a guest on the show. Is this the right place?”
The man nodded tersely. “You want my son. He’s waiting for you downstairs.
Maddie battled the smirk trying to sneak across her face. The High and Mighty Professor lives with his parents and produces the show from their basement? And he acts like such an arrogant, know-it-all? Oh please! She might have hit a humiliating roadblock in her career, but she wasn’t that desperate!
Don’t judge, she admonished herself. You’re here to make friends. She knew that the executives back in Chicago dismissed the local podcasters, particularly the minor league shows. They made fun of the hosts and refused to answer requests for guests or provide press passes to the games. Maddie thought this was short-sighted at best and stupid-beyond-belief at the worst. Why go out of your way to antagonize the people who wanted more than anything to get close to you? She’d never do that when she was in charge. Her first order of business as GM would be to go on every local podcast that existed. No matter how small. That’s what Bill Veeck would do.
“You coming in?” The man at the door stepped aside.
“Oh. Right! Thanks so much Mr. …?”
“Wilde. Russell Wilde. Follow me. I’ll show you the way down.”
The door to the basement was squeezed into the corner of a tiny kitchen, and Maddie had to balance carefully on the narrow, steep stairway. At the bottom of the steps was a small foyer and a thick closed door. She knocked hard and the two podcasters who were NOT the Professor ushered her into the Manders Matter inner sanctum.
The inside of the studio was unexpected. It looked nicer than many real radio stations she’d seen, even in major market cities. State of the art soundproofing panels on the walls. New carpet covered the floor. The focal point of the room was a round, oak table that had to be handcrafted, decked out with professional microphones, headsets, and recording equipment. Behind the table, a long, wooden cabinet with glass doors displayed a collection of bobbleheads and baseball memorabilia.
The podcasters introduced themselves as Vinny Randazzo and Herb Knightly. Vinny had something between a scruffy beard and a goatee on his chin and a matching scruffy mustache-like thing. His hair was mussed and wildly curly, and he wore oversized, square-frame glasses, baggy shorts, and a faded, striped T-shirt with flip flops. His face looked so young, like he could barely have graduated from college yet. Maddie knew that Vinny wanted to be a sportswriter. That tracked. From what she had heard, he was observant, clever with wordplay, and wickedly sarcastic.
Herb was about 30 years old and used to work for several talk radio stations in the area. He had a great radio voice: smooth, deep, and resonant. He reminded Maddie of a young James Earl Jones. She understood his baseball passion. He was the show’s Ranter-In-Chief, and he could be brutal. Now he was selling windows to make ends meet. She had no idea what else Vinny might be doing to make money.
Maddie offered her most sincere handshake and a big smile. “Thank you for this opportunity. I love your show.”
“Really?” Vinny raised an eyebrow. “And you’ve actually listened to it?”
“Of course! I appreciate your candor. And your sense of humor.”
Herb laughed. He had a warm, booming laugh. You couldn’t resist joining in. “Yeah, I'll give you a week in this job. They don’t like humor here in Manderland. Or candor.”
Maddie glanced around the room for the person she most feared meeting. “So … where’s the Professor? And why exactly do you call him that?”
Vinnie motioned toward another door. “In his office. Also known as the laundry room.”
“And half a bathroom, don’t forget,” Herb added. “Only the finest facilities for our honored guests. Feel free to use them if necessary.”
Vinnie flopped down in a swivel chair at the round table and swung around to face Maddie. “He got the nickname Professor back when he played ball. He was super serious. Knew all about theology and philosophy. Said it helped his concentration and control. Oh, and he’s a baseball genius.”
“That he is,” Herb added.
A bizarre grinding, clanking noise came from the Professor’s office, and Maddie heard loud swearing just before the door opened and the Great and Powerful Oz himself came out from behind the curtain. “Damn it, I just fixed the washing machine yesterday, and today it sounds like the TARDIS again.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Maddie joked. “I mean hell-lo, time machine! Hey, it might help the team. Bring back Mickey Mantle before he got injured. It’s a win-win for us and for Mickey—”
She stopped dead in her tracks and her stomach dropped down to her sneakers. Standing in front of her, clean shaven but with the same endearing, round glasses and memorable arm muscles was the man she still had way too many embarrassing dreams about. It was him. It was Carlton. How had she not recognized his voice? She had been multitasking when she listened to the podcast clips. Not paying enough attention. She could hear it now that she knew it was him, but…Oh God! Could she ask him to talk with her alone first? No. Too weird. What the hell was she going to do?
Carlton was in the middle of wiping his face with a towel, but when he finished—he saw her. She felt his recognition immediately and intensely which made everything much worse. She wanted to hurl herself at him and recite the apology she had practiced a million times. She wanted to hold him again, kiss him again, relive every second of their last day together. Graphic sexual fantasies zoomed into her head without her permission.
Stop! Stop! Stop! This is so wrong. Jesus. Get a grip, Maddie.
“It’s you… How?” There was a softness in Carlton’s green-gray eyes and his slight movement toward her. And oh my! He had such a beautiful, strong jawline! Maddie hadn’t seen it before because of his beard.
“You two know each other?” Herb asked.
Maddie decided to seize whatever control she could over the situation. She reached out for Carlton’s hand and gave it a sharp squeeze that she hoped signaled how glad she was to see him. “We met a few years ago. I wanted to stay in touch, but I was uh… You know… It was my fault that…”
Okay, seizing control wasn’t working out. She could barely manage to complete a sentence. Come on, Maddie! Hold it together. She coughed awkwardly and continued. “Well, yeah, it’s kind of a long story. Anyway, I am a huge fan of Carlton’s. The biggest. This is such a thrill. I can’t tell you.” Maddie emphasized the words thrill and I can’t tell you. She studied his face and body language to see if her message landed. It was impossible to tell.
Keep it simple, she thought and put her fumbling monologue out of its misery with: “We should get started with the interview if that’s OK. Busy day.”
Carlton kept hold of her hand for just a second longer than normal handshake. “Sure. The interview. Let’s do that.”
“She calls you ‘Carlton’? Well, well, well, Mr. Wilde! We need to hear this story. I’m getting some vibes here.” Vinny made an exaggerated “jazz hands” gesture. “How ‘bout you, Herb?”
“Uh huh. I’m thinking it might be a lot more interesting than talking about the Sliding Salamanders and their quest to have the worst record in history. Let’s change the title of this episode from All Roads Lead to Despair to When Carlton Met Maddie!”
Vinnie burst out laughing. “I’m with you, dude! I’m sensing an aura like …” He placed his fingers to his temples and shut his eyes like a cheesy psychic. “I’ll have what she’s having!”
Carlton looked horrified, which made Maddie feel a little better. “Vinny, I swear to God, if you fake an orgasm on the show today, I will kill you. We have some dignity on this podcast”.
“First, I never fake it, and second, no we don’t.”
Maddie attempted a polite chuckle and wondered if things could get worse. She thought they really, really could.
Carlton took a slow, calming breath and Maddie recognized his attempt to take control. She prayed it would go better than hers. “Would you two stop it? What are you—twelve years old? We met at a baseball thing, okay? The Cookie Monster was there for God’s sake. It’s a totally G-rated story.”
“The Cookie Monster?” Vinny crooned lasciviously. “Seriously? Cuz I’ve heard he’s a wild man.”
Herb followed up with: “Blue dude can party. Just sayin’.”
“Speaking of which … would you care for a libation, Ms. Fields? It’s after four o’clock. Live a little.” Vinny got up and made some kind of mysterious cocktail from the contents of the mini fridge in the corner. He took a sip from his glass and handed another one to Herb. “Cheers, man!”
“What’s that you’re drinking?” Maddie asked.
“Squirt and vodka.” Herb clinked glasses with Vinny. “It’s surprisingly refreshing. We’re gonna need a lot of these in the coming weeks. You will, too. That’s my best prediction for this season.”
“Ignore them,” Carlton told Maddie. “Everybody, please sit down and put on your headphones. We have a show to do, right?”
“No drinks for me, thanks. And call me Maddie.” She sat down shakily and put on her headphones. But more earthshaking thoughts occurred to her. Vinny had called Carlton “Mr. Wilde.” Carlton’s father was Russell Wilde. So, the Professor—aka her one-in-a-million ideal date—was THE Carlton Wilde! Former Number One Draft Choice. The Second Coming of Randy Johnson. The Left-Handed Pitching Messiah. Sure to win multiple Cy Young Awards. A no-doubt Hall of Famer. She didn’t know his whole tale of woe. Something about injuries and failed Tommy John surgery. Her brain was exploding. Plus, was the title of today’s show really All Roads Lead to Despair? That didn’t sound good. She needed a plan.
Stay positive no matter what and do NOT think about sex with Carlton. Of course, this plan ensured that Maddie would think of nothing else. She pulled out her notes and studied them or appeared to study them.
After the show’s theme song (“Centerfield” by John Fogarty) and few opening remarks, Carlton introduced Maddie and asked, “So, Ms. Fields—"
“Maddie.”
He coughed and sputtered just a little. “Maddie,” he said gently, and her heart nearly melted. “What would you do with this franchise if you were the general manager?”
Maddie clenched. This was a trap question. She couldn’t answer it honestly without making her big boss in Chicago look bad. She shot Carlton a pleading glance, but he maintained a poker face.
“Come on Mads,” prodded Vinny. “You couldn’t possibly do worse than the old man who allegedly runs this shit show. Tell me, have you ever been to his office? Did he offer you a Fresca? He seems like a Fresca guy.”
Maddie didn’t take the bait, and she thought it was rich that a guy drinking a Squirt cocktail was poking fun at someone else’s taste in beverages. “Now boys, you know I’m here to talk about the exciting new promotions I’m working on for the Manders. That’s my job, not being an owner or GM. First thing, I’m putting more family fun front and center.”
“Answer the question.” Carlton’s tone wasn’t mean, but it was firm.
“OK. But I’m on the lowest rung on the food chain, and I’ve never been to Monty Ortzelbean’s office. But this team is not that far from being competitive. We just need to build up the farm system. Fill out the roster with some solid veterans. We’ve got some decent pitching. If we can snag an ace with playoff experience on the free agent market, we’re nearly there.”
She closed her eyes, crossed her fingers under the table, and wished that they would move on. There was about a five-second silence followed by uproarious laughter.
“Oh Mads!” Vinny slammed his palms on the table rattling his weird cocktail glass. Did it have Fred Flintstone on it? “You’re killing me!”
Maddie crossed her arms and glared at him. “What? It’s true.”
“Sure,” Herb interjected. “But if you believe old man Ortzelbean has any intention—or any ability—to do even one of those things, you’re completely delusional.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Spend money on an ace pitcher!” More derisive laughter. Maddie flushed, irritated. She wanted Carlton to say something to soften the blows.
As if on cue, he cut in. “Now Maddie, don’t think we wouldn’t love any of those changes you mentioned, but guess what? This is the worst team in baseball! This whole franchise, starting with the Manders, is going nowhere. Most of your fan base isn’t even watching. On a good night there might be a few hundred people at Yoakam’s Hot and Sweet Pickle Field. How’s that going to change? How can you change it?”
Maddie couldn’t regain her equilibrium. She had been blindsided. Seeing Carlton again had catapulted her to a disorienting mental place, and she couldn’t seem to find her way back. She was better than this and she knew it.
“The past few years have been hard on the fans,” Maddie began. “I get that. My number one job is to create fun at the ballpark again, and I can do that with your help. And with everyone who’s listening right now.”
An avalanche of maniacal laughter buried her.
“Yeah, like that’s going to happen!” Vinny was wiping tears from his eyes. “Since … Hey Mads, what’s your budget?”
“I pride myself on doing events with big community support, not a big budget.”
To her chagrin and despair—where all roads were in fact leading—Carlton derailed her answer again.
“Her budget is precisely bupkis! I have it on good authority that we don’t even get Dollar Hot Dog Night this season. It’s too nice for the fans, and we know Monty hates the fans.”
“Wait. What?” Maddie wished she could take back her knee-jerk response. She sounded clueless. But this was news to her. Every single place in the country, no matter how downtrodden, had dollar dogs. That was just cruel to take such a basic thing away from the fans. She stared at Carlton, searching for a lifeline, but saw nothing except disgust. Maybe not directed at her, but then again, some of it might be connected to her. He could be mad about the Red Line at Addison and was finally letting off steam in her direction. She didn’t really know what he thought when he recognized her. He might be out for her blood.
“This team has no accountability.” Carlton plowed ahead, a man on a mission. “They don’t care what they put on the field, and they don’t care about the fans. Here’s an idea. If you’re a bum, you shouldn’t play on this team. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, guess what, folks? It’s a duck! Andrew Yipp, our alleged first baseman, is a DUCK. I mean, he’s BAD. If you SUCK, you should not PLAY, and our number one policy should be THAT. It’s the norm literally EVERYWHERE else. You want to build something new here, Maddie? You want to change the attitude of the team? You want the fans to believe things are being done properly? Well, accountability is the number one problem, and it always has been. And nothing will change until someone takes responsibility. Am I right?”
Maddie felt like she was stuck on the Tilt-a-Whirl, a midway ride she hated because it made her throw up. She was about to do that now and had to swallow hard to keep from getting sick. She should have been better prepared. She was making a total hash of this interview. Although to be fair, maybe the odds were stacked against her from the start, and she probably should’ve waited a few weeks and done more research before making her Manders Matter debut.
“Yeeeesss!” Herb practically shouted. “Preach, Professor!”
After a few deep breaths, Maddie steeled herself and jumped back into the shark-infested waters. “You’re right about accountability. So, what can I do? Bring joy back to the ballpark.” She pointed directly at Carlton, almost touching his chest. “You know how much I love this game. I can do this, and things can change. You have my word. I take responsibility. Right now. Hold me to it.”
“Nice speech, Mads.” Vinny smirked. “But speaking of DUCKS…”
Carlton tried to block the final blow. “Sorry, Vinny, but I think we’re out of time.”
“This’ll just take a minute, Professor,” Vinny countered.
Maddie dreaded what was coming next. Obviously, they were going to roast her about the infamous rubber duck race in Akron that clogged up the city’s sewer system and cost millions of dollars to clean up. That was the high-profile catastrophe that stopped her rise to the big leagues. She sat there and took the barbs. Laughed with self-deprecating grace at the jokes made at her expense. Pretended to smile at references to “ducking her responsibility” and being called a “Major League Duck Up”.
Maddie didn’t crack under the ridicule, but inside she was dying. And disappointed in Carlton. He stood by and let them crucify her for no good reason. He must really hate me, she thought. Attacking her wasn’t helping him speak truth to power or whatever he thought he was doing down here in his parents’ basement! Besides, why was he wearing an Ernie Banks jersey at a Cubs game on the day they met if he was a hardcore fan for that other Chicago team? She didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter anymore. Clearly, he was not who she thought he was. Once again, she was crushed and frustrated by her suckiness at romance. Fine. She was used to it. She would rise above it and deliver on her promise to change the baseball culture in Sweetgum.
Carlton closed the show with a weak display of humanity. He thanked Maddie for being a good sport and coming on the podcast. He invited her to come back any time.
Oh, she’d come back all right. This was not the end. Maddie had another plan brewing and woe betide those who underestimated her.
END NOTES:
Related Art
The fictional town of Sweetgum is set in the Blue Ridge Mountains in North Carolina. This lush, highland region is known for its “blue haze” and scenic drives like the Blue Ridge Parkway. The mountains are full of ancient forests, parks, and waterfalls, and have a rich cultural history of storytelling, folk music, and charming small towns.
CASTING CALL: THE ACTORS IN OUR IDEAL WILDE PITCH CAST
Rob Lowe as Rory Lampkin
NEED IMAGE: Lionel Boyce as Herb Knightly
Brad Pitt as Russell Wilde
Finn Wolfhard as Vinny Randazzo
BASEBALL INSPIRATION
The Chicago Gray Sox are fictional. But the Chicago American Giants were a real team in baseball’s Negro Leagues. They were the most dominant team in Black baseball from 1910 to the mid-1950s, owned and by player-manager Andrew “Rube” Foster, a titanic figure in American baseball history.
The East-West All-Star Game was the premiere showcase of Black baseball. It started in 1933 at Comiskey Park (home of the Chicago White Sox) and ran through 1962. Ballots were printed in prominent African-American newspapers, and more than a million votes were cast each year.
Josh Gibson of the East team gets tagged out at home plate in the 12th annual East-West game at Comiskey. Gibson had legendary power and was known as “the Black Babe Ruth”.
SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Manders Matter podcast was inspired by several real podcasts for the Chicago White Sox.
First and foremost, Sox In The Basement, produced by Chris Lanuti with his friend Ed Siebert. The premise is: two regular Sox fans from the South Side talk baseball at their homemade basement bar. But don’t let that fool you. This show is perceptive, smart, and hilariously funny.
Numerous episodes of this show provided direct inspiration for Carlton, Vinny, and Herb’s antics.
Sox Machine is the gold standard of White Sox podcasts, featuring Josh Nelson, Jim Margalus, and James Fegan, one of the best sportswriters in the country. Fegan’s articles on the Sox Machine website are a must-read for any baseball fan.
Check him out at soxmachine.com.
And finally, the White Sox podcast from CHGO Sports: Your Go-To Source for Chicago Sports News and ...
This show began with a trio of hosts: Sean Anderson, Vinny Duber, and Herb Lawrence. They had great chemistry together. When the Sox were in the midst of the most lamentable losing season ever, they did funny stuff like a pseudo-documentary series about the best “L” stops in Chicago (instead of more depressing talk about the worst team in history).
Sadly, Vinny and Herb were laid off. But the “Vinny” and “Herb” characters in Wilde Pitch are an homage to these two wonderful guys. Vinny is a talented writer who went on to become a beat reporter for the Chicago Sun-Times. Herb has been a frequent contributor on the Score, a sports radio station in Chicago. He really does have a magnificent voice.
