Harder than the rock that supports thy stand is the will and determination of the living man. And with every pounding painful step upon the stony ground comes defiance of the burdens placed upon our backs emitting unto the silence of the grind, abreast the wings of large powerful groans of anguish, comes a chorus; the scars of drive go away over night while the pain of quit will haunt you for as long as you exist.
The Titan Baseball Brothership felt the trail beneath their feet grow increasingly steeper with every new step. The heavy weight from the loss of their brother and the consternation game that is the Trail of 16 Wars was multiplying upon their backs to the point of anguish and angst. Some collapsed momentarily, to their knees under the stress from the load they were now suddenly carrying. Others banded together to aid brothers that seemed unable to make another step. What was this mighty weight they suddenly were hauling that caused excruciating pain and had them questioning every step? Not a one of them could see to answer because the darkness enshrouded them like being buried alive. From the darkness, could be heard the sound of women and children crying and the trail of sharp rocks and smoldering shale turned to damp pavement below them.
Suddenly the air around them was illuminated from shafts of light streaming through massive stained glass windows in the ceiling of the sky that depicted The Stations of the Cross. Clashes of confusion and cognizance short circuited the minds of the Titan Baseball club and shock waves escaped their agape mouths and wide open eyes. In the light, they could now see the dampness of the Ulster Providence streets was from the blood of the innocent and it doth flow. The burden that each man bore upon his back was now visible not to himself but to the eyes of his brothers. The heavy load they saw humbling men was the Crucifix the other had to bear and empathy tamed the mind and fired the soul. An image of a large Thurible expelling fragrant incense smoke appeared above their heads as a single unifying thought of recognition brought the Titan Baseball Brothership together under the collective belief that if this is church, then it must be Sunday….
His knees, with nothing but the material of his trousers separating them from the hard wood floors of the church, had long grown numb to the pain of countless hours every morning of his life spent praying the rosary. Contemplating heavily upon the 5 Glorious Mysteries, Sunday January 30th,1972 would be the day Kyle Murray took his commitment to the next level.
He had made a name for himself in the Valley of Crescenta of County Derry as a top-notch arm posting a sub 2 ERA in his Junior and senior years for an activist group known as The Baseball Falcons. Amidst escalating unrest throughout Northern Ireland in response to the introduction of ‘internment without trial’, Kyle Murray fueled by the fire of anger, demanding the truth and releasing vapors of hope from his nostrils took to the mound in protest of unionist tyranny. In the eleventh year of the millennium, amid his eleventh year of schooling the kid who never left home without his crucifix baffled authorities striking out 73 for the 11 catholic civilians killed in Belfast by the British 1st Battalion Parachute Regiment in the Ballymurphy Massacre August ’71.
The Crucifix was a product of The Troubles born and raised in the belly of the Londonderry Bogside, the epicenter of a conflict over five centuries old. He cut his teeth throwing rocks at the Royal Ulster Constabulary developing a fastball he honed up against an old garage door. Kyle’s heart and inspiration was derived from stories passed down from generation to generation from the old men who drank Tullamore Dew and spoke with tongue afire of the Plantation of Ulster. As the four seamers began to locate with the rage of English settlers colonizing native Irish land from under them he brought another pitch into his Arsenal, The Change, for it was time for reckoning and change where he lived and this Change was a blockade.
People in his parts do not draw opinions from outside influences nor are they silenced by decrees sent down from a regime they do not recognize as their own and most certainly they do not choose sides based upon fear from the ramifications of martial law. The side they choose, the side Kyle had running through his Gaelic blood was chosen for them by ma and da through the blood of their ancestors spilt mercilessly, their religion, their church and the priest that served them communion but foremost by those that decided to take their land, their culture, their God from underneath them.
Trying to open closed doors, The Crucifix slipped a power finger behind a drive seam and turned the knob. Suddenly, his four-seam back spin was a spiral with down and away slide like a nail bomb and another pitch is added to his Arsenal. Taking that stuff into demonstration after demonstration his senior year, Murray amassed a stellar ERA of 1.83 with 70 K’s garnering him Pacific League Co-Player of the Year. Then things begun to escalate.
Grievances of the long-standing nature rubbed raw the scars some centuries old to ring in the year of 1969. Tensions fueled by the attack of activists on the March to Derry, were ignited by the battle of the Bogside as rioting spread throughout Northern Ireland. The antagonistic Apprentice Boy’s parade that celebrated Protestant victory in the Siege of Derry 1689, had a route that took the Ulster Loyalist alongside the walls of Derry with violent ramifications that summer. The louder a voice grew with civil rights reforms and anti-sectarianism the more the clashes became divided along the lines of religion and defined by violence. A Free Derry was established and barricades marked its perimeter that later became ‘no-go area’s’ to even the British troops. This triggered munition enforced curfews and gun battles in the streets between the army, The Royal Ulster Constabulary and the likes of groups such as the Ulster Volunteer Force pitted against The Provisional and Official branches of the IRA. August, 1971 ‘Internment without trial’ was imposed bringing to light the dark mindset of the ‘5 Techniques’ of torture inflicted upon Irish Catholic Nationals and in the days following the introduction of this decree 21 people died in three days of rioting. Kyle Murray found himself in a Sinn Fein state of mind, drawing in a deep breath from the climate of protest he exhaled a deep solidarity for those he stood arm and arm with in the struggle for a sovereign Ireland then he pledged commitment to Taoiseach Vanderhook and the Titan Street Mob.
As he finished off the final beads of the days Rosary and the subsequent tasks each demanded, an incomparable feeling of freedom washed over his mind and flooded his body below. A feeling of freedom so intense it felt like flight without the fear of height. Today would be a day for the reckoning of grievances in peaceful protest, side by side with his brothers, they would march as one Civil Rights Association. The Crucifix genuflected in front of the alter of St. Eugene’s Cathedral and turned down the aisle feeling proud that as a team, The Titan Street Mob would defend a Free Derry and their lineage as a premier baseball club. Dipping his throwing hand into the Holy Water Font at the entrance to the church he made the sign of the cross and looked back into the massive structure that is St. Eugene’s Cathedral and for a moment he thought he could hear his ancestors crying.
Internment without Trial was an affront to civil rights and the people of the Bogside had assembled in peaceful demonstration to demand an end to its use. The Titan Street Mob meet with all the other protestors, in Bishops Field, where the march would begin. It appeared, to Kyle, that all of Derry had showed up to march and he slipped his lucky wrist band on his left wrist, the time was 2:45pm.
He was there to do whatever the Titan Chieftains asked of him, always putting team first. The March began under a dark cloud of tension because of a recent ban on such protest and for the excessive violence used by the 1st Parachute Squadron a week before in a similar anti internment rally. Most inappropriate for a planned peaceful march, especially given the circumstances of the week prior, the 1st Parachute Battalion are called in once again; Kyle is roughed up in his debut going 0.1 innings 3 Hit 2 Run 1K ending up with an ERA that would later be his number. Like a true Irishman, a good fight is all he wants so he put his chin up and soldiered on.
There must have been 10,000 to 15,000 people carrying signs and singing songs in unison as The Crucifix fell into a groove pitching shutout ball for 2.1 Innings over his next two appearances. More and more people joined the march as they made their way towards Guildhall in city centre and the Titan Street Mob marched out front. Nearing city centre the crowd came upon a British Army barricade blocking off William Street and access to Guildhall. This was intended to restrict the march to the catholic areas of Derry only. Quickly a decision was made and rally organizers detoured the march towards Free Derry Corner for the site of the rally.
Not all the marchers continued down Rossville Street, The Titan Mob and some other youths stuck around to hurl rocks and obscenities at the soldiers on duty at the barricades. The soldiers responded quick with tear gas and rubber bullets hitting some of the Titan pitching staff. Kyle with only thought for his brothers, tore a piece of shirt off and using it as a mask went in to the fracas to relieve his brothers. In the top of the 6th he came sprinting in for Birosak who was hit pretty good and unable to see for all the blood and tear gas in his eyes. Kyle took the stone from his coach and defended the stance of his brother until their wounded were off the street and the Titans could amass an offensive. The Crucifix went 2 scoreless frames and was hit twice, once by a rubber bullet another by a baton strike, neither slowing his cause. He picked up the W that day but was separated for the time from his Titan Street brothers and forced over towards the Riverside of Derry by advancing armored vehicles.
On Williams Street, sits an old dilapidated building that overlooked the route of the civil rights marchers, most of whom were still dressed in their Sunday, go-to-church-in bests. Nested atop the lofty perch were paratroopers in full sniper mode. Tensions mounting amongst some of the local street mobs and would be rioters because of the aggressive presence of the military, the blood of civilian Irish still wet on their weaponry from Magilligan. Rioters noticed and began throwing stones at the building, breaking windows and causing a commotion in response to the incendiary act. The Titan Street Mob felt a bonding obligation to stand with the rioters against this act of ascendant aggression and took up stones for the cause. A symphony of smash was conducted and from the carparks below a battery of bats and stones hurled in an opus of civil disobedience. The troopers responded, this time with live rounds wounding two Titans, both unarmed. The time was now 3:55pm.
Kyle fighting to get back to his brothers went 21 Innings with 11 Strikeouts on the Riverside. He rendezvoused with them as they all rejoined the march moving down Rossville and a new fire burned within him for the those of his order shot down unarmed. At 4:07pm any hope that the rally would end without disorder evaporated in a furry of chaotic proportions.
The 1st Parachute Squadron stormed the Bogside barriers both on foot and in armored vehicles, cutting through the crowd, hitting civilians and causing a frantic stampede of peaceful marchers and rioters together. The soldiers disembarked their vehicles not as an ancillary presence sent in to support arrests of active rioters but as a commando operation aiming to start taking folks down. With precision aim the first unarmed protestor was killed from a shot in the back as he attempted to run away from the area.
The Titan Street Mob was being pinned down in the car park of the Rossville Flats by a barrage of gun fire so the Titan Chieftains turned to Kyle Murray the Crucifix to step up for his brothers. The Crucifix took to some high ground for his start and was relentlessly rigid for 4 and 2/3’s his longest D-1 outing. As the soldiers moved in on the barricade Kyle gave his brothers their best chance to win scattering 5 hits and not allowing a run before a rain of erratic gunfire caused them to evacuate the shelter of the rubble barricade. The paratroopers had stopped taking aim and were now firing from the hip at those frantically trying to flee the massacre they were now becoming victim to. Two of the Titan Street mob were killed at the barricade one has he fled.
All around them was ultra-violence, groups of soldiers were beating people with rifle butts, firing rubber bullets at dangerously close range and toppling groups with water cannons. Manically, some were laughing and overly indulgent in their threats of violent death and racial insults. The Titan Street Mob began to separate in order to assist the wounded and helpless civilians mounting throughout the Bogside.
Kyle stayed behind at the Rossville barricade after witnessing a young, unarmed 19-year-old member of the Titan Street Mob shot in the chest. Running to the aide of the young man lying dead on the ground he watched in horror as one after another that came to the aide of the brutally shot young man were they themselves shot down in cold blood trying assist their fellow man. This did not slow the gate of The Crucifix in his attempt to aid the now 3 dead men and as he knelt at their sides, a bullet struck him in the shoulder. Unflinchingly in the 5th he picked the kid up off the ground and carried him for cover suffering just the one hit, surrendered the walk but kept the frame scoreless for his first win of the season. Never the less he was wounded, some of his brother murdered in the streets and all this was happening within a blink of an eye. The Crucifix made his way out of the Rossville courtyard where fleeing marchers were herded into and now were being plucked like fish in a barrel.
A swarm of marchers were attempting escape through Glenfada Flats while wounded were being hauled to safety in to local houses and priests attempted to save those that had been shot. From out of the chaos and gunfire came a group of civil rights marchers holding a wounded young boy led by Father Edward Daly waving a blood soaked white handkerchief. Kyle stood motionless in awe of the scene being played out in front of him. The men that had been carrying the wounded young marcher stopped and announced to the priest that they could wait no longer and laid him down in the middle of the street. With all solemn reverence in sacred contrast to the violence around the father began administering Last Rites for the boy they all said was posing no threat. Coming up on Glenfada Square Kyle could see it was another trap with the carpark being surrounded by three buildings and blood thirsty soldiers barring the exits. Knowing his brother Titans would need help he raced around to a back alley on the south-east corner.
Cutting through Abbey Park he came across a fellow brother of the Titan Street Mob cornered, holding his hands up and shouting “don’t shoot, don’t shoot” and they shot him. There was a young first year Titan pitcher standing directly behind him and the bullet traveled through the first man and into the second, mortally wounding the big youngster and leaving him helplessly pinned down by army gun fire. The Crucifix and another man attempted to help the wounded man into a nearby house. The people inside the house opened the door in the 6th and with one out Kyle entered with the man in critical condition. Bullets were still flying as Kyle took his lucky wrist band off and gave it to the young man lying in fear on the dining room table of the good Samaritans. When he did he was hit by army gun fire 3 times for 2 runs before he could escape the house and thus draw fire away from the home that gave shelter to the hunted.
Kyle Murray now badly wounded twice limped with tenacity, for even if it killed him he would die making a stand with his Titan Street brothers. Approaching Glenfada Flats he saw one his brothers attempting to crawl to safety when a soldier emerged from the alley and shot the man in the back. Kyle Murray took cover as they opened fire upon him and other unarmed civil rights marchers scrambling for safety and for the moment, he contemplated his next move carefully.
It is amazing how a life can come to this in the matter of minutes and now his next decision may be his last. He touched his crucifix as he said the Lord’s Prayer and prayed he would be able to reach his Titan brother lying in the street amidst angry sectarian gunfire gone berserk. Getting to him was all that mattered because he feared from all he had been witnessing that he too would be shot for what he was about to attempt. He made his start stepping out onto the clay waving a white cloth to signal his intent. He walked to start but then stumbled on a passed ball but picked himself up determined to aide his fallen brother. Rebounding to his feet he retired the next batter and he was getting close to the motionless body of his fallen comrade when he was hit. Sweat mingled with the blood from the bullet that grazed his neck and burned the tips of his nerves till he convulsed with the pain. His walk now at third with a runner on first he got another out and stood tall upon the slab of pavement seeing his goal within reach. A bullet from a sniper perched atop the flats hit his arm and his walk was now a run. A last-ditch dive brought him to the side of his fallen brother and he realized the man to whom he shared the bond of brotherhood and baseball love was now deceased. A home run blast left the barrel of paratrooper’s rifle.
The bullet hit The Crucifix square in the head killing him instantly. His last breath spent on a prayer, praying for the soul of his lost brother and thus completing his frame. 26 unarmed civil rights protestors and civilians were shot by the 1st Battalion Parachute Regiment between the time of the first shots fired at 3:55pm and when the first ambulance arrived at 4:28pm. 13 people died on that day and another died months later from wounds he suffered on Bloody Sunday. More than 100 rounds were fired by soldiers and countless people suffered beatings and tear gas related injuries.
Later inquiries found the use of the regiment of soldiers as deplorable and the tactics of the 1st Parachute Squadron as unnecessary and unjust. To humanity the criminal acts committed were atrocities on all levels and helped increase recruitment and public empathy for the IRA cause. No evidence was ever recovered as to the roll of the Titan Street Mob or if they ever existed. They live on only in lore spoken in Gaelic tongue amongst the survivors of The Bogside Massacre.
The Titan Baseball Brothership awoke with the smell of Irish whiskey on their breath on the all too familiar landscape of the Trail of 16 Wars, they were one more brother shy and this they knew. Kyle Murray will not be back in a Titan uniform next season but the men of the Titan Baseball Brothership feel pride in their hearts for the fight displayed in the Crucifix and will use that pride to forge forward on the Trail determined to make it back from their tumble from the face of the earth and into the depths of hell in time for the 2017 NCAA D-1 Baseball season.

 

The blood of kings awaits spillage by the heart that pumps the blood of gods, fear condemned will be trampled underfoot of war boots that stand upon stars and conquerors who have never known defeat shall inhale the fury and exhale not for the hand of Titan Baseball will around the throat of adversity freeing the ghosts of menacing foes. Bring forth the spawn of earth and sky, the hand that wields the Scythe of Cronos and chokes the life from demons of defeat. Go hard into the dark night bringing the fist of Titan gods to the fight!

 

The voice of the Titan goddess Rhea sent chills of exhilaration down the spine of every last one of the crew of the Titan Baseball Brothership and alone illuminated the Trail of 16 wars. The trail was barren, hard and rocky. All around it was a lifeless abyss so dark it was bitter cold to look into.  Glowing above it was the heavenly embodiment of a maternal figure seated at a throne flanked by two majestic lions. The energy that created lite was culpable as she spoke to the Brothership about the challenges that faced them. More importantly Rhea spoke of the rewards that lie at the end of the Trail if they were victorious in just one of the battles.

 

A chance to compete for another National Championship is where the trail for the victorious would end but the alternative would be far worse than the living hells they were about to experience themselves and far too heinous for the motherly figure to even speak of.

 

“Hades, the devoured son of Cronos has warned you of the fate to those that fail to prevail in one of the trials on the Trail of 16 Wars. What you’re about to witness is the worst atrocities and conflicts of all mankind replayed day in and day out for all of eternity within the depths of hell. You will not be able to alter their outcome or change the course of history for these events have already been judged by the Almighty and damned for the evil they are. You must fight gallantly for the cause that sits right with your soul. If your intentions are righteous and the good in your heart wins the day over the evil it battles, you will be restored to the world you knew.” The voice of Rhea grew even more authoritative as she pronounced further condition. “Although you will all fight together as one, the gods have predestined 16 members of the Titan Baseball Brothership to be personally affected by corresponding atrocities each by a different trial along the Trail. If he chooses evil or is defeated the trial will be ended, the chosen crew member lost for good and the Brothership returned to the Trail in search of the next battle until there are no more.”

 

“Titans, prepare to make your stand!” Rhea exclaimed as she bounded to her feet and the lions that lay dormant at her feet roared and stood crouched ready to pounce and attack. “Let race the blood that gives life to Zeus and Atlas and bring down the fist of the Titan gods. THIS IS WAR!!!!!!!” And with that she instantly disappeared and so did the Trail.

 

Enter The Hangman

 

The smell of evergreens, red cedar and sweet onions filled the air like magical ingredients to a recipe for home as they slipped the noose around his neck. For centuries foreigners had infiltrated the land of his forefathers bringing with them disease and theft. They disguised their genocide in the form of missionaries that preached their god but stole land with dishonesty and prejudice. The white men traded fur and land for tobacco and liquor in order to enslave the people of the land and drive them into prisons they called reservations and when they stood up against them the armies in blue road in on horseback displaying fire power his fellow tribesman could not match with bow and arrow. As per the tribal law, the medicine man that fails to heal but instead causes death must he himself be killed and that is what brought The Brahma two-sport brave to the make shift gallows beneath the shade of a mighty spruce. The act the settlers called a massacre is what touched off a brutal battle that lasted more than 8 years and saw more than its share of atrocities.

 

The act in question was a four-year campaign in the Pomona Valley set upon by the Brahma raiding parties executed upon settlers of the Palomares Conference. For every promise and agreement that was broken the Brahmas paid the settling pioneers a visit and administered justice on both the gridiron and the diamond. For every disease that was disguised as a gift given to a tribe the number 24 with his raiding Brahma delivered a death blow from the mound and from the plate, controlling the field at large. For every criminal act against mother earth the number 24 took the number 14 and his arm to the back field and from the quarterback position he dominated the opposition for three seasons and was named First Team All-league at the Quarterback position.

 

The two time First Team All Hacienda league heart of a brave left a mark upon the land of varsity baseball for three seasons and lore began to follow him, marking the warrior has a wanted man. Fresh faced settlers and the government soldiers that sought to destroy the indigenous people lived in fear of the strike out that had become his trade mark, 59 in total his senior campaign over 50 innings pitched. Over the course of three seasons 29 appearances were made, 23 of them as starter, 2 complete games amassing a 15 and 7 win/loss record with a 106 strikeouts over 123.1 innings pitched.

 

Fear did not fill his heart nor self-pity for what his executioners were about to condemn him to but pride in his tribe. He had become the most sought after savage in the foothill mountains and a bounty was set on the head of the entire tribe if he was not caught or turned in. The hangman turned to the young brave that turned himself in to spare his people from reprisals and asked him to name himself so that justice of the new world should be served. The Brahma warrior turned to the executioner and said “My white man name is Henry but you will call me Omana for before the sun sets on this day and the light of my life is extinguished I will have taken your name, your charge and your life”

 

War had been raging all around them but now the ground began to shake with its violence. A sound so monstrous drowned all mater of life out like thunder from catastrophic storms and explosive volcanos unleashing devastation upon villages below. From the deafening rumble came a unified war cry emanating from a wild band of brothers from atop the ridge ascending down on the execution. Those that had gathered for the execution were outnumbered and out matched so they began to scramble. A barrage of arrows and spears mixed with smatters of gun fire began to rain down upon the gallows. The two Calvary sentries were struck immediately through the heart with the precision of a master archer. The posse that escorted the young brave to the execution site began to take cover and return fire. A volley of ancient weaponry and modern rifle fire filled the air around them like a swarm of pest on a harvest ready crop. Omana stood proud with the noose still around his neck staring into the ranks of the advancing tribe. They were not his tribe for the color of purple and white they wore so proud was replaced with the darkest of blues and an orange that was stolen from the sun. although he was not of this tribe, the faces of the men looked as familiar to him as his own family but he could not understand why, yet pride was all he could feel.

 

The hangman that had been cowering behind a fallen horse jumped back onto the gallows and with a maniacal smirk on his face he informed the brave that he would not be fulfilling his last request and he pulled the latch and the Brahma warrior dropped through the floor swinging with the violent act and hanging from his neck convulsing in spasms. The hangman, knowing he could not escape the advancing war party, smeared blood from a dead soldier all over himself and laid himself down as though he were one of the courageous men to have been killed in the fight. The short rope noose that Henry hung from was designed to incur slow death through strangulation rather than a quick snap of the neck wrought from a long rope noose and thus as the last gasp of life giving breath escaped he watched the hangman and his ploy. 

 

The rope was burning a permanent scar into the soft flesh of his neck and his eyes watered and bulged as though they would explode from their sockets when through the air on the wings of avenging angels came a tomahawk of redemption. The life taking rope that suspended him severed just above his head and down he crashed to the ground tumbling towards the possum playing hangman. He lurched to his feet and removed what was left of the noose from around his neck and pounced on the hangman who had begun to realize he would have to fight. The hangman pulled a knife from his belt and soon the two were in a death roll for all the marbles. The game around them did not matter all the two saw was each other. The fire in the Indian brave was greater than that in the hangman and soon Henry Omana was perched upon his now defenseless foe. He pulled the collar down from around his neck line and revealed the still bleeding scare from the noose and spoke through a harshened voice. “From this day forward I shall be known as The Hangman.” And with that he took the noose that was once around his own neck and placed it around the neck of his would be executioner and choked the life from him. With the knife he liberated from his enemy he carved a ‘K’ on his chest.

 

The execution party lay slaughtered on the ground as the raiding party encircled the young brave now known as The Hangman. The mighty Chief Hooky Monster adorned in a war bonnet of eagle feathers that was inches from the ground when he stood upon the soil, dismounted and approached The Hangman. “You are a mighty brave and you will never fight alone again, today you are a part of the Titan Nation.” After he spoke he presented The Hangman with a Blue and Orange war shirt with the number 34 emblazoned upon it. After embracing the Hangman as one of his own the mighty Titan chief told tale of the war path they were following. A large contingency of Calvary was sweeping the tribal lands herding the native people into prisons they call reservations under Andrew Jackson’s Indian Removal Act, where they infect the people of mother earth with deadly diseases and addictive afflictions. The Titan warriors would combine forces with the Cayuse Nation and meet the Calvary out on the plains of the Nebraska territory.

 

“Will you ride with us Hangman and give those that seek to exterminate us a taste of the noose?” Exclaimed the Hooky Monster.

 

“This is my fate.” Was the retort of young Omana And The Hangman stripped the saddle and bags from the deceased hangman’s horse and filed into formation with the Titan Renegades as they made[kf1]  their way in defense of their home, the valley of the Arboretum.

 

Day 1; The 13^th of Uprising

 

The sun was just rising over the horizon when the renegade band of native raiders began reclamation of ancestral lands. A volunteer army under the command of an imperialist protestant preacher hell bent on bringing fire, brimstone and deadly disease to the indigenous people was relieving the peaceful Peopeo Moxmox of their livestock when they meet the wrath of 35 skilled Titan warriors. A violent conflict ensued but the volunteer army was no match for the skilled warriors that took them by surprise. The Hangman went hard into battle that 13^th of Uprising getting the noose around 7 soldiers and hanging ‘em high over 4.2 innings over 5 appearances that battle.

 

The raiding armies of settlers tried to retreat but the Titan braves remained engaged trapping them with nowhere to run between there advancing war party and the shores of the Cowlitz Black Bear Lake. The Hangman riding like the West Coast League Player of the Week he is led the final charge.  38 men saw the scar around his neck, heard him whisper his name “The Hangman” into their ears and felt the noose around their neck as life slipped away from them over 38 and a 1/3 innings slung. Some grateful but rebellious Palouse tribesman joined the Titan war party as they moved on to join the Cayuse in battle the following day.

 

 Day 2; The 14^th of Perseverance 

 

The two massive armies met out on the open plain, the golden waves grain blowing silently in the wind like an ominous choir of destruction to come. The sheer number alone of the Calvary was enough to make any warrior from any nation turn tail and run but what was really apocalyptic was the amount of fire power they toted to encounter an army of spears and arrows, and yes a Hangman’s noose. Eerily leading the Calvary forward was a peace keeping delegation carrying white flags summonsing dialogue with Tribal Leaders. Chief Hooky Monster accompanied Chief Five Crows and Grey Eagle to the mid-way point, all three believing they were invincible to harm from the white man. Enforcing centuries of distrust up this point the Calvary did not disappoint. With all the fire power at their disposal they opened up a barrage of deadly explosive fire, killing the chiefs immediately. When the Gatlin Gun emerged from the covered wagon the tribal warriors were just trying to regain their feet and take a stand in hand to hand combat. The death rattle of the Gatlin rang out cutting warriors in two, literally. The Hangman was immediately hit in his gut and fever and infection took hold almost immediately. As he laid in the field of grain gazing into the sky making his peace with his spirit blood from his brothers still trying to fight rained down on him and he cried not for himself but for the brothers he loved like family and the inability caused by his wound to stand and fight with them. Trying with all he had to stand and fight The Hangman collapsed and all went black. He spent the rest of the battle unconscious’s and wrought with fever.

 

When The Hangman awoke he was prone on a bed of animal skins with mystical herb smoke burning around him. The poultice that the medicine man had applied to his wound magically broke the fever and the wound was sewn up. The braves that amazingly survived were finally able to retreat from the massacre and were now with reinforcements from the Nez Perce Tribe discussing the next attack. This time they were seeking to invade the U.S. fort of Omaha.

 

Day 3; The 15^th of Redemption

 

This day and this battle will be looked up on by future braves and held in high esteem for the obstacles that were to be encountered and overcome. The Indian warriors came at dawn hard and fierce in order to grasp the balls of the endeavor of an ambitious schedule. The residents of the fort were not expecting the raiding parties to be so bold after what decimation they faced just the day before and as a result suffered the first casualties. The Hangman still weary from his injuries but enraged for what had happened to his brothers in the prior battle leapt from his horse and scaled the wall, attacking the sentry guards atop. Below him on both sides of the fortress wall was chaos and violent Anarchy but he was driven by the need to make a difference for his brothers. He pulled the noose from under his war shirt and appeared 7 times in the face of the enemy hanging 6 over 5 and a 1/3 before a soldier’s beignet caught him in his gut and reopened his wound.

 

Bleeding out badly his life began to once again slip away. He toppled over the rail of the sentry walk falling hard on the compact ground right in front of the fortress gates. Holding his innards back from escaping his wounds he saw one last chance to help his brother enter the fort of Omaha. Without thought for himself he clawed his way up the fortress gate towards the latch that bolted it closed. Half way up on his knees bullets began whizzing by his head. With one hand on the release mechanism several slugs entered his life bleeding torso but did not deter him from his mission and with every ounce of perseverance and determination his heart could muster he released the gate and The Titan warriors rushed the gates and inside the fort of Omaha. The raiding braves had their way with the Calvary on that day for they raided their ammunition, food and whiskey supplies and escaped before the big guns were armed and ready.

 

The Titan band of warriors brought their brave and selfless brother back to camp that night and danced around the fire in loud costumes of animal hide in honor of the bravery displayed by the young Hangman. All were merry and drunk with victory while singing songs of the battles to come tomorrow. The Hangman smiled and prayed the magic poultice would deliver him to another fight while the medicinal herd put him slowly to sleep with a smile upon his face.

 

The Hangman never recovered from his wounds of gallantry, slip sliding away across the night’s sky. He will not be in a Titans uniform next season but will forever be a Titan Brother. The Anarchist wish good upon you brother, see you when the autumn leaves fall Hangman.

 

The remaining Titan Baseball Brothership awoke to the Trail of 16 Wars, all that perished aside from # 34 were now restored and travelers upon the Trail. Shaken and disturbed from what they had just gone through they pushed forward wondering what was up ahead and if another would be lost. Silently they moved on as one……….

 

 

Chapter 1:

Part 1: The Moment
When the winds that propel our ship to destiny turn tide against us in a force of resistance so fierce it is scarcely drowned out by the violent shrill of all earth spilling over its own edge and while the dimensions of sight and sound become blurred in a soliloquy of what is and what should never be a struggle to return to the norm ensues just in time to deviate from it once again.
all matter of life that wagered with the tempestuous edge of the earth and came up short of touching the hand of God were now airborne with the 2016 Titan Baseball Brothership and seemed to be mere brush strokes on a canvass painting hanging on the wall of a museum although the speed at which they tumbled eternally through space together was beyond that of even light. The 2016 Titans were draconian in their vigor and the fulfillment of the promise to either obtain ultimate victory in the shape of a National Title or sail from the edge of the earth in attempt. And sail from it they did and now found themselves free falling passed the horizon line and into a colorless sky. Above them was the world they knew that was wagered for a chance in a life time. Below them awaited captors of hearts, minds and lifelong dreams chewing them up and spitting them out onto the cold, hard ground. While all around them was engaged in a synchronized blur of falling, falling, falling
Shear will and vim had filled the sails of The Titan Baseball Brothership in the final stretch of 2016 gaining momentum with every battle that was fought and won. The road was hard and rocky throughout the season and nothing was taken for granted. As they crashed the port of Long Beach in the final series of the regular season the all familiar Winds of Mayhem had joined the brotherhood of vim and vigor that filled the sails of the Titan Brothership and all aboard new that nothing could slow the force that propelled them, thus they had but one shot at the beach of Omaha least their momentum so fierce would carry them without ability to slow the vessel, off the edge of the earth.
Everything the crew of Titan Baseball did in 16 and in preparation of it came down to the final day of the regular season. Ties were not included in the vows spoken with pride by the Titan Baseball Brothership when they pledged victory or ejection from the face of the earth so the rubber match was the type of game each and every one of the brothers laced ‘em for time and time again. The iron fist of the Brothership’s crew idled into the wee hours after the game 2 lose conjuring strategy and assistance in whatever form to obtain victory in the final regular season game of ’16. In the darkest hour just before dawn they brought forth The Beast-Man with wrath and beseeched of him take to the rower’s galley and alone empower oars both stern and port. Through 8 and a 1/3 The Beast doth drove the ship with enough force to crash the Long Beach blockade that protected the crown and thus Fullerton’s 29th Conference Title. With the strength of the Beast waning under the last resistance of Dirtbag fighters The Mighty Quinn appeared in the galley and without consternation he launched onto the Beast’s back, dug his Kodiak bear like claws into the wide shoulder expanse of the Fresno Flame Thrower pulling his flesh with every oar stroke keeping on pace with The Beast saving him and the team from defeat for his first D-1 Save and upholding the most important win thus far that season. Deskside it was a far bloodier affair but the Brotherhood banded together as one to create The Moment.
The 1,000th voyage coached by The Warlord Baumbardier did not come without its share of heroics and when all was said and done along with the Big West Pennant came Big west coach of the Year, Big West Field Player of the Year, Freshman Pitcher of the Year, 9 All-Team selections and the Big West did know we went through them. And then The Moment, while all The Titan clan celebrated on the field and in the terraces it occurred without warning, delivered upon the wings of angels. The entire Titan Baseball Brothership assembled on the field before their contingency and as one in a selfless gesture turned to their fan base and saluted them for what they had given to the team and like the Law of God that was etched by His own finger onto tablets of stone so was this moment set in stone into the hearts of Titan Baseball Fanatics and with it another mystery was revealed. All upon the Brothership and in the terraces now knew the distance to Omaha was not measured in miles but in moments, for champions and championship are not defined by wins and loses but by their fight and the moments they create.
And the Brothership continued to plummet whilst the voice of an angel sang ‘We are stardust, we are billion-year-old carbon and we got to get ourselves back to the garden”.

Chapter 1:

Part 2: Into the Belly of the Beast
White fire began to screech from the hull of the mighty Titan clipper as the falling worlds seas began to be drawn apart and separated from the wayward debris, the fate seekers who wagered it all and the hapless victims who wondered to close to the point of no return. The ominous hand of Oceanus appeared from out of the abyss pooling the cascading waters into strands of currents that turned both clock wise and counterclockwise simultaneously creating one raging sea that flowed upside down orbiting the earth and giving buoyancy to all inhabitable land. Cold saline currents churned to the surface and hot gulf stream flows submerged to the depths of the recirculated waters creating navigable uncharted waters and damning those that chased their own destiny to now plummet while white fire incinerated their souls without ever fully consuming their being. Intensely hot storm winds began to blow seemingly from all directions at once fueling the white fire and creating trade winds that blew hard against the yard arms and the mast of the Titan clipper taunting her to unfurl her sails and charge the currents. The creature that brought forth the winds was no stranger to the crew of the Titan Baseball Brothership but a chill went up the spine of every last one of the brave hearted men as the human upper body of Typhon spawned out of his cavern and eclipsed the universe about them. The dragon heads that extended from his finger tip touched farthest reaches of both east and west simultaneously as he conducted the winds in a symphonic movement of eternal vengeful rebellion and the seas that once were cascading falls now flowed as one becoming the living embodiment of the world seas, Oceanus
Cutting through the violent sights and sounds was the familiar and reassuring sound of the iron fist of the Hooky Monster slamming down on the Gun wale calling all hands to report to stations. “Batten down the hatches, haze of gray and underway” came the command so resounding it drew the attention and the ire of the immortals Oceanus and Typhon. Pride and fight resurrected in the hearts and the minds of the crew for they would never accept defeat as fate but instead challenge the currents of destiny and harness the winds of deliverance. “Strike the royals” ordered Captain Hook as he lashed himself to the wheel in a defiant act of commitment to resilience. The Sage of Sling brought the arms below deck to the bullpen that is the oarsmen galley and ordered them to man their thwarts and power the ship’s bow about and into the waves. The ship thrashed about with the force of the raging currents throwing about everything that was not battened down including men manning the rigging. “Reef the mainsail” barked Hook and the ship began to stabilize and direction was returned to the rudder as the Titan Brothership caught the current and was seemingly once again underway powered by the winds and slicing through the waves. For a brief moment the arms of the staff that drove the Titan Baseball Brothership, set new school records and led the nation in era had an uneasy moment of brief rest for the momentum of the cascading current was carrying them.
The scenery that abounded the Baseball Brothership changed within the blink of an eye. Gone was the familiar landscape of the skies beneath the cover of the earth’s atmosphere and within an instant so was the celestial bodies that form the universe to which mother earth resides. The sky had become colorless and was neither light nor dark. Coming in to view was the underworld itself and not a soul aboard knew what to expect because no tales were ever told for no one had ever returned from whence they now found themselves. Mesmerized they gazed in wonderment at what is the captivity of the gods Tartarus, fearing that they would go blind if they continued to stare but unable all the same to break their stare. Horror and dismay engulfed the souls of the men above deck that were now all the sudden scourged by the sight of the mighty arm of Kronos emerging from his eternal captivity that is the Cave of Nyx. Wielding a mighty scythe and angered by the tenacity of the Titan Baseball Brothership’s attempt at navigating the currents, Kronos slashed upward with extreme violence and prejudice gathering force and momentum as the waters parted and tidal waves developed in the wake of the scythe. The Brothership was surely doomed for they were a long way from the sanctuary of their home port and all of nature was bearing down. The wrath of the gods had the Titan Baseball Brothership in the cross hairs of eternal damnation and destruction but the crew refused to abandon hope for Titans hold hope higher than food for the sustention of life.
From what seemed to be some sort of a Left Field Lounge came another force of nature, a possible escape from the fall of the season. Creating a wake of its own a massive sea creature torpedoed through the waters heading straight for the Brothership. Not sure whether it was friend or foe the crew breeched off from deck duties and prepared armaments and manned their battle stations. Of all the mystical beings and nether gods, they were facing now and in earlier voyages the creature from out of left field was familiar to the crew. All though it was easily a 100 times the size any they had seen before and though not battered and deep fried the men recognized a catfish when they saw one. The blade of Kronos’ scythe was about to impact the ships bow at that moment and the men prepared for impact not knowing the role astern between them and the cat fish were about to be reversed. The gigantic catfish lunged from the waters spraying water from his majestic barbels and creating massive showers from out of the colorless skies and amassing vibrant rainbows that temporarily blinded the vengeful gods of the underworld. The enormous fish then hovered its heavy boney hydrofoil head above the Titan clipper and attached its vast suckermouth blotting everything else out for the crew revealing nothing but the vast Starkness of a number 2 seed. Swallowed whole and now engulfed in a darkness so black they felt it to their core, the Titans tumbled and swashed about ascending into the belly of the fish.
How long had the darkness enveloped them was unknown but what it felt like was an eternity with the absence of humanity. When they awoke from the comatose of darkness not nary a one could believe his eyes for they had been resurrected into a magical land of sport and tourney, of laughter and spirits and of baseball gallantry where emperors are gladiators in tourney and the average tenants of the land are spectators of royal regard in spires of Corinthian columns that emerge magically from the ground challenging all laws of physics as they provide the bisellium of senatorial seating to those staunchest of fans known throughout the NCAA. Instead of the digestive track of a bottom feeder the skies above them displayed a kaleidoscope of colors. An endless waltz of infinite symmetrical color patterns in a melancholy perpetual mosaic that gave way to a stained glass ring around the horizon that was the most vivid shade of maroon any mortal had ever seen and appeared to form the outer limits of cosmic colosseum. Viscous green liquid oozed from the ground and climbed upward covering all manner of life that was not mobile in a lush green that expelled oxygen so dense and pure it resembled butterflies that flew into ones’ lungs filling them with serenity. From the grasp of sure demise, they thought this surely heaven for nothing but smiling faces did greet them and a slew of positive creative spirits welcomed them to tourney.
A cotton candy bank of fog suddenly rolled in and the air smelled of baked cookies. All pesky insects in the area turned into gummy candy treats and the sun retained the shape of a Red Hot. On a magic carpet made of taffy the vibrant spirit known through all the magical Ville as Candyman brought laughter of a million children as he welcomed the traveling brood and suddenly even the water tasted sweeter. The crew would also learn later that packed inside his magical bag of treats was also an endless supply of spirit and support for all things State and would make a very worthy advisory and comrade all in one once the games commenced. Time had flipped flopped and what was for day was now for night. Hunger and consumption ravaged the Tian Baseball Brothership and they soon found themselves hypnotized by the fragrant smoke that filled the air and seemed to provide nutrition by itself. Beckoning them from a podium of high priest of hunting and vestal virgins came salvation through rib tips from none other than the jolly soul of one Polk Salad. That afternoon the Titans gorged themselves on the hospitality of Polk Salad and the entire community that heartily welcomed them in as family and took solace in the warning issued by the good people of Starkville. “We will feed and treat you as kin, we will talk sport with you as educated supporters, we will bestow keepsakes upon you on which to remember us by and we will even take up arms with you when you battle a common foe, all this before and after our teams meet in the arena. However, make no mistake, once our two teams commence to battling it out we shall to become vigorous supporters of our club and all that it may require to secure victory for our team, nothing personal”.
The men of the Titan Baseball Brothership knew and practiced this mantra as well and it did them ease to know exactly where their opponents stood. Each held respect for one another, the warrior mentality and the fight they could not wait to engage in. The Titans grabbed their gear and headed for the hypogeum, their time in the arena was fast approaching.
Night fall begat the trumpet sound and thus commenced the gladiator games between The Titan Baseball Brothership and The Bulldogs sent by The Lady of the Mist. The frozen winter land warrior, The Mighty Quinn stepped forth unto the gem shaped arena and took to the highest pinnacle on the diamond and as an arctic wind cut through that area of the playing field the mound became a glacier. The Eskimo hurler smelling of whale blubber came set, glove to his face he exhaled with the reception of the sign and nitrogen like vapors eclipsed his torso as a mist of freezing air exhausted from his nostrils. Swinging down across his belt and into the mechanics of his wind up ice and hail rained down on the ground in front of the mound and then was instantly slush in the Mississippi heat and under the force of a sharpened spike snow shoe as he came out of his gate landing the first and decisive blow; ball 1 followed by foul, foul swing and a miss one away and blood sport had begun for the two teams. Quinn and LA Tech hurler Diehl locked horns in a duel befitting the environment of the night.
Children played and long hair leaping gnomes courted the night without a care of what was to come. The bayou’s own Phillip Diehl was a notorious riverboat gambler who despised giving batters a free trot and along with a pension for high risk stakes and strikeouts the lefty put the sin in Cincinnati. On top the Louisiana Tech most wanted list for the 90 K’s on the season Diehl matched blow for blow with the Mighty Quinn through two and a half before the air began to change and the climate went from just plane muggy to unpredictable in a matter of moments. From out of nowhere between the top and bottom of the third frame the locals began to secure all airborne property and head for safety as a head splitting sound of hissing rang across the night. The sounds grew incredulously louder as fire and lighting raced across the sky and now audible was the sounds of carnivores in mid kill death cries, volcanic eruptions that erase towns and villages from existence, menacing moans of loss and deprivation and the blaring sound of silence as the moon and stars were eclipsed by the menacing head of the master of all monsters as he infiltrated the sanctuary of Starkville. Fire exploded from under his brow like nuclear mushroom clouds and with his arms out stretched to reveal countless dragon heads he uncoiled the serpent lower half of his existence and constricted it around Dudy Noble Field in a dragnet of stifling swamp air taking the wind from all present and putting the game in delay.

The Titans recognized the creature from whence the winds of the underworld came and brought current to their tumble, it was the Titan avenger Typhon and he had infiltrated the mystical Regional in search of the escaped Titan Brothership in attempt to return them to their penance. Torrential rains and fierce lighting came down with a vengeance as Typhon clutched the Starkville city limits. His monstrous face peaked from the clouds, his eyes now shooting daggers of lighting down upon the confines of the Dude causing everyone to take cover and the field crews to roll out the tarps to ride out the 2-hour invasive interrogation and search for the band of brothers on the run.
When the games resumed the two mound commanders that started off the night picked up where they left off. Diehl continued to pile up strike outs like a stack of poker chips on winning night but the effects of the delay would soon catch up to both mounds men. In the stands a change was felt among the Titan Legions that pledge undying support to the Brothership and thus found themselves spectators in this magical Flavian Amphitheater. When they returned to their section awaiting them was a giant in Mississippi State regalia prepared to stand with the Titans in battle until, of course they went up against State. This goliath of a man was a knight in the ranks of the Left Field Lounge and his voice did soar in solidarity with the Titan supporters.
In the fourth frame Quinn the Eskimo was pinned down with runners on, 2 outs when Vanilla Hudge and Tristal Blue Persuasion emerged from the catacombs like the fierce gladiators they have become and combined for 2-4-2 inning ending caught stealing. But that would be the last frame for the igloo dweller and soon after in the 6th his foe would yield the ball as well and what had begun as a brilliant duel under the Mississippi night was cut to shreds by the forces of the underworld. With the timing of the delays and the all-important day one win still up for grabs the Titans were forced to burn another starter and up from the colosseum labyrinth stepped a big, big man, Big John. Some say The San Jo Show has the blood of Uranus that was spilled on the beach by the sickle of Kronos running through him, a Nephilim and last of the Philistines. Legend has it when the south paw slinger falls to the third base side exiting his delivery from the bump in Goodwin at sundown that he stares eye to eye with Helios, the sun himself. The San Jo Show dealt accordingly through two and two-thirds until the war storm forces of Typhon returned again after a stirring rendition of take me out to the ball game sparked his attentions when his ears caught the audible of ‘Root, Root-Root for the TITANS’ wafting through the southern skies. Slowly he turned his massive upper torso to the Starkville Regional sending torrents of violent storm swirling their way once again as he resumed his hunt for the absconding Titan Baseball Brothership thus suspending the game until the following morning.
With a full nights rest the Titans charged the arena ready to resume the gladiator battle that had begun the night before and ready to win. The behemoth they now knew as CNB once again awaited their arrival in true solidarity bringing with him a gift of mighty armament from the Realm of the Lounge. Along with the weaponry known as the cowbell he departed its wisdom and responsible use instructions and they did commence to aide in the Titan attack. The lone run in the game came in the bottom of the 8th with the sacks loaded with Titans Gasman, Slip Kid and Kill Shot when up stepped the Pick-Pocket known for eyeing rubbles from swing and miss rocks and snatching them for hits before the catchers even knew they were missing from their gloves. This time was no exception, although it was a fielder’s choice the lone run it produced held up as the Sieg-Zag Man picked up the win in the Titan effort and I do mean effort.

The win advanced them to the next level of tourney and as long as they kept winning there would be no need to know of the ramifications of double loss in the Regional arena. The Titan Brothership’s next opponent, the much awaited host of the tournament, Mississippi State. Just hours after tasting victory the Titan Baseball Brothership found themselves the center of attention in front of a ferocious crowd of over 10,000 screaming Hail State and ringing cowbells like they were summonsing the night and the fight in tow. The next realm of competition would be a test of hunting and surviving skills. A man dressed in black appeared on the warning track, not just a man but Thee Man in Black like an apparition of a Starkville Saturday night long ago spreading seeds of wild flowers and foliage from lands unknown. Armed police men incensed by his activity raced to him and chained him down to a bar stool and placed an acoustic guitar in his hands and apologized to every person posthumously who he wore the black for. Upon the first chord strike the seeds took bloom and the mother of all Titans, Gaia Mother Earth herself, began to sigh seductively. The ground below us began to heave and ho as her breathe quickened and her senses heightened by the spawn of fauna and foliage sprouting from her to the rhythm of an old train song. Before one’s eyes, trees stood tall as the skies and ivy grew without restriction like a crocheted blanket from mom and soon the colosseum floor was converted into a spiritual jungle ripe with essence of the four corners of the world. Massive landmarks, glaciers and mountain peaks rolled by the casual observer and into position as though manipulated by a series of advanced pulleys and manually operated winches but upon closer observation easily detectable were the legs and feet the sprouted from them, aiding them in a Cro-Magnon gyration. From the north blew cold winds and attached snow blind white night and frozen tundra to that part of the arena; to the south came monsoon winds that created rainforests; from the east blew hot winds of sand creating barren wastelands and from the west came the Titan Baseball Brothership ready for anything.
A riotous wail echoed through the labyrinth beneath the colosseum that was growing ever intensively piercing and shrill and soon the wide array of exotic wild animals responsible for the fracas would be released onto the field. The Titans had a beast of their own and they sent him to the hill with wrath. The Fresno Fire Starter, known for extinguishing oil derrick fires with fire and committing other acts of notorious arson all in the name of a day’s work. Beastman was aggressive on the mound but the Bulldogs bagged the first pelt with a ground hog ground out that pushed one across. Still the beast remained aggressive and pin point etching his name as a true Titan arm.
Mystery enshrouded the 6th inning as mystique ruled the frame when all manner of landscape adapted the language of man and began to taunt the Titans. At the plate stood the Paperboy, notorious bank robber and freedom fighter and in true Robin Hood fashion, he went about robbing the opposing pitching staff of a two bagger. Looking for signs from the third base coaching box The Paper-Boy got a shock. Appearing before him was a dessert oasis and cactus was indeed his friend so he lunged for revitalization on a Vo sac bunt and came up standing when the scenery morphed once again. From the artic on-deck circle stepped the only living creature to have walked the halls of Valhalla and return to this earthly realm whole but not entirely unchanged. Now when he strides to the plate a thunderous bass and double bass drum kick in accompanying notes from the night sky as though it were lighting bringing forth flashes of mighty guitars in sink and when the ball is struck a vocal of intense vibrato shatters a cold dark cloud. The Paper-Boy and Vanilla Hudge were entranced by talking trees and ivy that seemed to lure them into a fielder choice trap thus ending the threat.
In the 7th the game went from being prey to predatory and the origin of the species now being released from the labyrinth were from parts unknown suited up in armor and spikes and hunting in packs. They stalked the mound that the Beast spun from and after 6 frames of one run no walk ball he bravely turned and faced the pack in a last act of defiance. In his final 2/3 pitched 2 more runs would score before his steadfast performance was brought to a halt. The Titans mounted many an offensive assault without manifest side from the solo sling shot jack but the Diamond Dawgs let it be known that 1 run would not hold up in this contest no matter the explosiveness of the shot sent over the right field fence by the Gasman was. The final tally after the bells toll Bulldogs 4 Titans 1.
The Titan Baseball Brothership stood stone like and silent on the field after the defeat as the colony of State fans exited the confines in glee swaying to the rhythm of the cowbell. From out of nowhere atop the colosseum confines appeared the son of Kronos himself, Chiron. His presence was known to all because unlike other centaurs Chiron’s front legs of his equine body were human in nature. He circled the frieze atop of the colosseum one time at such speed the sounds of his cloven rear legs shook the ground below and mighty pieces of structure did fall. He reared up on his hind legs coming to a sudden halt and produced a scroll from a leather satchel slung across his iron plated armor chest guard. Chiron, in a thunderous voice read from the scroll and the interpretation of the tournament rules of engagement were revealed. The decree in the rules stated that all teams defeated twice thus being eliminated in Regional, Super Regional and CWS play shall be sacrificed to the god Kronos in order to secure safe passage forward to the teams that remained victoriously alive in tournament competition. The Titans were already wanted men by the gods of the underworld and a loss would deliver them into the hands that sought them out. Their fate in the 2016 season would be decided the following day versus a familiar nemesis.
Gone now, was the exotic forest landscape and in its place a circular race track of majestic proportions. The batters eye potion of centerfield was opened up and installed were starting gates that were fed from both bull pens on either side, bull pens that were now stables. From the mound exploded large marble pillars supporting a wall of granite that spanned strong up the middle from 2 to 1 to 8 creating a spina that displayed large decorative sculptures of transition metals that indicated laps completed, scores, runs, hits and errors. Manipulating the sculptures were recently freed slaves of Tartarus the one-eyed Cyclopes and the hundred handed Hecatonchires. From the heavens came down the mighty arm of Atlas holding a cloth of woven angel hair whilst still suspending the sky above with the remainder of his entire being. At the drop of the cloth the chariot race began and a terrifyingly dangerous charge for the inner track commenced. The arms of the Titan Baseball Brothership that led the nation were growing weary from the deluge of the season and the impact of the monstrous battles they had endured and indeed carried a team at many an occasion like the over seer of this event himself the mighty Titan god, Atlas. Avast the blood that flowed through the Titan brothership was of mortal men or so they thought. Bruised battered and injured the Wrath of Connor Sea-Monkey was summonsed to toe the first leg of the race, to bring the Brothership out from the gate. Knowing full well his condition was in direct confrontation with his desire to fight for his team The Sea Monkey in an act of do or die fastened his right arm to the chariot and now the only way to separate the two would either be victory or by severing the limb that was strapped up by way of the knife he had tucked into his belt.
Sea-Monkey is an amphibious creature with powers to communicate and command the inhabitants of the sea. His moniker is description of his mound presence and his gorilla approach to dominating opposing batters with the agility and athleticism of a monkey climbing to the stars. It did not take long for the LA Tech batters to sense his strain, encircle and swarm the Sea-Monkey. Their chariots were equipped with spearheaded talons on the on the axles of the their two-wheel chariots and they swung loud cracking whips down on both horse and the back of Sea-Monkey. From the hot corner came a brother of a performance. The Pavlov Dog who was picked up by the crew of the Titan Baseball Brothership after he escaped the lab of a mad experimental scientist but not before his nature was enhanced with strengths and powers yet to be tapped into by the Brothership but that would not be for long as he was emerging before our eyes as a solid ball player and a brother. Pav stayed strong with the glove and the bat trying to fend off the Louisiana Bulldogs but their attack was relentless and in the bottom of the seconds their spiked wheels milled through the side of Sea-Monkey’s chariot flinging the two-time Big West Pitcher of the week on to the track being drug by wild horses in a frenzy.
Pav continued to hit and the Titan offense avidly pursued an inside lane of the track to score but the La Tech control of the lane and the game was relentless and not a statue had been turned in favor of the Titans. Not until the 6th lap that is when a wall of a man stepped into the chariot box wielding a heavy bat whip and with Boxcar and Slip at the corners UmaGuma commenced to thrashing the opposing pitcher within inches of his life bringing in two runs before crashing into the keystone. Those would be the only runs scored by the Titan 9 that fateful day and in the 9th lap the final three Titans were driven into the wall in order smashing their chariots to smithereens and all went completely black, the darkest darks you can only feel in the depths of your bones.

 

Chapter 1:

Part 3: Blood Lineage of the Gods
The darkness remained like their eyes had been gouged from their skulls but all hell broke loose from all around them. The ground began to burn under their feet and tremble with violent convulsions. The sky above them began to fall down on them has the cries of a million infant souls devoured by the fear of prophecy shrieked across the night and split the ears of the Titan Baseball Brothership until they were bleeding. The Titan Baseball Brothership was now being surrounded by the Cyclopes and placed in chains by the hundred handed ones. The Cyclopes spoke “Be still thee, the ruler of the golden age approaches and you will be sacrificed as communion to the god Kronos.”
Emerging from Elysium, Pandora’s Temple chained to his back, his massive frame filled the extents of the celestials as he sliced through the air with his great sickle decapitating mountains and hurling them like pebbles; the god Kronos was ascending down upon them with fire and on the breath of every last Titan Baseball Brother was uttered a vow of no retreat no surrender in the defense of the Titan Baseball Brothership. In moments they would be swallowed whole as sacrifice to the NCAA or so they presumed. Suddenly from out of the black stepping over the right field fence was an ally of the Brothership, none other than CNB and as he approached he spoke to the Titan captors in the language of the Gigantes. Instantly they were released from the chains that bound them and in an orchestrated attempt to deceive Kronos they gathered large boulders, dressed them in blue and orange placed them up for sacrifice.
CNB led the Titans out of the stadium through a series of hidden doors and passages ways like maze of life and death proportions. He brought them to their ship that was docked in the muddy waters of the Mississippi. They thanked CNB for all he had done for them vowing to one day repay him and as they boarded the ship Kronos devoured the stones whole. The Titan Baseball Brothership had just gone anchors away when the jig was up. Not as effective as it were with Zeus, Kronos recognized the plot and seeing the winds of mayhem filling the sails of the Titan Baseball Brothership his mighty sickle did come down causing devastation and destruction in a single fatal blow. The ship that had ferried many a voyage under the flag of Titan Baseball was now mere splinters and the men spattered to every direction. The raging river split in two and the earth opened up where the sickle had sliced through turning the waters blood red as they flowed from the gash in the earth like a wounded warrior. Soon what Remained of Titan Baseball was swallowed up by the gash in the earths flesh and all turned red.
The Titan Baseball crew regained consciousness as they washed ashore bruised bloodied and torn but not quite yet beaten, on the shores of the river Styx. As they gathered themselves and tried to make sense of the 2016 season and where they were going from here, the grandiose gates that stood sentinel in front of them started to hum and click as a series of locks and tumblers commenced to open and all men stood silent fearing the worse and the worse they did receive for the gates of hell had opened before them. Coming from the fiery pit that blistered the skin of the Titan crew immediately with a wave of unbearable heat, was the sound of a ravenous hell hound, The Cerberus. All three of the heads on the Cerberus roared a fierce blood curdling war cry that brought the Titans to attention and prepared to stand and deliver. As the Cerberus bounded from the realms of hell his serpent tail hissed menacingly at the ball club and the three wild dog heads snapped at the air revealing bone crushing teeth and flesh ripping claws. Captain Vanderhook stepped bravely forward prepared to take the brunt of the fight on himself and locked glares with the center head of the Hades guardian. To the surprise of all who witnessed the Cerberus heeled and sat non-confrontational front and center in front of the Titan commander and begun to speak in the ancient dialect of the Children of Uranus and Gaia. Too the shock and bewilderment of the crew Captain Hook not only understood the language but spoke it fluently after all it was the tongue of Titans and things started to make sense and get very confusing all at once. The hell hound and Hook nodded in agreeance and the Captain turned and faced his crew and addressed them.
He told them their situation was not dire and that redemption would be possible but he would have travel into hell and climb the highest pinnacles there and speak with the master of the Cerberus, Hades himself. His staff stepped forward and pleaded to send them instead but deviation from the orders would mean sure eternal damnation for all the Titan Baseball Brothers. Hook then spoke unto the men and told them to regain their strength through vigorous work outs and bunt training drills. “Utilize this break to obtain greater skill.” Hook spoke unto the men “prosper in the heat as strong as a summer sun and soon we will fight again as one.” Then he turned to the Laureate of Lob and placed him in charge of the men and entered the gates of hell with Cerberus.
In a throne carved in the jagged shale atop the highest point in hell sat the guardian of fallen souls and devoured child of Kronos, Hades. He spoke unto Vanderhook and told him to turn and look down from the pinnacle where right before his very eyes the entire history of the mightiest of gods, The Titans was being played out before him like a scripted play. He witnessed the birth of the 12 original Titan gods to Uranus and Gaia, the imprisonment of their siblings the Cyclopes and Hecatochires and the conspiracy that followed. He saw Kronos with the sickle of stone fashioned by his mother, castrate the genitals of his father. In repulsive horror he watched as the blood that flowed from his groin landed in the sand and created different species of immortal creatures and of the genitals thrown into the sea spawned Aphrodite. The paranoia of Kronos that he himself would suffer the same fate as his father was cognizant with every child devoured by Kronos leading to the rebellion of Zeus the one who escaped with aide of his mother and sister of Kronos, Rhea.
It was Rhea that beseeched Hades to show favor upon The Titan Baseball Brothership and with this revelation came the question Hook was afraid to ask. “Why us” demanded the captain. And with the inquiry came a dagger from the sheath of Hades and before Hook could defend himself the deity made a small incision on Hooks forearm. The blood that flowed was not red but blue and orange. Then Hades sliced into his own flesh in the same manner revealing the same blood, the blood of Titans! When their forefathers had escaped from Tartarus they spread out and scattered to the most reclusive places in the galaxy and under the cover of anonymity they relinquished their legacy as a form of survival and adopted the mighty pachyderm as their idol of worship and source of existence. Hades griped the arm of the Big West Coach of the Year and doth spoke sternly at him. “There is but one way for you to escape this realm and return in time to fight the 2017 NCAA D-1 Baseball season” exclaimed Hades as he put a hand across the eyes of Coach Vanderhook. Suddenly before his eyes were his crew of ball players all partaking in baseball drills, tournaments and playoff preparing like they were told by the captain and beyond them coming in to view was a dark a menacing path. At the entrance to the path stood a sign that read. ‘Wo to thee who considers travels upon this path in attempt to escape fate and manifest one’s own destiny for this be the trail of 16 wars. From whence ye shall embark there is no exit save for freedom gained before the 16th war consumes your soul’.
The voice of Hades interrupted the vision with decree and addendum “This is the path you’ll need to take in order to escape and return the Titans to the greatness that is in their lineage, our lineage.” Than Hades added addendum to the warning on the sign. “For if you are unable to obtain freedom before the end of the 16th war your existence shall be permanently removed from the book of life obliterating all love, pain, growth and experience that make a man’s soul and the souls of those he cherishes; a fate worse than hell itself where occasionally these memories are allowed to mercifully creep, in temporary relief of the tormented.”
Hades released his grip on Vanderhook and seemingly reading his mind said “Have no worries of the ship that was destroyed for the Brothership is not a vessel but a bond that unites one and all who sport the blue and orange.” And with that Cerberus and Hook returned to the men just as autumn leaves begun to litter the banks of Styx.
A thousand years had gone by since he left his crew but they all looked like just a matter of months had passed. Everyone accept the Captain himself who’s hair had grown ferociously long and gray both and his head and face as though he were father time himself. The mystique that is the Sage of Sling, Jason Dietrich was missing from the camp and not a soul knew of his solo escape but lowered their heads and said a silent prayer for success and God speed for a fellow comrade in the game.
Hook led the men to the entrance of The Trail of 16 Wars, allowed them to read the sign and contemplate their fate in this shot in the dark gamble for all that is, was and what is too come. Starring into the souls of every last man through their eyes Captain Hook entered the trail followed by his brave men and all knew one thing for certain if they did make it some would be give their all in sacrifice to the Brothership.
And so begins the Trail of 16 wars…..
In the coming weeks and months, the chapters of the 16 wars will be released and will take you on a stroll through the worst conflicts in the history of man and in doing so also pay homage to the 16 Titan Brothers that have moved on after or during the 2016 season but not before leaving their mark in Titan Baseball lore.

 

Dreams of toy monkeys and comic book junkies brought smatters of out loud laughter from our slumbering unsung heroine. A call to earn was issued by the day by way of the sun disrupting the plan and attack of the toy monkey pack. Familiar aches and pains are now long lost friends like bread, butter and cinnamon a way to begin; que the crescendo and let the day go.
Out from the shower she bounded, all aches and pains had their hands up and were completely surrounded and in front of the looking glass vanity minus cape and cowl was super girl hear her growl. Daylight illuminates her world saving mission and put her mid race in the human condition. Girl put your cd on, punch up your favorite song. Fire up that motor please and let the breeze tease your hair while you whip around corners on two wheels, all pretty blouse and low heels.
The heart of her work sat first in her chair, always trembling sometimes unaware but brought to life by scissors and dye. At times, when the havocs of old age would make their home a cage she would make the salon experience mobile and leave no former pin up girl without a good style. The tempo of her life is not what you do for a living but what you do for the living. Snippets of souls shared between purveyors and portrayers over a generation perform in harmony with color and cut in perfect benediction. A follicle of give and take where share is the root and with every shampoo two people grew. On her soul bear the mantra of a tattoo “the best that a person can do is to help each other make it through”.
The kinship of stylists becomes emollients of the salon softening the shop with song and emitting the fragrant scents of laughter that have become the chorus to her life hereafter. A bridge to contrast with the verse when clients go from bad to worse, a shoulder of solidarity, a bosom of forgiveness and together a witness of life, love and one another’s existence. Spray painted upon the walls of her ghost is a graffiti message from them all and when angels stare down from the sun a mighty mural it has become.
The symphony of her keys in the car’s ignition and the ring tone of her phone with a husband’s intuition disrupted the dim lit silence of the parking lot adrift in a single soul’s absence. Across her mind came a peace, a peace bartered for yet another piece of youth traded for another hair doo, swirling down the drain with the rinsed shampoo and another client sits across town feeling born anew. Come home my working class angel, I am waiting for you and I am not surprised by the things you do; and of all the good I am aware like oil spots from the Corvair, we take them for granted because they are always there.

Dreams of sweet cream cutters we call butter and molasses dripping bender biscuits that are unhittable with spatula are interrupted by the sound of the hound dogs on my trail. I am 16 miles outside a Florida prison camp and thoughts of sweet Lucile keep me one step ahead of the long arm of the blue. Heart beat like a diesel motor, my tongue south of my lower lip and breathe as rare as a run in the 3 combined shut-outs, I let my mind reminisce the first time I laid peepers on Lucile. Wudint much furrer than the campus of LMU and she danced from the sticky fingers of a cool hand. The mound had become a sugar shack and from the first base side of the roof fell sweetness. Many a hours in The Box were spent with thoughts of Virginia and the 4.1 IP in the battle of Sugar Mountain and it made me think sometimes a slow hand can be a cool, cool hand. The Cavalier were force feed fastballs of medicine washed down with sweet honey dripping fried taters that were seldom touched. How else does a body swallow 86 mph of high warmth if not for the comforting but distractive smile of Lucile. As I slosh through the creek trying to throw my scent off I remember chain-gang stories of a young lefty Raider in a CIF SS Div.IV wild card game for all the marbles. Images of jonny-cakes and cornpone fill my delirious mind as bullets begin to whiz by my head. Late innings with a runner on and the Raider behind in the count 2-0 Lucile appears with a hunk of Shoofly Pie and induces the inning ending 5-4-3 as a bullet grazes my side. Up a head I see sanctuary in the form of Anteater Ball Park. The sun like the time I have left is sinking on the 28th day of March but to my delight dessert will be served first, for the first time. A cotton candy fastball spun by a carnival barker across the numbers strike one. The next pitch served with a butter knife, Fastball action with cut butter late on the hands fouled back strike two and when the ball smacked the wall I could smell sweet cream. Fastball low and way 1 & 2 and then I saw her. A 68 mph beauty in hot pants and red lace change of pace. Echoing through my mind were the words “Ah, Lucile, sumptin’ that sweet gotsta be called Lucile” when the bullet entered my neck. Before I gave up the ghost a smile spread across my face for Lucile was swung on and missed. One of many K’s to come for the twirler who put sticky finger prints on the single season record books as a freshman Sweet 16……. Jimmy Litchfield

Part III Cry Out, Smile Later

Peace and prosperity had returned to Camelot in the months to follow and the Knights of the Mound Table turned their quest for combat to curiosity of the other realm over the ’14 season. One evening while the knights indulged in drink and fare of Tequila and nachos that Mex-Calibur had returned with from the lady of the Lake they were visited by a spirit. The image was that of a golden goose egg which was thought to contain the Holy Grail, hoovered over the seat of Mex-calibur. A voice appeared to come from the image and spoke unto them “13 seasons have passed since the passion of our pitcher Saarloos; and on the eve of season’s end this seat shall find its master”. When they came to in the morning there was an inscription in Aramaic upon the chair of Mex-Calibur that Merlin translated to say “NO-NO”.

The knights dispersed out immediately scouring near and far for the Holy Grail trekking to the edge of Annwyfyn the underworld, at times, most coming back wounded or worse. Mexi-Caliber with Galahad and some of the most trusted knights in tow boarded a ship destine for Northridge. They set sails upon the winds out of the Bay of 12 batters Kay one February night. Entering the seas of Big West conference play Mex-Calibur posted an ERA of 2.55 knots while plotting a course of 30K’s longitude by 10BB’s latitude through the ’14 season on his quest for the Holy Grail. Then, as though a switch had been flicked a flame snuffed out, the ship was devoured by darkness through the mid-season mark and the crew begun to feel lost within grip of shoulder soreness and darkness. A black so enveloping it felt as though they no longer had eyes for which to see. Then on May 23, just as they were about to sail off the edge of the earth another vision appeared before them. It was a score board and the neon that illuminated from it transcribed a litany of legacy for The Sword of Titan Baseball. The Matadors of CSUN found themselves at the business end of a No-Hit Sword striking out 12 times without a single run nor hit the entire night to add an exclamation point to the first D-1 CG Shut Out of the young Mijo’s career. This was a feat that could not have been accomplished alone and Mex-Calibur knew this, giving thanks to the leather flashed behind him for the prize of the Holy Grail that awaited them upon return to the ship.

An angel visited Mijo that night, instructing him that before he brought the Grail back to Camelot he must first voyage into the underworld of Annwfyn via Team USA holding the Holy Grail on high upon the fortress of the mound so as to let the breathe of 3 hurlers warm it and thus excepting a 4^th into their coven. 24 Knights from throughout the NCAA joined forces for the venture and King Arthur so pleased with the historic 4^th No-Hitter in CSUF history that he sent his warrior dog some called Cabal, who was said to be so mighty that he left a sketch in stone of his mighty paw print in the slab of Buelt. The Team USA delegation amassed an 18-8-2 record while plundering international ports in friendly tourney. Mex-Calibur ever the war lord posted a line of 2-1 win/Loss with a dominating ERA, no matter the language you say it in of 1.35, striking out 27 in 26.1 Innings. Word came from across the ocean from King Arthur and he was summoning home his trusted knights, war dog and above all, his Sword Mex-Calibur for war was once again brewing in Camelot ’15 and this would be a war of the heart and of tragedy that could possible spell the end for King Arthur and the Knights of the Mound Table.

A heart felt Corrido of love and deception, tragedy and hope permeated the air of the ’15 season. The two headed dragon of love and pain were proving to be a worthy advisory of Mex-Calibur as the fire and ice that spat simultaneously from the two headed flying beast rained down on him, the full brunt of which penetrated his pitching elbow. King Arthur’s son Mordred had been viciously plotting to unseat Arthur from the thrown and claim the kingdom for his own conspiring since his conspicuous birth with the evil Morgan La Fay. Mordred had come to King Arthur one eve and spoke unto his ear of the crime and punishment of adultery on high. Spinning tales of love vanished along with the departure of one of the most trusted Knights of the Mound Table, Sir Pietzalot. This was a fabricated scheme in order to vacate the castle of King Arthur, The Knights of the Mound Table and especially the gallant Sword of sovereignty Mex-Calibur himself. Falling for the deception, the King and his men went on the war path to return the queen to her king and thus a national title for the Kingdom of Fullerton. The team became travel weary from the excruciating pace at which they set afoot in search of love lost. At the mid-season point Mex-Calibur was ranked highly among College prospects and although he put together quality starts keeping his ERA to just a tick above 3 his heart was heavy. After pitching 6 shut out frames on the road to the mystical Bull of Riverside and his band of Highlanders the Titan armies received word that Modred and his army of Gauchos had moved in on Camelot challenging the thrown of King Arthur and the top spot in the Big West Conference. The Titan Armies led by the Knights of the Mound Table made hast back to castle were they met they UCSB forces led by the gallant #4 overall pick of the 2015 Draft Sir Tate defeating him in the first of three battles and locking victory up within the jaws of Cabal, the Warrior Dog. Preserving the shutout was the sudden reappearance and allegiance of Sir Pietzalot who had just returned from travels to find his beloved Camelot in turmoil and thus bravely charged the brigades in the ninth sealing the deal. The evil plot began to unravel and reveal itself to King Arthur and Mex-Calibur led the charge the following night. The glimmer of metal from the Sword of Titan Baseball as he took to the hill was all it took to send both armies into a violent clash of metal and leather. In the top of the fourth act something strange begun to occur and the Kingdom of Fullerton would feel its reverberations for some time to come. The tide of battle was shifting and the Titan armies were driving back the Gauchos with a resilient 4-0 lead and Mex-Calibur was locked into a mortal combat with the mythical boar Twrch Trwyth whose coat was that of poisonous bristles and upon his head he carried a glove and a rosin bag between his ears. It is believed that Twrch Trwyth was at one time the Prince Jacome who had a curse set upon him for being a lefty that could rise up and throw down good pitches when they impacted games the most. Mex-Calibur charged in on the poised boar and with his battle axe he did deliver a blow to the neck of the creature that would mortally wound and eventually lead to his removal from the contest branding the scarlet ‘L’ upon his hide.

The blow Mex-Calibur delivered was not without consequence as a poisonous bristle from the hide of Twrch Trwyth penetrated the right elbow of the noble knight. He locked eyes with Merlin and he felt the anguish from the elbow in the deadpan stare of Mex-Calibur and he knew what it meant. Merlin rushed to the hill and evacuated the injured Mex-Calibur and enlisted the help of two the Kings most honorable squires, Master of Chambers Country Miles and Hock-Man, the fabled half man, half Hawk. The group floated across the black waters of the marsh to the isle of Avalon where the Royal Monk to the Knights of the Mound Table Friar Dietrich nurtured the elbow with the blood of pious monks as a suave until it begun to heal.

Lo, the cock crow three times one misty morning and floating in with the dew was the sound of Cielito Lindo so stirring it compelled a soul to heed. Merlin knew it was time to return Mex-Calibur to his family and from whence he came and he gathered the two squires for final instructions. They were to return Mex-Calibur to the Lady of the Lake and she would take him from there. When they arrived at the lake they did not see a soul but the lake soon began to become violent, raging in a circular pattern until a mighty vortex was created. A massive right arm reached out from the center of the vortex and snatched up Mex-Calibur. The arm was as strong as that of Atlas and it waved Mex-Calibur 3 times in the air before clinching him tightly within its mighty fist and punched to the right to symbolize that the gift of the lake had been safely returned and also to symbolize something that would be seen prominently in the future of the gift, strike 3.

When Mijo awoke he was on the side of a lonesome highway with not a car on a road that seems to roll out in front of him into eternity. His arm still in the sling that was placed on him in the monastery, felt stronger and growing with strength with every moment that passed and he begun to walk not knowing where to go just how to move forward. Soon a stranger in a 64 Chevy Nova pulled up next to him and asked if he needed a ride. “Where you going” asked the wounded knight. “Cleveland, Ohio” the stranger replied.

The heart of Mex-Calibur rejoiced for he knew awaiting him there were more heroic battles to wage, a new kingdom to be enchanted by and another Tribe to return sovereignty to. Ladies and Gentleman with their 8th round selection in the 2015 MLB Draft, the Cleveland Indians pick The Sword of Titan Baseball….Justin Garza

Part Two: El Vato Loco in Camelot

When they awoke the first sight they saw were the nurturing eyes of the woman that saved them from certain death. But something strange was in the air; they were not at the river side but on a lake shore. There were no militarized ICE agents waiting no polleros waiting to take them to the safe house and no trash or litter of any recognizable origins along the shore line. The smell in the air was pure and unadulterated. On the wind were the scents of poppies and lilies from the fields, earth and manure from farmlands recently tilled and the intoxicating scent of fresh pozole.

The Lady by the Lake was not Espiritu Santo but a gentle woman from Vera Cruz that had made the same journey as they did many years earlier. She made her way in this new and mystical land by trading sarapes and tamales for necessities from local tenants of the land. She spoke of the a magical affect her cooking now had on those that consumed it and a man that went by the name of Merlin that happened upon her one day while she simmered a pot of carnitas. The dish had a magical effect on Merlin and soon he was speaking on any number of subjects without pause and then he informed her that they were not in the 21^st century but the 6^th century and loyal subjects under the rule of King Arthur. Through the magic of the pozole, the family and the Lady of the Lake all began to dream wide awake and visions of their future appeared bright and in full color before their eyes. The woman spoke directly to Mijo, telling him that where they sat was the Arboretum and beyond the thick of trees was a hill he would do great things upon and that one day soon he would be a Titan sitting prominently amongst the Knights of the Mound Table.

It twas the year of our Lord 513 AD and King Arthur having lost his sword in the battle of the Oregon Regional ‘12 broken off by elimination and the Major League draft at the forte searched the land far and wide for another implement of power. A vehicle of force that would drive the point of victory into the heart of those it opposed, maintaining velocity, arm slot and mechanics a fistmeile o’ times through a batting order with a mild arm stab during delivery that could bring sovereignty to the Titan Empire. He turned to his most trusted advisor Merlin and together the two pondered long and hard before deciding to seek council and comfort from the Lady of the Lake and her magical culinary manifestations.   As usual the Lady of the Lake brought out copious amounts of food to welcome The King and his advisor and while they indulged on savory sopes the King begun to feel strength beyond compare. The spice of the hot refried beans in a magical dance with the coolness of the cotijo cheese rang out in a gleeful chorus accentuated by the crunch of the shell so loud that they could scarcely hear a young man’s cry for help.

When they had reached the rocky shore along the lake they discovered that the young Mijo while doing chores to help repay the Lady of the Lake had triggered a landside of stone that brought him down with it. Pinned down under the immense weight of the stones, 26 round ones to be exact, he was stuck. A mob of villagers had ascended upon the scene and were trying with every manner available to free him to no avail. Time was running out and it seemed nothing could be done to save him, least by mortal hands. From atop the crevasse King Arthur leapt down and by the one arm that protruded from the stone pile he pulled Mijo from the stone and up to the safety of his waiting family.

The Lady of the Lake spoke first, “You have combed far and wide, you have pondered long and hard now what you seek is within your grasp and on your bench”. Arthur was puzzled by her comments for standing before him was a young man not more than 5’ 10” and a 160 pounds but the Horchata he had drank with his sopes had given an extremely open mind and he listened. A strange fog rolled out of the pot of arroz con leche she was preparing for dessert and began to spill out onto the lake creating a magnificent screen to which Arthur saw the future; the future of his kingdom, the future of Titan Baseball and the future of Saturday nights. He must have been the only one to have seen it because tugging at his kilt was the mother and father of Mijo thanking Arthur for the life of their son and offering a minimum commitment of 3 seasons of service from their son to the king in his court. King Arthur accepted and agreed to allow him to take a seat amongst the knights of the Mound Table. Before leaving he turned to the Lady of the Lake and asked” of what shall thy call this boy?”

“From now until Odin sounds his trumpet he shall be known as Mex-Calibur, The Sword of Titan Baseball” proclaimed the Lady of the Lake.

Mex-Calibur took his place among the Knights of the Mound Table; called this because of the symbolic significance of the mound, round in design to symbolize equality and room for only one at a time to stand tall and take a stance upon the slab proclaiming courage and valor amongst the corps. All of Britain had slipped into darkness in the absence of the Roman armies in the cold months prior to the commencement of another D-1 baseball season. Saxons raiders had begun attacking the coast while teams across the Big West begun to inter-squad scrimmage. Some clubs played to full house exhibition games as Anglian invading parties came up from Engla Land in the south. Rogue tribes from the Northern region breeched the Wall of Hadrian and the ’13 College Baseball Season was underway. Mex-Calibur engaged in the repression of the invading enemy immediately and would engrave his name as the sword of sovereignty in the first of 12 battles against the advancing Saxon hordes and D-1 opponents alike.

At the mouth of the river Glein they met war parties from Lincolnshire, NE. For the first time in D-1 battle Mex-Calibur was unsheathed and the light that refracted from the hilt upon which he stood burned brighter than the glow from a multitude of suns burning the eyes of those that stood against the mound. The gleam of the blade from the three quarter slot as it begun to ascend into engagement illuminated the night like a lighting strike silencing the spectators gathered for the back end of a double dip and try as they might they could not break thine eyen for the way he dispatched his opponents 1 through 9. From his grip came a fastball war bird that screeched across the night clutching in its talons a severed dragon’s tail and delivering it across the dark side of the zone still convulsing and wiggling and establishing heat for a strike early.

The outcome that day was victory and credited with his first D-1 win was the gift from the Lady of the Lake the righty so wrought with power and deceptive illusion that word quickly spread of his exploits. The second, third, fourth and fifth battles all had the same end result, consecutive W’s notched in the left hand column and the stories of Mex-Calibur begun to take life. Fable took flight along the shores of the River Blackwater as the Titan armies met the pooling war parties of Horned Frogs, Strathclyde Britons and Oregonians. Residents of Linnuis region told tale of the epic battles that ensued on the shores of the muddy peat moors and of the gallant weaponry King Arthur unleashed upon unsuspecting D-1 opponents. Demolishing TCU batters through 7.1, the sombrero upon his head brilliant as any crown a king may sit under and a berth of a brim wide enough to provide shelter for all the knights of the Mound Table stole the breathe from those that trembled before it as though the barboquejo that secured it to his head now choked the life from the hostile 3900 they stood against.

Defending their encampment and avenging the loss of a brother in arms Nick Hurtado, the knights of Fullerton Lay siege upon advancing Ducks. The winds of mayhem blew with force that day for the memory of #56 and billowed the great poncho worn by Mex-Calibur blotting out the sun for the Ducks ranked 14^th in the nation and handing them defeat. Charging hard from their home fort upon the armies of The Duke of A&M; Reveille IX the Titan armies of King Arthur collapsed the battlements and tore down the draw bridge. Not with manner of explosive acquired from Merlin but with the pachyderm known throughout the land as Tuffy that Mex-Calibur chose to mount over the traditional horses used. The Titan armies captured the flag and Mex-Calibur rode off with the crown of Big West Pitcher of the Week swinging from his bandoliers accentuating the brilliant sequence of embroidered silver buttons that ran the length of his pantalones.

The streak of consecutive victories peaked upon the wings of Golden Eagles at 5 highlighting a career high thus far of 9 K’s for the freshman but nary was a loss seen under the force of King Arthur and his mighty sword Mex-Calibur that season. Rainbow Warriors were delivered the wrath of shut out upon their heads for insolence to the king with the Royal Vaquero throwing 8 scoreless in the island invasion. Returning home Mex-Calibur now 9-o turned his sights on division revivals The Dirtbags. After the no-decision from an earlier non-conference matchup he was determined to dispense some of Montezuma’s Revenge in conference play. He did so with authority facing one over the minimum through 6 and allowing just one casualty through 8 frames, securing his 10^th win, the 5^th in conference play before marching on the Highlanders on the shores of the River Dubglas, pillaging his 11^th W and setting the Knights of the Mound Table up for a post-season run at sovereignty.

Legend has it that in game two of the Battle of Mount Badon at the Fullerton Regional of ’13 The Bonita Bandito led the charge against ASU in a bloody hard fought contest that would drive the Sun Devils defeated, back into the Devils Brook. Dripping from the tongues of babes and elderlies alike were the engagement spawned tales of Mex-Calibur charging into certain death, in one hand a shield upon which the image of Guadalupe was emblazoned and in the other a flag tethered to the end of a war spear. On one side of the flag were the colors blue and orange of King Arthur’s court and the other side of the flag no one from this region or era for that matter had ever seen. The three colors it bore, red, white and green were divided evenly in vertical bands across the face of the flag and in the center an image of an eagle perched upon a cactus with a serpent clutched in its beak. The war cry he emitted was in a language unfamiliar to those indigenous to the region “Viva Poncho villa, Viva Zapata” came as a wall of sound the likes of an avalanche from the modest frame of Mex-Calibur as he bore down on his enemy.

It was a fierce and bitter defensive confrontation between old foes with a one on one scrum at the center of it as fierce as a tornado spiraling out of control, creating an open arena in the center of the converging armies. Locked in a joust to the death was Mex-Calibur and Sir Ryan Lord of Kellogg in a fierce exchange of weaponry and scoreless innings that badgered and bloodied up each other’s batting order. Fastball Lances pounded the zone dismounting both knights with the sound of trees falling in the forest and the thunderous slap of runners silenced on the base paths keeping the game scoreless through three. Drawing quickly to their feet they brought forth destruction with the mace of change keeping batters off balance, off the fastball and off the score board through the 4^th, 5^th and 6^th innings. In the middle innings Mex-Calibur drew forth his cutter of a dagger and cut he did, keeping runners from ever reaching first in the 5^th, 6^th and 7^th, tying a career high in strikeouts with 9 and in a single charge laid low 960 men by his hand alone. The bell tolled in the bottom of the 7^th for Lord Kellogg from the precise placement of a Titan arrow of the royal archer Jake of Jungle Face, much like the grand slam in win #2.

Soon thereafter the contest was over and the Kingdom of Fullerton did rejoice in being one game away from hosting a Super-Regional. They did not advance to Omaha that season but sovereignty was restored to the Big West and Titan Providence through the Sword of Titan Baseball, Mex-Calibur. Upon returning to Camelot he was bestowed with the grandest of gifts from lands near and far being named to several All-American Teams, 2013 Fullerton Regional MVP and upon his crest was the Big West Pitcher of the Year 2013.Protruding upward with majestic fashion from the gauntlet of ’13 were the Gadling Spikes of a 2.03 ERA, a team leading 95 strike outs to the meager 17 walks and the 0.88 WHIP.

To Be Concluded…..

Part One: Flight of the Bonita Bandito

It is told throughout the land of Fullerton that when unsheathed from the scabbard of the bullpen upon the dragons mound that the moon and stars would join as one and reflect a light of a thousand torches off the blade of Titan Baseball and blind those brave enough to step into the box against him. From a ¾ arm slot comes sovereignty and the late life of a fastball adorned with the deadly tail of a Manticore touching 94 and charging through the zone. Light weight and balanced for battle from pommel to Foible massive amounts of torque rise up from the long lean leg strength of the hilt and explode across the high waist gate of the quillions. Arcing like lightening from the double plane break of the blade cometh a bolt sweeping 10 to 4 flashing above average slide across the sky. Fearless as the night that wields him in his approach to working fast, throwing strikes and Bustin in on batters comes the fog of war exhausted through the nostrils of serpents that encircle his grip bringing with it gasps of change. With solid arm speed and considerable tumble, it doth spill across the dish bearing forth weak contact, whiffs and blood shed to thine enemies. With the knuckle duster gauntlet upon the left hand, mound position is defended and what remains wedged in the stone of the mound when the smoke and fog clears is the perfect weapon of war, the sword of Titan Baseball, Mex-Calibur.

Where the story ends only the pale moon above Avalon can testify, however where it began was in a small village north of Tapachula, Chiapas Mexico. On the steep hillsides of Bonita, under the hot humid skies, days are hard for family coffee growers during harvest season as they are for a high school baseball player and decisions on what’s best for the family way even heavier upon a father’s back than the loaded large baskets of ripe beans being hauled out for sorting and drying. His young son was skilled in the game of baseball beyond many others and soon his talents would outgrow the confines of his humble village.

In addition to the skill of picking beans one by one separating ripe from green without damaging the branches or shoots, Mijo could establish a fastball early in counts, play short and would complete his high school career batting .391with 20 RBI’s his senior year. Throwing his first pitch at the age of 6 while laboring under an unforgiving sun, his overall playing level increased exponentially season by season. His sophomore year begun with the sun and a mountain of work to climb down from; with an ERA of 29.40 drenching the rugged terrain of a rocky start and an early season encounter with the Claremont Wolfpack he scaled the steep embankment of varsity baseball. By the end of the season the” coach’s dream” stood staunch upon the hill against Covina and went CG rendering only 6 Hits, 0 runs, 2 walks and 7 K’s and at the end of the day you could hear all the villagers say, the kid is on his way.

The 2011 Hacienda League Baseball season begun has the coffee bean harvest was winding down when The Bonita Bandito ascended Mt. Sac in search of a bountiful harvest. The tally of his opening day yield read like a grower’s almanac with a predicted reign of 6 Innings Pitched. Tide tables noting the tide coming in with 7K’s and going out with 0 runs rendered and the astrological guide setting suns, orbiting moons and dispatching Spartans on only 5 Hits and 2 Walks. The coffee harvest of the 2011 season was not as bountiful and had been in decline in the area since 2003 but things on the mound continued to improve and on May 20, 2011 the son of a coffee grower threw down another CG, allowing only 2 Hits and just as many walks in the shut out effort VS. The Bell Gardens Lancers. The yield from that years coffee crop was not enough to carry them through the fall but the totals from the slab were Bustin’ at the seams; leading the Hacienda League with 13 Wins in 13 starts and ERA of 0.51, second in conference with 75 strike outs and deed holder of 7 Complete Games.

It was time to move, the love of the game had long been percolating and the coffee crisis that had plagued their village since 2003 denied them their dream of prosperity and needed to be changed like a filter after the morning brew. Small satchels were packed under the cover of night and only the essential were made room for, all else must be left behind. The ties that bind family and community would now be severed and although deep down they knew it was forever they pretended it would only be a temporary lapse in time before they were reunited.

The 2,630 kilometers from their home to the border crossing was harsh and primitive land, populated by drug runners and thieves and if one made it past their preying eyes the elements came up from behind to take ones ghost. Normally the stars and the moon would light the path at night but on March 3, 2012 there were no stars out for a rustled group of Colts and has the family held their breathe inches away, they saw the Colts corralled by 7 strike outs through 7 frames, lassoed by 1 Hit, 0 Walks and in the end not one made it home. Mijo knew the score it was 1-0 and it would be them against whatever evils the badlands could summons upon them.

Littered on the dry ground on their path were the carcasses of the Diamond bar Brahmas and the bodies of those that chose to pack more valuables and keepsakes then water. Their empty canteens still open and clutched within a death grip of 4 Hits and 1 BB over 7 and pilfered luggage squandered and flailing across the desserts like a 9 K day laid testimony to the fact that the harshness of the land was as unforgiving as the boy on the bump and as sure as the sun that scorched would rise again from the cool escape of the night to parch the life out of hapless wanderers so would be the top half of every frame on that Thursday afternoon in April

Trudge on they did for they knew the real danger in the trip awaited them ahead in two forms, one being that of a 145 meter smugglers tunnel that would take them under the Rio Brave river into the promised land and the other being likened unto the militarized American border that awaited them under the umbrella of operation Gatekeeper, the 2012 CIF Southern Section Baseball Division 3 Playoffs. Corrupt federales had picked up the trail of the group they had been travelling with and their intentions were far more malice than even that of the drug smugglers, horse rustlers and thieves. With the noose closing in on them they set their sights on the infamous Chavez Ravine. Fedarales, for the purposes of human trafficking and playoff elimination had been tracking down Bearcat teams of border jumpers in search of the promise land since 1951 and the group of ’12 was now making a run for it.

The sound of jeeps and artillery echoed across the valley bringing terror and urgency to the fleeing family. The mass amounts of torque that could scare up from the lower half seemingly from as low as his ankles and be generated across the aerodynamic frame of the boy that threw like a man were now hitting 94 on the gun and Mijo knew he would have to step up and put his familia on his back and make an impact on every game of the 2012 post season. Feverishly they swathed a trail across the hill tops picking up an 18-1 win on San Gorgonio and Mijo climbed higher on the upward slope of 5IP 1Hit/1Run and 8 Strikeouts. Avoiding almost certain capture while attempting to catch their breath in a Grove of Gardens they were surrounded and the score knotted at 2 apiece. The Bonita Bandito came in from the pen for the 3 inning Save but there would be no more time to rest with Pirates of the San Gabriel Valley now joining the melee.

Attempting to drop down into a gorge that led to the stream that originally carved the walls of the ravine they wandered into the Pirate hide out and had to pitch and steal their way out. Fighting like coffee growers with nothing to lose they put their ace on the mound. And disappoint he did not, under the consuming pressure of what he had achieved the year before and the burden of ’51 looming he once again went Complete Game and stole a sack that led to a run and the narrow 2-1 escape of the Bearcat border jumpers.

Diving into the rushing stream they were swept up in the rushing tide and heading for the loudest roar they have ever heard when they came to a fork in the stream, one split led to a lagoon with a the safety of calm waters and shorelines on which to rest. The other course took them into unpredictable waters that seem to be cascading to the falls. The coyote that had been guiding the group was a Knott over the decision but went with number 2 believing it would give them the best chances of escaping the Ravine as champions. The waters raged on, escalating intensity and frenzy with every frame but it appeared the right decision had been made with the sign of ‘Think Blue’ coming into view. However they were rushing towards the falls and a feeling of lack of control came over them. From out the pen emerged the hero of La Verne once again and saved them from what was becoming Gladiators school, retiring the side in order and anchoring him to the slab allowing the Bearcats safe passage into Chavez Ravine and the CIF Championship for the first time since 1951.

In the Ravine they encountered a group of Moors and without uttering a word they both knew that only one of the clans would walk out of there champions of the journey. The Bearcats struck first in the first but in the second the Moors were sure to even the score but at a cost. The hit in the second that scored the run would be the last hit and would also be the last run of the 2012 Alhambra Moors. The Bonita Bandito looked like he had just swam through a bowl of alphabet soup, Adorned with a W and another CG to compliment the thrill of a lifetime CIF S.S. D-3 title he proudly hung around his neck as anxiety crept up from within because all knew what lie ahead, the tunnel.

When they arrived at the tunnel all the death and despair they had encountered along the way could not prepare them for what was to happen next. Behind them lay consumed in the belly of the badlands an excursion nobody apart of it will ever forget. How could they, the Tribune Player of the Year and the SGV Player of the year cemented a legacy in stone above the Valley and served as a reminder of the 2012 season and in tow the 12-1 Win/Loss, 0.72 ERA, the 101 Strikeouts to 88 Innings pitched, the omnipresent 8 CG’s, 2 Shut Outs and 3 Saves. Unfortunately, more bad news was dropped upon their doorstep by the locals of the river. Storms to the north had caused severe flash flooding along the Rio Bravo and soon the run-off tunnels and subsequent spider tunnels would be flooded. The rest of the group decided not proceed any further but for Mijo and his family they knew it was now or never and they dove head long into the tunnel, damning the consequences.

The first part of the tunnel was not so bad were one only had to walk with a slight hunch and lighting and ventilation fans hummed. Then came the noises and the tunnel grew darker with every step. Soon there were no more steps to make but inches to crawl at a time upon your belly through waste of human and animal alike. The stench of death and excrement choked the air from the tunnel and they wondered if they hadn’t strayed into a dead end. The strange noise only increased while the hum of the ventilators and the lights from the first part of the tunnel were long gone. To their horror they realized the source of the noise. With the keen senses only animals in nature have every manner of species that occupied the tunnel was now stampeding for high land for they knew the tunnels would soon become a watery grave and they all converged at the same point in the tunnel. Swarming about the refugee family, crawling over them into their clothes down their shirts into the mouths that gasped for air were bats and rats, colonies of roaches and army ants, black widows and various other creatures the go bite in the night. Mijo’s Madre and Padre became unconscious under the barrage of bites, stings and scratches so he dug in and bore down and drove home with as much torque as he had when he threw down from the mound. He pushed and dragged his family towards the exit. Nearing unconsciousness himself and half the tunnel filled with raging waters his body began to give out but he fought on until he could no more. Then, like the spirit of Guadalupe the outstretched hand of a matriarch reached from the light of the tunnel exit, took hold of the family and brought them from their would be grave’s into safe haven.

To Be continued……

Prepare yourselves for what you are about to read for I have blurred the lines of fact and fiction into a potion of Aphrodisia destined for the center of the baseball mind. Unsheathed upon your senses will be the 3 pieces of the Sword of Titan Baseball the saga of Mex-Calibur; before knights end the first piece shall be placed upon the table……..