Clete had been waiting for the call for exactly one week. He still remembered being brought in to Leyland's office that morning.

"Clete, we need you to turn trader to are team."

"Sir, I can't do that, you're like brothers to me."

"This mission is even more critical than playing fifth outfielder. The Twins don't seem dangerous, but our mystics have seen the future, and left unchecked, they will win the division by one game. You must get in there and find a way to stop them."

"How will I know when it's time?"

"You'll know, Clete. You'll know."

The problem was, he didn't know. He had no idea which at bats were important, which moments could possibly make a difference in the long term scheme of things. Therefore, he decided to strike out constantly. Then, one week later, the opportunity he'd been waiting for fell into his lap. The enemy had staged a small rally, and was within striking distance. Suddenly, Clete knew, this was his chance - but he had struck out so many times before, had he missed his chance?

As it turned out, Gardy was drunk, so Clete stood at the bat and looked ridiculous striking out.

Somewhere in the stands, Leyland smiled and whispered "I knew you could do it, kid" as he brazenly disobeyed Target Field's smoking policy.