Chapter 27: A Battle of Pride (3)
TL: Hanguk
March 1857.
Thanks to Buchanan's outrageous stunt of splitting the entire United States in two with the power of the presidency, America had effectively become an ideological battlefield.
These days a man could get picked on just for breathing, and everyone had to constantly testify to their beliefs and prove whose side they were on.
With the times being what they were, news of the unusual baseball match brewing in New York spread across the whole country in the blink of an eye.
[North versus South, and now it's baseball? What kind of sport is baseball?]
[Baseball, the pride of New York and its newest attraction. Can the Southern Dixies even swing a bat?]
[James Sergent, "A simple sport like baseball? Give me two months to train my workers and I can conquer it." New York's baseball team is furious!]
[New York pitcher Charles, "I have no confidence. No confidence that I'll give up even a single run."]
Baseball had really only just begun creeping through the North with New York at its center, but thanks to this incident it became a nationally famous sport overnight.
That was because Opdyke, who didn't for one second imagine he could lose, had gone all in, mobilizing every connection he had to promote the match.
Of course, letting this turn into a purely political showdown carried far too much risk, so I made sure to leave myself an escape hatch.
"All proceeds from this match will go toward the operation of the James Clinic. The attention of everyone who comes to watch will be a great help in treating the less fortunate of this land."
Yep, Opdyke is the only one burning with wounded pride here. Me, I'm just playing along to promote my hospital.
And just in case anyone tried to read more into it, I ran an aggressive press campaign and drew a firm line, insisting that sports were not to be a tool of political strife.
"Mr. James Sergent, so are you saying that the claim that you could easily conquer baseball in a mere two months is a baseless rumor?"
"Of course. Naturally, I have an exceptional talent for training my workers, but a sophisticated sport like baseball is a tall order. I will simply do my very best."
"Then why did you agree to this match?"
"Because I believed it would be an excellent opportunity for the hospital I am building in New York to spread not only through the South but across the entire North. I hope everyone who attends will forget the complicated political questions and simply enjoy the game, like a festival."
The reporter interviewing me shook his head, looking at me with eyes that said, like that's ever going to happen.
Harsh... though honestly, I think so too.
"Keep politics out of sports" is treated like common sense in the twenty-first century, but the very fact that people had to say it is proof that plenty of bastards had been dragging sports into politics long before then.
And with the match billed as a baseball team sponsored by the Republican Opdyke versus a baseball team trained by a Southern planter, of course the terminally invested are going to come crawling out of the woodwork.
That part was beyond my control, and more importantly, the fallout wouldn't be mine to bear. It would fall on Opdyke, the man who confidently started this fight and was about to get flattened for it.
"Then we'll consider the rules finalized as agreed. The equipment as well."
"Yes. Let's do that. Here's to a fine game in two months."
"I'll do my humble best."
The venue confirmed for the match was Elysian Fields in Hoboken, New Jersey.
It sat directly across from New York, and baseball games were already being played there to great success, making it the perfect site.
Besides, New York City, unlike the rest of the North or South, was certain to have a crowd split down the middle, so there'd be no lopsided arrangement where only one side got jeered.
Above all, the game rules I'd worried about most had mostly been adopted exactly the way I wanted, which took a load off my mind.
Part of it was surely their confidence that they'd win no matter what terms I set, but I'd wager it also helped that anyone who'd actually played baseball had no choice but to admit my points were completely reasonable.
While I was at it, I even made sure to stamp my name on the whole package, officially dubbing it the "Sergent Rules".
"I'm truly looking forward to seeing how good this famed grand planter's training really is. Do work hard, please, so we don't end up with a shoddy match. If the game ends too tamely, the spectators who came to watch will be terribly disappointed."
"True enough. A close match would be the most entertaining, and I confess that does worry me a little."
"If you're worried, you'd best hurry on home and practice yourself to death for the next two months."
For this contest, Opdyke had assembled a team called the "Defenders of Liberty", hand-picking only players from New York who supported the Republican Party.
Maybe that's why the players gave off a pretty toxic vibe, but since I could see their future plain as day, far from being offended, I only wanted to offer my condolences.
You're the ones I'm worried about. You.
Even if you practice yourselves to death starting now, you'll be lucky to scrape together a single run, so what on earth am I supposed to do about that arrogant attitude?
I shook my head and put New York behind me.
"Heh heh heh, look at him scurrying off. Seems he's finally having regrets."
"Hahaha! Should we pace ourselves a bit during the game so the spectators aren't disappointed?"
Whether those cheerful fellows would still be able to wear those beaming grins the next time they saw me...
Honestly, I was dying to find out.
*
For the record, the name of my team, set to face Opdyke's "Defenders of Liberty", was the "Sergent All-Stars".
Not that I agonized over it. I named it that because I planned to bring the very best players from our plantation.
"So, as I said, contrary to the original plan, we'll be selecting the finest warriors on this plantation to go teach those Northern bumpkins a proper lesson. Just checking, but is there anyone here who wants to play?"
"Me! Me! Me!"
"I'll go!"
"Please let me go too!"
The moment I finished the rough explanation, a deafening "Woooooah!" went up as nearly every worker threw up his hand and started jumping up and down.
We'd been shuffling team rosters all this time, so by now almost everyone on the plantation knew each other's skills inside and out.
The slightest mistake got hammered straight into a base hit, so every single game was a gauntlet of tension.
The sense of accomplishment was just as great, but it was also true that it chewed through stamina and nerves alike, so of course plenty of people were itching to test themselves against an outside team.
On top of that, thanks to vivid scouting reports from Leo and Ben, they already had a rough idea of the other side's skill level.
"I was planning to take every volunteer if we couldn't fill nine spots, but with everyone this eager, there's nothing for it. We'll have to hold tryouts."
"Ooooh!"
"How will the tryouts work?"
"We just play JLB like always. I'll review the records and pick the best players by position to take with me. You could call them the inaugural JLB All-Stars."
"Inaugural All-Stars? Even the name sounds impressive."
"And of course, if we go and win, it's a victory for all of us, so we'll hold another special feast. On top of that, the victorious warriors will receive an additional reward."
I could feel the fighting spirit and hunger blazing like mad in everyone's eyes.
No doubt about it, these fellows were burning up so badly they could hardly stand it.
But that's exactly when eagerness gets ahead of skill and mistakes start happening.
Sure enough, in the tryouts some slumped a little below their usual form, while others actually posted better numbers than ever.
CRACK!
"Aaargh! No!"
"Yeeeah! That's it! I'm the one going to New York!"
Either way, the games were twice as fierce as usual, and I gnawed on chicken with a cold drink in hand, cleansing eyes that had been polluted in New York.
Ahh, yes. Now this is baseball.
Bunch of guys who can't even throw a proper fastball, strutting around calling what they do baseball.
As I was happily enjoying the games, Leo, who was organizing the records beside me, suddenly spoke up.
"Master, is it truly all right to play baseball this openly, though? Haven't you kept it a secret until now?"
"No, actually, now is the perfect time. This is exactly how we keep the rumors from spreading any further down the line."
"Pardon?"
"How long do you think this plantation's secret was going to hold? The hospital is growing, and now that I've become a man the whole country is watching, there's bound to be far more attention on us than before. Which means, naturally, word might get out that I'm not, in fact, squeezing efficiency out of my slaves by abusing them."
Even now I was steadily buying land and gradually increasing the number of slaves, so by the end of the year my count could well swell to eight hundred.
I'd managed to keep things under control so far, but with my fame rising and the number of slaves growing, leaks weren't a variable anymore. They were a constant.
"But if I can spin it as 'we're playing baseball to crush the North', and then, after actually demolishing the North, say 'I permitted this much as a reward', who could possibly find fault with it? The Southerners will have finally watched the North get thoroughly stomped for once, so if anything they'll sing my praises."
"Ah, I see. I certainly hadn't thought of that."
This was no impulsive contest sparked by a fit of temper.
It demanded a far more delicate calculation of how much profit I could extract from it, and of how to steer the plantation's secrets and my reputation forward together.
The more I grew, the more my circumstances would demand an ever more refined talent for walking the tightrope.
"By the way, Leo, why aren't you playing in the match?"
"Pardon? Well, I have to attend to you either way, Master, so if I were chosen for the team, some poor innocent soul would lose his spot and miss New York for nothing, wouldn't he? So I stepped aside for my comrades-in-arms."
"Wow, is that so. But this time I was thinking you'd need to look after the servants while I'm away. What should we do?"
"Pardon? N-no... Master, how could you tell me that now, of all times? I'll go put my name on the roster this instant!"
"A joke, it's a joke. If you're gone, who's going to be my secretary?"
I chuckled and followed the ball sailing far into the distance with a resounding crack.
The sounds of a relieved Leo, cheering victors, and losers pounding the ground in frustration all mingled together into one vivid, living echo.
Just a little further now.
It really wouldn't be long before this land, ringed by its modest little fence, became a small kingdom.
*
And so, after going through not fierce practice but a selection process.
Having proudly assembled the All-Star team, I set out for New York in grand style with the Sergent plantation's first string.
For a moment I remembered the time I'd boarded a northbound ship with Leo and Sam, but the situation now was completely different.
"Mr. Sergent, per regulations, the slaves must ride in the cargo hold..."
"Now see here, my good man. Do you take these slaves for ordinary slaves? These are my hands and my legs, taking the field to uphold! The pride! Of the South! If they catch some illness in that cargo hold, can you take responsibility? Perhaps I should have a word with Governor McRae..."
"N-no, sir! Of course regulations say they should ride in the hold, but naturally, this time, I was just about to say we'd show them to the cabins. Hahaha!"
Bastards. You should've had the sense to sort that out before I had to open my mouth.
Did you really have to make me drag out the names of governors and congressmen?
I went ahead and booked a whole row of first-class cabins, keeping one room to myself as a private cabin and generously giving the rest to the Sergent All-Stars.
"Whoaaa! This is first class?"
"Master! The beds are different!"
"Good heavens, to think a ship had a section like this."
"All right, you lot, I know you're moved, but if you keep carrying on like a pack of country bumpkins, someone might file a complaint, so act dignified. And besides, if you're good at baseball, this is exactly the kind of treatment you get in life. Understood?"
"I-is that so?"
Of course, making a living off baseball would take far longer than this, but who knows.
If this match sets off an explosion of baseball across the whole country, that day might come much sooner.
And if it does, it might not be a bad idea for me to be the very first to found a professional league and corner the market in advance.
If the dream stage for every future ballplayer becomes not MLB but JLB... hey, that might not be bad at all?
Dig into this angle properly and there seemed to be endless veins of money to mine. Depending on the response to this match, it might genuinely be worth pursuing.
And if anyone tries to block it, sneering about darkies daring to enter a professional league?
The moment the Civil War ends, I deploy my elite division and simply crush them with pure skill. Done.
For that, baseball's popularity would have to spread just as fast, but that didn't seem worth worrying about.
I guarantee it, this event is going to be a smash hit, no question.
Not a prediction. It's simply preordained fate, because the whole affair has already ballooned far beyond anything I or Opdyke ever expected.
The list of attendees alone made it clear this was never going to end as a one-off event.
The New York Tribune, the New York Herald, the New York Times, the papers were all turning out in force, naturally.
And from Tammany Hall officers like Isaac Fowler all the way up to none other than Fernando Wood, the Mayor of New York City himself.
It was no exaggeration to say practically every big shot in New York was showing his face, and from the Southern side, claiming they owed me a debt to repay, no fewer than three congressmen, John Quitman, David Robinson, and John Montgomery, were attending.
And with Southern congressmen attending, the North could hardly sit still.
Finally, a true titan, none other than William Seward, Republican Senator from New York, announced his intent to attend.
That was the guest list as it had been relayed to me, and just scanning down it, I couldn't help wondering whether this thing really needed to blow up to this scale.
This is all your fault, Buchanan.
"All right, all right, my warriors. We'll be playing on a stage completely unlike anything before, but keep in mind that all we have to do is demolish the team standing in front of us. No matter what insults come flying our way, we simply grind them into the dirt on the field, so let's make keeping our composure the goal."
"Yes, sir! Don't you worry!"
"Those wretches who dare look down on you, Master, and swagger about calling themselves the fathers of baseball, we'll smash every last one of them!"
"From now on, the father of baseball is James Sergent!"
Not that my boys would ever falter, but just in case the atmosphere got to them, I worked hard at coaching their mental game and kept them fed with good food along the way, until at last we arrived at the land of the decisive battle.
And the moment I stepped off at the station, I spotted a strangely familiar face and froze stiff on the spot.
"Hahaha, it's been a while! A whole year, and you've grown all the more manly."
Oh, come on. Lincoln, man.
What are you doing all the way out here, too?
*****
If you like this novel, please leave a review or rating at NovelUpdates.
Link: https://www.novelupdates.com/series/i-became-a-wicked-landowner-in-the-american-south/
Join our Discord for announcements or to report any mistakes.