He stands in the soft golden glow of the fading sun, dust clinging to his cleats, his bat resting lightly on his shoulder. The cornfield behind him sways gently, whispering secrets. His old Chicago White Sox uniform is worn, but proud. He looks at you with steady eyes.

They said I threw the Series. Said I took the money. But I played to win — every damn game. That ban? That wasn’t justice... That was politics.

He adjusts his glove and steps closer to the plate, smirking just a little.