
Incredibly, Cuban's plan seems to have worked. Selig has no backbone and gives in to Cuban's ludicrous demands, rather than attempt to fight him. After Selig and Cuban hash out a deal for the transfer of the Cubs, Cuban looks at you and says, "So, how can I keep you quiet about all this?"
"Six years. $180 million," you reply.
"Done."
Just like that, you're a Cub. As it turns out, Chicago is the best place in the world for you. You hit 42 home runs in Wrigley, and the Bleacher Bums love you. They toast you and, heck, you bring them cans of Old Style between innings.
Lou Piniella didn't seem too happy when you shot-gunned a can out there one hot night in July, but you went 4-for-5 that night. What was he going to do?
Then, when you go 2-for-19 in the 2009 NLDS, they blame a goat! Sure, you jogged down to first base when you could've beaten out a double-play ball that ultimately costs the Cubs the NLCS, but the Cubs will NEVER win a World Series, so how could it be your fault?
And that time in the 2011 World Series when you struck out looking with the bases loaded in bottom of the ninth in Game 7 with the Cubs down two runs, that was totally the fault of the poor guy sitting just above the net in left field, who had what looked like a sure-fire grand slam off of your bat earlier in the game ricochet off his head and on to the field, only to have the call of "single" (you were admiring your blast, of course) inexplicably upheld after a 20-minute conference around the instant replay monitor. The poor guy went into a coma while Cubs' fans burnt his house down, blaming him for not catching the ball. You got a free cab ride home.
Cuban doesn't it like it when you do things like that either, but you constantly remind him that you have
Peter Gammons on speed dial and he'd be very interested to learn about the Antarctic kidnapping. After three years in Chicago, you retire. You go to ESPN and tell the story of how Mark Cuban kidnapped you and blackmailed baseball into giving him the Cubs to a very befuddled
Bob Ley on
Outside the Lines. It's likely that not one person in the country believes your story, but you don't really care.
You spend your retirement hosting ice-fishing shows on Versus, who tried to capitalize on your
Outside the Lines appearance, and by selling defective cornball-making devices on late-night infomercials. And of course,
teaching Manny Jr. how to hit home runs.
THE END.
(Not sure how you got here? Start Choose Your Own Adventure: Manny Being Choosey in Free Agency from the beginning.)