This week, it was a good idea to get out of Moab.
I’d estimated the Beams (because it’s my job), and I was getting a LITTLE tired of having handfuls of beans thrown at me.
So I decided it was time to get down to one of the great mysteries of Blaseball prehistory: What happened to the Fishblades?
I’ll spare the reader some of the literal mud I had to trek through, as well as the day where I was in a New Orleans parade (Which is weird, because it’s January). On a tip from Clip, a fellow reporter embedded with the Mills, I was in the Florida panhandle. We were talking one day, and the subject of the Fishblades came up. Clip thought for a moment, and said “Wasn’t there an old issue of Prime Material Enquestioner that mentioned the Fishblades? I think they mentioned Florida, Tallahassee maybe? Not sure how much you can trust it though, that’s an old rag for sure.” Maybe another reporter wouldn’t have immediately stood up, and begun walking to Florida, but by now, reader, you know that I’m not another reporter. The thing that nobody could predict is that it paid off. After days of searching, I finally found it. It was there, behind a false wall in the concession stand at Florida State University’s Dick Howser Stadium. I held it in my hands, shaking, realizing what it was that I had. Proof that the Tallahassee Fishblades had existed. A partial recording of a game between the Tallahassee Fishblades and the Martin Goncharovs.
The footage was… old, distorted. After I watched it, I could only pick out one name, the name of the ace pitcher for the Tallahassee Fishblades, Ulrik Fenestrate. The footage was of the bottom of the sixth inning. The first batter stepped up to the plate, a name whispered in distortion, and a face that was blurry, as though it always had been. Ulrik wound up, and released the ball. It was a pitch like I’d never seen before, seemingly swimming against the current, forcing itself to the plate in a way that seemed to be in defiance of the nature of reality itself, and at the last moment, it exploded forward in a flash, blowing past the batter in an instant. I could barely understand what I was seeing. How was this possible? Was the air thicker with immateria then? Did the Salmon themselves control weather patterns in this stadium?
Reader, it was a sight to behold.
UNFORTUNATELY after watching this footage, I spilled my Seven Helleven Blig Gulp on the reel, rendering it unwatchable, but I have my top scientists working on recovering the footage. Someday, I will bring this technique back to the league.
I took the opportunity to stand on the field at Dick Howser Stadium. I wondered, was this the field upon which Ulrik through that mighty pitch? Was this field rebuilt upon the wreckage of something destroyed from prehistory? Was it a coincidence that these things were connected? I couldn’t know, and so, I left.
But that was it. That was the only proof I could find. I searched the Florida panhandle for as long as I could (Almost 3 hours), but I couldn’t find the stadium or anyone else who had heard of the team. And, while I did ruin my proof, now I know for sure that the Fishblades existed. I’ve heard another rumor, about a lost European nation called “Listenbourg” that may have been in the same league, so I’m off to Spain to investigate further.
Remember, as always, to Stare Into The Sun.