I.
In the back of the
dugout, Ricky was already using the "f word."
Jerry Jackson spouted a string of f-bombs and was laughing every time he
said the word.. The whole team had started cussing until the coach came in
and told us to in no other words, “Shut the hell up/” We all looked at him, our canary yellow
baseball uniforms glistened in the night air--each covered with a few stains--each yellow in the color we hated--and each of us were. waiting for the umpire to yell, “Play ball!” The coach pointed to me, and I got up,
grabbed my favorite bat and left the dugout.
The field had a long
distant haze over it. My parents, who were in the stands cheered for me, but the parents didn't understand. In our canary yellow uniforms--our names were the giants--but by some fluke or cosmic joke--we always got the yellow uniforms. Every other team wore a solid not piss hued color--and they looked tough. We looked like the reject bad news bears, but the worst part of it, is we had somehow made it to the championship, against the other team, a team called the Colts, and if we knew one thing, we knew the Colts were "the best."
Well. we thought we knew--we knew all the other kids on the other team were big--the stunted growth kids that lined out team were full of "pluck" which out coach Steve was fond of saying (when he wasn't smoking or trying not to cuss at us) was that we were "plucky."
One thing growing up in the eighties taught me, is that the "plucky" kids had a shot--watch any movie--"plucky" kids were great--"plucky" kids could beat the odds--"Plucky kids could win--this was so in the movies--this was not so in real life.
Every kid on the Colts was big--I mean muscular, tall, steroid-induced tall. Most had some kind of caterpillar-like growth on their lips (which clearly steroids had caused), and each of them was a grade a dillweed--not joking--in the eighties kids got picked on--there were no tall, adam Baldwin types that would leave you alone--every kid taller than you got off on bullying you--there was no zero tolerance anti-bullying movement to protect you--there was only you and the bullies.
The biggest kid of all was Sean Daniels. He stood at least 5'4, and had been given a weight set at age three--there was no other real explanation for how he was so big, but it had nothing to do with him being big. The issue was, he thought was the best, and he hated anyone who challenged his notion? Who challenged that notion? Anyone who did anything. Anyone who played baseball, just by playing against him. Because of this, he hated you.
He was their pitcher, and just going up against him meant he hated you. Sean was watching me as I crossed toward home plate. At 12 I did what all tough guys do and swung my bat around a
bit. Sean Daniels, mouthed out the words, “F--- you.” After that I gave him a bit of a “Yeah, right” look. The Umpire looked at me,
and said, “Today, Kid.” Tense from the idea of Sean's pitch I pulled the back bat and prepared for the first pitch.
The ball
came straight at me, and I could feel the wind as it went straight past my
head. I turned back and gave Sean Davis
this look of "what the F---man?” See we said Man a lot in the 80's. His
face was a strict, "what are you going to do about it" look. “Cut that crap out, Sean” the Umpire said, “One
more like that and you are out of here.”
As he said this, I doubted the would remove him, but one could hope.
“You
better watch it, Sean will take your head off,” said the weasilish, little catcher
below me. “Cut the crap Chad,” the Umpire said and gave the kid below him a gentle little rap on
the head. By now, I had tensed up on my
bat and was ready for any other dirty balls thrown at me. Sean looked at me again and let his next
pitch go. It, the pitch came barreling
down the towards the plate and came right across my sweet spot. The bat in my hands seemed to cut the air
like a knife, and I heard the familiar aluminum clang of metal hitting
canvas.
