Date: Mon, 11 Mar 2013 05:31:47 -0700 (PDT) From: Joe Hunter Subject: Basball Diamond Tails - 8A All the usual disclaimers apply: +This story is a work of fiction. If you think it is real, you have a very active imagination. +Do not read this story if you live in an area where it is illegal to do so. +Scenes of sexual activity between an adult male and a young boy are represented. Do not read further if this offends you. +Please do not imitate the actions portrayed herein - the author cannot accept responsibility for any actions promoted by this story. If you would like to get in touch, please e-mail me at: hunterjoe45@yahoo.com To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with contributions and keep the Archive online. Check the Nifty home page for ways to make contributions. Without this Archive those of us who write for you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out. I hope you enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Support Nifty! Joe ____________________________ BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 8A (copyright 2012, Joe Hunter) Baseball - the Great American Game, the national pastime... As much myth and legend as it is sport... All over the country, every summer afternoon, the kids come on their bikes or get dropped off by a parent for team practice - and there they receive traditions handed down from coach to player; the traditions and experiences that are the heart of baseball. Not all the drama and great plays are in the major leagues. Some of the most exciting are done by young boys on ragged diamonds with only a handful of spectators to witness. Those exploits go unrecorded, yet I want to believe that the diamonds themselves remember. The small fields and sandlots... What stories they could tell if only we knew how to listen! They might speak of a little second baseman's courage, taking a hot grounder to the face and still making the play; or perhaps they would describe the fear a young boy must overcome to stand in against fast pitching when the game is on the line... The eternal challenge of performance and competition... I coach on the new field now; shiny aluminum stands, lights for night games, spacious dugouts, grass kept green by a modern sprinkler system - all the little extras. I'm not complaining. But on occasion, in the long summer twilight when fireflies are dancing, I wander down to the old baseball diamond and sit on a crumbling wooden bleacher staring out at the pitcher's mound and the overgrown infield... Listening for the memories... Waiting for the voices I once knew so well to come to me again out of the darkness... ::::::::::::::::::::::: Center Field: Part A ::::::::::::::::::::::: "Coach, I hate bothering you on a Sunday. But could you come out here? I need your help." It was Ruth's voice on the phone that winter afternoon; one of my baseball mothers, whose two boys were now wrestling on the team where I was one of the assistant coaches. "What's up?" I was alarmed by the real distress in her voice. "Cody and Casey had a fight, and now Casey's locked himself in their room and won't come out... I just don't know what to do..." "Where's Ray?" Ray was the father. A railroad worker, separated from his wife three years before, but still pretty good about visiting the two boys. "Not here." Ruth sounded exasperated. "Downstate, working somewhere. He's never here when I need him. Coach, please come. I just don't know what to do. I've never seen Casey like this before." "OK." I looked at my watch. 3 p.m. Still daylight, but it probably wouldn't be on my way back. And the roads were snow packed. But she seemed worried.... "OK, I'm on my way. What were the boys fighting about?" There was a pause, and then-- "It was about you." About me, I thought, getting behind the wheel of the SUV and heading off toward the outskirts of town where the county road would take me the rest of the ten miles to where Ruth and the boys lived. What the hell...? Shaking my head, I concentrated on my driving. Black ice was forming in the wheel ruts of the snow packed roads and I needed to be careful. Cody, the older of the two boys, greeted me as I pulled into the driveway of the relatively new, one-story ranch style home. A state champion wrestler, and my All-Star shortstop for two years in baseball, Cody was 13 and had the kind of young streamlined build that screamed "Natural Athlete." He would be moving to the 13-15 age bracket in baseball when summer came and I was going to miss him. "Coach, tell my mom not to ground me," he urged as I got out of the vehicle. Smiling, I ruffled his thick blond hair. "Give me one good reason why I should do that, Hot Shot." "Cause I ain't done nothin'!" "What's with this fight I heard about?" Cody made a disgusted gesture. "Casey's bein' a little dweeb." Ruth was waiting at the front door and welcomed me in to a warm living room where a bright cheerful blaze was going in the huge fieldstone fireplace. "Nice!" I said, putting out my hands to warm them. "Now, what's the problem?" "It's Casey," Cody blurted, but I held up a hand to silence him and turned to Ruth. "It's Casey," she told me with a sigh. "He absolutely insists that he wants you to be his coach for the Championships..." "And that's not fair!" Cody interrupted. "You're always my coach for the Championships. And he knows that! He's just..." I held up a hand again, bringing the boy once more to halt. Cody met my gaze. A brave, willful, and confident boy, there were very few adults he would listen to. One was Ray, his father, and I was another. It was a compliment that I valued. "Let your mom tell it," I said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Ruth's eyes went from her son to me, and then she continued, "Well, Coach. You know how Casey gets. He kept insisting that you were to be his coach... Something about that it was his turn..." "He hasn't said anything to me at practice." "Probably scared..." Cody muttered. "He's such a dweeb." Ruth shrugged helplessly. "You know how he is..." I did indeed know how Casey was. Like his brother, Casey had been on my baseball team, plus I worked with him in wrestling. A year younger than Cody, dark instead of blond, slender but strong and wiry... quiet and shy. Where Cody was the strong natural leader, Casey remained very much in the background, rarely saying a word. I thought it entirely likely that he had not worked up the nerve to ask me at practice if I would coach him at the Championships. I looked at Cody. "So you two had a fight over it?" The boy shifted impatiently. "It wasn't my idea. I didn't start it." "You bullied him," Ruth accused. "You're always doing it." She turned to me. "And now, Casey's locked himself in his room, Coach." "It's my room, too," Cody protested, but his mother ignored him and went on, "I can't get him to come out." My star shortstop snickered. "Bet he'll come out when he has to pee!" I smiled at that, but inside I wasn't laughing because I knew the situation had to be taken seriously. There was considerable sibling rivalry between these two boys, both so close in age, and it was made even worse by the way Casey was so completely overshadowed by his older brother. Cody - the star, the natural leader, the favorite of his father - basked at the center of attention while Casey, quiet and self-effacing, was always lost in the reflected glare. Plus there was this business of personal coach at the Championships. Our wrestling program had several hundred boys of all ages. In addition to three "Head Coaches" there were at least 15 assistants, some more involved than others. The boys were broken up by age group and at meets during the season coaches would supervise all the kids they usually worked with in practice. But in the final meet, the State Championships, it was different. Not every boy qualified for State, and the ones who did had the privilege of choosing one of the coaches to be his "personal" coach for the duration of the meet. The "personal" coach was expected to mentor the boy and be with him at all his matches. Coaches considered it an honor to be asked, and the thing was taken quite seriously on our team. At Cody's request I had been his personal coach for years running; since before he had played baseball for me. I had expected to be doing it again this year. But as I stood there looking from Cody to his mother, it occurred to me that perhaps I should reconsider. "OK," I told Ruth. "I've got the picture. I'll take care of this." Turning to Cody, I tapped his shoulder. "Come on, Ace. Let's go talk to your brother." "Do I gotta', Coach?" he whined. "Yes." I nodded to his mother and then led Cody off toward the back of the house. "Where's your bedroom, Champ." He showed me, and the door was indeed locked. Standing in front of it for a moment, I took a breath, then knocked. "Casey. It's Coach. How `bout opening up so we can talk?" There was dead silence for a bit. Then I heard a faint scuffling noise behind the door. "We can talk through the door if you want," I said. "But it'd be easier if I could come in." More silence. Then the rattle of a lock. "Listen," I said hastily. "Before you open up. I've got your brother here with me. He told me what you two have been fighting about. I'd rather talk to both of you at once. But it can be just with you if you want." Silence fell again, but then after another pause the lock rattled again and Casey opened the door. The poor kid looked both scared and woebegone, his eyes red from crying. I gave his slender shoulders a pat, then motioned Cody in ahead of me. It was a crowded room, most of the space taken up by two beds, one on each side. The beds appeared to have once been a bunk bed that had been separated. By each was a small desk, and even though I had never been there before I could tell at a glance which desk belonged to which boy. On Cody's side the desk was cluttered; trophies lined along the back, the top a litter of schoolbooks and papers. The wall above was taped with sports posters and team pictures, our All-Star team photo from the summer before among them. Across from it, on the other side of the room, the wall behind Casey's desk was bare. On the desk were only two items: a model plane, beautifully painted, and a small picture in what appeared to be a handmade frame. After closing the door, I went over to look at it. It was a picture that had also been taken the summer before, a picture of Casey in his baseball uniform standing next to me. Picking it up, I admired the neat workmanship of the wooden frame. "I remember when they took this. Nice job on the frame. You made it?" Casey was staring at the floor. He nodded without looking up. "Sit down, guys." I gestured at Cody's bed and the two boys settled onto it, Casey still with his head down. I pulled out a chair from one of the desks and sat down myself. "OK, guys..." I looked from one to the other; the older blonde boy so assured and confident, his dark-haired slender young brother trying hard to turn himself invisible. "Let's get this settled. Casey, Cody tells me there's something you want to ask me." The boy's eyes lifted to me for an instant and then he was staring at the floor again. "Come on," I coaxed. "If you care enough to fight about it, then care enough to ask. Here I am." Silence reigned again and Cody stirred impatiently as if about to say something, but I waved at him to be quiet. Finally, in a soft voice, still without looking at me, Casey asked, "Will you be my coach for State?" "Yes," I answered promptly, and got a look of hurt surprise from Cody. "But..." I turned to him. "Doesn't mean I don't care about you, Hot Shot. You know I do, and always will. But let's face it. You're moving on. Eighth grade. High school next year. You deserve a coach that knows more than I do, and I think it should be Ted." Ted was one of the three head coaches, a volunteer assistant to the high school wrestling team. "Plus," I went on, "your brother's right. It's his turn." I smiled at Cody. "I'll be cheering for you, Champ. Always. And I'll be there whenever you need me. But..." Leaning forward I patted his knee. "It's your brother's turn..." The handsome blonde boy made a face. "Okay..." "Good." I patted his knee again. "You're growing up." Then I turned to Casey, who was now looking at me with a wistful expression. "From now on," I told him. "I don't want you afraid to talk to me or ask me things. I'm honored to be your coach. There's nothing you can't tell me or ask me. All right?" Casey nodded. "Yes," he answered in a soft voice. "Okay." I got up. "Now. No more fighting between you two. You're both terrific kids, and you've both got better things to do." I gazed around the room. "Kinda crowded in here. What's it like sharing a room like this?" "It sucks!" The two boys chorused, Cody with a disgusted look and Casey actually raising his voice for the first time. "Yeah. I can see that. Tell you what. I'll talk to your mom about it. Let's see what we can do..." * * * * * And so it was resolved, as much as anything could ever be between two brothers like Cody and Casey. I continued to work with both at wrestling practice, but as much as possible I tried to give more and more of my attention to the younger sibling. The big State tournament was held every year at our State University. It was a long drive to get there, but not as bad as other regional tournaments we went to in adjoining states. We all went together in a caravan, leaving early in the morning while it was still dark and arriving at eight am. It had snowed the day before. There were mounds of white stuff pushed by the plows onto the sides of the huge field house parking lot, all dazzlingly bright in the morning Sun. Ray had driven Ruth and the boys down in his truck and he parked in the spot next to me. They were all out waiting for me when I joined them, Casey standing a little apart from the others. Cody greeted me with his usual exuberant grin. He was expected to win the championship in his division that day, but he did not look a bit nervous. "Hi, Coach!" he told me happily, breath smoking in the cold morning air. "Ready to go, Slugger?" I asked, grinning back. "Today's gonna be your day!" "He's ready," Ray said, putting an arm around his son. "Good luck today, Cody." I held out a fist for him to tap. "Casey and I'll be cheering for you." Then I turned to where Casey was waiting, looking a bit lost in his wool stocking cap and bulky coat. "Come on, Tiger. Let's you and me grab a locker and get you checked in." The boy gave his older brother quick look. "Good luck, Cody," he said softly. Then he trotted off with me. The field house was huge and I had not been there for a while, but eventually we found the locker rooms, I found a locker for him, and then made sure he had everything he needed. When the boy took off his coat and the flannel shirt beneath it, I saw he had on our baseball team shirt from the previous summer for an undershirt. Casey saw me looking at it. "For good luck," he said shyly. "I really like that," I told him with a smile. Out in the lobby I had a cup of coffee while Casey changed. When he came out, dressed in singlet and team sweat suit, I took him into the gym for warm-up. There were hundreds of kids at the tournament. Matches continued all day and, as I had promised the boy, I never left Casey's side. It was the longest time I'd ever spent in his company. I asked if he wanted to sit with his parents, but he shook his head, so we stayed by ourselves, which was fine with me. Cody and I had done the same thing when I was his special coach in previous years. Coaching Casey was totally different from coaching his brother. I found it difficult to judge the boy's mood. He never said a word, and except for an occasional glance, never looked at me. With Cody it had been easy to tell what was going on in his head, because he was a talker. With his younger brother I had no clue. He had asked me to be with him at the meet, he wasn't showing any signs of restlessness – so I had to assume that he liked my company. Deciding that the best course was to proceed just as if he were as talkative as his brother, I gave a running commentary on the events around us along with other things that interested me. Casey gave no sign of whether or not he was enjoying my observations, but he stayed close to me and did not get up and walk off. Keeping Casey distracted so he would not get too nervous, then getting him to his events on time was part of my job as his special coach. But the most important duty was to handle him during his matches. For this I stationed myself at the edge of the mat. With my arm around the boy, I whispered advice on the strategy and tactics he should employ, and what weaknesses to exploit in his opponent. Halfway through each match there was a rest break where combatants would lie prone while their handlers rubbed their tired bodies and gave them more whispered instructions. Then, at the end, when the match was decided, winner and loser would retire with their coaches to review the contest and plan for whatever was coming next. The boys were always exhausted after a match and it was important to rub them down before getting them into a sweat suit. There was a lot of physical contact in all this and, in the past, Cody had always made it very clear that he wanted as much is possible. Whenever I touched him he would smile, or wiggle happily, and say something like, "That feels nice, Coach." He always gave some signal that he liked the comfortable stroking of my hands on his body. Not all boys were this way. Nearly all wanted some contact, but some wanted more than others. It was vital to establish what each boy required and to respect his wishes. With Casey I could tell nothing because there were never any signals. During his first few matches, while I stroked his slim hard body, naked beneath the singlet except for his little jock, the boy held himself absolutely still, doing nothing to betray whether he liked or disliked what I was doing. During the breaks I stretched him out, massaging his firm, rounded legs, his slender chest and shoulders, occasionally sliding my hands over his slim hips. The boy never said a word, moving only when I nudged him to turn over so I could stroke his back. But he was listening carefully to what I was telling him. Any instruction I gave Casey he followed exactly. He was neither as strong, nor is gracefully agile as his brother, but he was a tough well-trained little wrestler and I already knew what a courageous and determined competitor he was. Casey did well in his first two matches, winning them both and pinning his opponent in the second one. Treating Casey exactly as I had his older brother, I praised him quietly every time I talked to him and gave a great deal of contact, rubbing and stroking him gently. After the second match I took him to a quiet, out-of-the-way spot under the stands where there was sufficient privacy to be comfortable, positioning the boy across my knees. Moving my hands over the tired boy, feeling the warm smooth skin beneath his thin cotton singlet, I kept whispering to him, "My little Tiger. You're doing great. I'm so proud of you. You were just terrific. I'm so proud to be your coach." Over and over I kept whispering, sliding my hands on the slender hard body. My palms rubbed over his flanks and caressed his slim hips. Then I tenderly massaged the rounded muscles of his bare thighs. Casey held himself absolutely still, keeping his eyes closed, arms stretched over his head. After a while, I rolled him towards me, onto his side, keeping his hips on my lap. I stroked his back, then let my hands drift downwards onto his tight rounded butt. The boy's singlet was stretched tight over the firm jutting muscle and I cupped my palm on the hard mounds, feeling the warm naked flesh beneath. As I gently rubbed and massaged, Casey began to tremble. He had been holding himself so still that I noticed the slight movement right away and it made me apprehensive. I was sure I had somehow blundered beyond what the boy was comfortable with. Slowly, trying not to seem in any hurry, I moved my hands back up Casey's body until I was stroking and massaging the little swells of muscle in his shoulders. Then I eased the boy up off my knees and helped him put on his sweat suit. "You're doing such a great job," I assured him. "Just stay focused on those matches. Everything's going perfectly. Do you feel nice and loose?" Casey gave me a grateful look. "Uh-huh." "Good." Back out at a place where we could sit and watch the matches, I bustled around, got Casey a cup of fruit juice to sip on, then let him crunch some lifesavers for energy. Keeping up my end of our one-sided conversation, I talked about the competitors we were watching, even getting a little giggle out of him once with a funny story. My heart went out to the boy when I heard him make that soft happy sound. When I put my arm around his shoulders and gave him a hug, Casey turned his head and actually met my gaze for a few seconds. I knew he was feeling good. "You're just the greatest, Tiger," I assured him. For the rest of the day, through all his subsequent matches, I continued to talk to Casey, stroking and caressing him, but we did not go back to the secluded spot under the stands again. His matches got tougher and tougher as he advanced in the semifinal rounds and he battled gamely, listening intently to all my instructions with a frown of concentration. Meanwhile his brother, Cody, was advancing easily through his matches. There was always a lot of cheering whenever he wrestled. "Looks like Cody's really taking care of business," I told my young charge as we watched his older brother pin another opponent. "Cody's the best," the boy said quietly. "He's gonna win first place." It was the most he had said all day. I studied him out of the corner of my eye as he watched his older brother. "I think you're doing just great too, Casey," I told him. Casey's semifinal match was very tough, against an opponent that had the edge on him in strength and weight, plus being nearly a year older. I had seen the boy win an earlier bout and now I sized him up again as I knelt by the side of the mat with my arm around Casey's slender hard body. "Take it right to him," I whispered. "You'll have to beat him with your quickness. Be slippery. Try not to give him an opening for that arm hold he likes to use. Remember your legs are just as strong as his. If you can, try to lock him." With this advice, I gave Casey a little pat on his tight butt and sent him out onto the mat. The match that followed was a classic. It was a shame that I was the only one from our group to see it, but Casey's division lacked any big stars and nobody expected him to do much anyway, so there was not much interest. We were over on the side mats, away from the stands, and only a few spectators paid us any attention. Everyone else was over around the center mats watching Cody's division. Too bad, because Casey's match was the better one. My little Tiger put up a courageous battle. His opponent had the age and size advantage, but Casey had the quickness; plus that wiry strength in his slender legs was equal to the other boy's. There was constant action in the first half of the match, the older boy trying again and again to establish a hold and Casey slipping out of his grasp, countering with his own moves. At the break I stretched my tired wrestler out on his back and began massaging. "You're doing great!" I told him. Across the mat from us, the other boy lay sprawled in exhaustion. "You're gonna beat this kid," I assured Casey. "Listen to me! He's getting tired. You're wearing him out. You're too fast for him. He's gonna slow down and make a mistake. Watch for it! Be ready! You're gonna take him! I know it! Just hang in there, Tiger. You're the best! This is your match. I can feel it!" I kept whispering encouragement, stroking him as the boy looked up at me intently. It was the longest he ever met my eyes. When the referee blew his whistle, ending the break, I pulled Casey to his feet, patted his butt, and said, "Beat this kid for me, Tiger. You're the best!" At the very start of the second half of the match, the older boy made a frantic effort to establish a controlling hold on Casey that would put him away. He almost managed, but my agile little wrestler slipped free again, twisting away and establishing a hold of his own. The bigger boy finally broke out of it with difficulty. He was tiring fast. I was sure he would not be able to pin Casey, but he was still capable of winning on points and I did not want that to happen. Then the opening came, as I had predicted it would. Attempting once again to get the arm lock he favored, the older boy rolled too far. "Now, Tiger!" I yelled, and Casey caught the boy in a scissors, lifting him into a pin. For a split second there came one of those heart stopping moments wrestling sometimes provides. The two boys strained together, the muscles on Casey's slender beautifully defined form standing out like living sculpture. Then the referee slapped his hand on the mat, signaling the pin, and the match was over. I'd been holding my breath. Now I released it in a wild yell and threw up my arms. "Yeah!" Untangling himself from his beaten opponent, who was slumping to the mat, Casey staggered toward me. I stepped to him quickly, picked him up, and swung him into the air while I whooped happily, "Yeeeoooowwwwww!" Hugging the boy tight, my voice breaking with emotion, I whispered so only he could hear, "You're the best! The best! You just the greatest! I'm so proud of you! What a great match!" When I released him at last and put him on his feet, Casey was smiling, something I had never seen him do before. "Go shake hands, Tiger," I told him. "That was a wonderful match. That other kid put up a good effort." While Casey was shaking with his opponent, I looked into the stands to see if his parents, or anyone else from our team, had seen his victory. But no one was paying us any attention. I heard a loud cheer go up from over in the center of the gym where Cody was having his semifinal match. That's where everyone must be, I thought. "Come on, Tiger," I told Casey when he returned, "I gotta get you ready for the finals." We sat down by one of the side walls where I stretched the boy out, stroking him gently, and as my hands massaged him Casey put his arms back behind his head. Then he twisted his hips slightly and gave a contented little sigh. It was the very first indication he had given that he liked what I was doing. "Feel good?" I asked. He nodded and kept staring up at me. I stroked him for a while longer, then told him softly, "I am really, really glad you asked me to be your special coach, Casey." The boy's eyes remained locked on my face. I felt his slim body tremble. "It's okay, Tiger," I whispered. "It's okay. You're gonna do just fine in those finals. Just stick with me." Casey nodded. "I will, Coach," he assured me in a soft voice. Just as in his semifinal, Casey wrestled his last match with no one watching but me. The finals in his brother's division were going on at the same time so everyone else was over there watching. Casey's opponent was another bigger, older boy and this time I knew my little Tiger was overmatched. I tried to prepare him as best I could, giving him several things to try, and he went out onto the mat with his usual courage and determination. But for the entire first half of the match he was constantly on the defensive. He was tired when I stretched him out for his break. "You're doing great!" I told him, as I massaged his legs and rubbed his body. "You're only down by a point! You got this kid worried! Now, watch out for him at the start of the second half. He'll go right for the pin. Be ready to scramble and watch for an opening. If you can lock him up with your legs, you should try it. But don't be caught by surprise if he breaks out of it. He's strong. Your best chance is to control him and try for the points. Who knows? He might mess up and give you an opening. Watch out for that early pin. I know he's gonna try for it!" I sent my wrestler back out with a hug and a little pat on his butt. "Make me proud you, Tiger!" I whispered. As I had warned, Casey's bigger opponent tried for a pin as soon as he saw opportunity, but my young Tiger bridged up and the heavier boy could not contain him. For over a minute the two boys remained in a stalemate, straining against each other. The smooth contours of Casey's perfectly proportioned body stood out in stark definition as he struggled to hold off his stronger opponent. Then, with a convulsive heave, he broke the older boy's hold and scrambled free. "Yeah! Way to go!" I cheered. The match ended with both boys clutching and heaving against each other, looking for a hold or an opening. Casey had lost on points, but he had never given up and he had not allowed himself to be pinned. I was just as excited as if he had won. As soon as the referee announced the winner, holding up the other boy's arm, I went out to the mat, picked up my boy and gave him a hug, whispering, "Way to go, Tiger! Way to go! Oh man, you did great! What a match!" I could feel Casey's heart beating as I held him against my chest. He wrapped his arms around me and hugged back; the first time he ever done that. The other boy was being congratulated by people I assumed were his parents and his coach. When I took Casey over so he could shake hands, the other coach offered me a hand as well. "Great match," he said smiling. Then he looked around. "Where's your boy's cheering section? Are you guys here all alone?" "I think they're over watching the finals on the other division," I told him. "This boy's older brother is expected to win there." "Well they missed a terrific match," the other man said. "Your boy almost pulled the upset. He sure had me worried. What a terrific wrestler." Casey had come back to my side and I put an arm around him, smiling down at my young charge. "Better believe it. He's got all the guts and determination in the world. He sure made me proud today." I took Casey back to our spot by the wall and gave him a little rubdown, then had him put his sweat suit on. "I know you wanted to win, Tiger," I said as we got him fixed up, "But that boy was older and bigger than you, and just as fast. You did a beautiful job just keeping the match so close. You got nothing to regret. That second-place finish is terrific. I'm just so darn proud of you!" I hugged him again and once more he hugged back. "Let's go see how Cody's doing," I told him. We went over to the center of the gym and joined the spectators from our team. Cody had just started his finals match and I could see right away he was going to win. The contest was exciting enough, but not as good as Casey's had been. Ray and Ruth greeted us and we all cheered for Cody together, Casey just as loud as everybody else. He was jumping up and down in excitement at the end of the match when Cody pinned his opponent. As the referee raised Cody's hand in victory, Casey pushed his way onto the mats to congratulate his brother. Cody's parents were cheering loudly along with everyone else. They had not asked once how Casey had done. I thought it might have been because they were distracted by Cody's match, but afterwards they still did not ask about it and I did not tell them. Let it be a surprise, I thought. The awards were handed out shortly after Cody's final. Casey's Division came first and when his name was announced for second place, I watched him go up proudly to stand on the dais and get his red ribbon. There was a nice round of applause from the spectators from other teams that had seen his matches. Ruth turned to me in astonishment. "Coach, Casey got second place? Why didn't you tell us? I had no idea he was doing so well. That's wonderful." "Hey, the kid did pretty good, didn't he," Ray bragged. "He was terrific," I told him. "You should've seen his last two matches." I had not meant the statement to sound critical, but both parents looked a little defensive. "We would've liked to," Ruth said quickly, "But Cody's were going at the same time." Casey came back with his ribbon and showed it to his parents with great pride. When he brought it to me I knelt down in front of him. Cody's award ceremony was going on, but I paid no attention. Very slowly, I unzipped the jacket of Casey sweat suit and spread it open, exposing his singlet. Using the pin on the back of the ribbon, I carefully attached the bright red strip to the singlet over the boy's left chest. Then I smoothed the ribbon with my hand. "I'm so proud, Tiger," I whispered so only he could hear me. "So proud of you for winning second place. And so very, very proud that you asked me to be your special coach." My eyes were filling with tears and I had trouble controlling my voice. There was a big cheer and a lot of applause as Cody went up for his award. I could've cared less. I hugged Casey tightly and the boy wound his slender arms around me, hugging back. We all went to a steakhouse after the meet for a celebration. No one else besides Cody and Casey had gotten first or second place ribbons, but we had a few kids who had placed fourth and fifth, including one small boy from my instructional group, who was so thrilled with his ribbon he kept coming over to show it to me. "Are you gonna play baseball this summer?" I asked, admiring his ribbon for the third time. The small boy nodded eagerly. "I'm signin' up for coach pitch!" "That's what I like to hear," I told him smiling. "Get all the rest of your friends to sign up, too. The more the better. And listen..." I leaned down close to him to whisper, "Make sure you do real, real good down there in coach pitch. Then, when you're eleven, you come play for me!" "I will, Coach!" the boy whispered back. His eyes were shining with excitement as he went back to the table where his parents were eating. Most of the talk centered on Cody and his championship. The head coach sat with his parents and they put together a press release for our local paper. Casey remained next to his brother and from time to time I saw him glance at him admiringly. After we had all finished wrapping ourselves around some prime sirloin our group went out into the dark parking lot to face the long nighttime drive back home. I was about to get into my SUV when Casey and Ruth came up to me. "Coach, Casey wants to know if you'll let him ride home with you," Ruth said. "Cody asked one of his friends to go with us and we just don't have enough room in our truck for all the boys. Would you mind?" I smiled at my young wrestler and winked. "No problem. I'll be glad to have him. He's good company." Ruth gave me a relieved smile and Casey climbed into the passenger seat, sitting quietly as I got the SUV started. I took my place in our caravan as we headed for the Interstate. The drive home was a long one. I kept the radio off and talked to Casey the same way I had during the tournament, chatting about whatever came into my head. Mainly I talked about sports, but I recall telling him about other things as well -- places where I had traveled, people I had known. I made him laugh a few times at some funny stories, but the rest of the time Casey just listened. My SUV droned on quietly through the night and after awhile the boy slid over on the seat to lean against me. When I put my arm around his slender shoulders, he wiggled even closer. I felt him tremble a little. "Doin' okay?" I asked. "Uh-huh." I talked to him some more and told a story about the baseball team I had been on when I was his age. Casey lifted his head to look up at me, his wide dark eyes gleaming faintly in the light from the oncoming headlights. "Baseball's gonna like start soon, ain't it Coach?" "Yup." I nodded. "Wrestling's over now. Baseball comes next. The weather's already starting to change. I bet this snow we had is the last." I looked down at him. "You're playin' for me, aren't you, Tiger? You know I'm counting on you." Casey nodded. "Uh-huh." He was silent for a few moments, then he added with quiet pride, "I'm gonna be your centerfielder." "You sure are." I gave him a hug and felt the boy tremble again. "I wouldn't want anyone else." Casey's older brother, Cody, the shortstop of my championship team the previous year, had been a natural infielder - as well as a terrific hitter. Casey did not have his older brother's gifts. He could play well enough in an infield position, but he was better suited to the outfield where he could range freely, using his height and speed. He had learned to back up plays well and he was not afraid of fly balls, so I had used him in both left and right field as an 11-year-old. On my teams, the centerfielder functioned as the captain of the outfield and I nearly always put a veteran 12-year-old player in that position. "I want you to be the leader of my outfield this season, Tiger," I told the boy nestling against me. "And we'll have you do some pitching too, just like last year. Next week I'm gonna start my preseason pitching camp in my garage. You'll come, won't you?" Casey nodded. "Uh-huh." I squeezed his shoulders again. "It's gonna be a great season." Casey pulled his legs up onto the seat and rested his head on my lap. I patted him gently. The winter coat he was wearing was unbuttoned and I slipped my hand inside, feeling the boy's warm firm body beneath his shirt and undershirt. As I moved my palm on him, the clothes slid on his silky smooth skin. "Tell me how it's gonna be, Coach," Casey begged. I kept stroking gently, keeping my voice low and soft. "It's gonna be so good. This snow will be melting off when we start our pitching camp. You boys will get your boots all muddy walking to my apartment from school, but that won't matter 'cause we'll be in the garage, pitching into the big canvas backstop. I'll put your arms in shape, and you're gonna be so surprised to see how much better you are now that you're a year older. You're all gonna help me scout the kids who'll be trying out this year, and we'll have fun finding out who we can draft. Then we'll have our first practice, and it'll be so great to see the new kids and finding out what kind of a team we'll have." My palm kept moving on the boy, stroking the silky sheet of his hard tummy through his clothes. Casey wiggled and put a small hand on my thigh while I went on, my voice low and soft. "All that time, they'll be working on our league field, getting it ready for your games. It's there right now, Tiger, up there at home, sleeping under a covering of snow tonight, dreaming of the season that's coming. Soon the snow will melt off and that field will be there for you... and you'll be out there on that green grass, and it'll be the big game, and the crowd will be cheering... you'll hear the crack of the bat and see that ball going higher and higher into the air! And you'll be racing back for it... and you'll know, you'll just know, that everyone is saying, 'He'll never get to it!' But you'll know that you can! Because the sun's shining so brightly, the grass is so green, and there's nothing you can't do on a summer day like that when you're twelve years old, playing center field in the big game... and you leap up in front of the fence, going high into the air... as if you're floating into the sky... and you'll reach up with your glove and that ball will fall into it and you'll hear the crowd cheering and cheering and cheering..." With my hand inside the warmth of his coat I could feel the boy's chest rising and falling. He lay absolutely still on my lap as I caressed him very gently. He was fast asleep. He slept all the rest of the way home. It had been a big day for him. [ To Be Continued In Parts B thru I ] *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Hope you enjoyed it! This baseball series has a 'long' short story for every position. Look for a new chapter or two each month. Thanks for taking the time to read my story and if you'd like to comment, my e-mail address is: hunterjoe45@yahoo.com I will try to answer all serious mailings. My on-line access is very limited. Rants and ravings will not get consideration. To all you readers who enjoy these stories, please support Nifty with contributions and keep the Archive online. Check the Nifty home page for ways to make contributions. Without this Archive those of us who write for you will lose a wonderful resource to get our stories out. You can find links to all my other stories on Nifty under my name, Joe Hunter, listed under the J's (for Joe) in the Prolific Authors List. To get that list click the Authors tab at the top of the Nifty home page and then select 'Prolific Authors'. I hope you will read and enjoy! All the Best. Joe