Date: Mon, 12 Oct 2015 03:24:23 +0000 From: Douglas DD DD Subject: Rough Edges Chapter 14 Welcome back. In this chapter Larry Sanders can't help but think about the past as he prepares to coach the Mayfield Mustangs in the State A finals for the third time. His biggest thoughts are about Phil and how the relationship suddenly changed without either of them planning it. Please do not copy without my permission. Please not there is sex between minor boys. Be Safe. Keep Nifty alive and well—donate. Let me know your thoughts at thehakaanen@hotmail.com CHAPTER 14 CHAMPIONSHIP GAME The team was in uniform and ready to take the field. Long sleeved turtlenecks would not be needed—it was going to be a balmy 80 degrees by game time. Watching them dress had been a nice distraction. At the high school I often wished I had a direct view of the showers to get a full blown view of naked teen-hood rather than the glimpses I was afforded. As I mentioned before, I don't have the slightest desire to seduce any of my charges. But that doesn't mean I don't find them sexy to look at. Phil feels the same way, and one of our favorite sexual fantasies is for one of us to take the role of a player on the team and for the other to be, well, himself. That often led to some pretty wild and satisfying sex between the two of us. Coaching middle school had been much more serene sexually. While I found middle school boys to be extremely enjoyable to coach and to teach, I didn't find them particularly sexy—at least not in the dream-about-it, fantasize-about-it, or masturbate-about-it sense. I knew that middle school boys were very much into sex—after all I was quite sexually active at their age. But, their sexuality didn't appeal to me—not that I didn't enjoy seeing some of them naked in the showers, especially when I saw one with a hard-on. I still daydream about the time I saw Korey and Chandler humping in the shower, or about some other times when somebody popped wood. The two of us have never talked about what happened that afternoon, but it was never denied, either. The best thing about coaching middle school baseball was my not having to deal with the inertia of years' worth of bad habits. The sixth and seventh grade boys were usually eager to learn and execute proper fundamentals. By eighth grade they started thinking they knew more than the coaches, which called for more creative coaching. As varsity coach, Dean Ecklund, Chandler's father, generally dealt with the eighth graders. The results of Dean's coaching, as well as mine, showed when I took over the high school reins and emphasized the fundamentals of the game. Still, the players saw a lot of wrong stuff on television or were taught incorrectly by their summer league coaches. That is a big reason why having Phil coach the core of the varsity in summer league paid huge dividends. He started not because I picked him (I wasn't the varsity coach yet), but because that band of middle schoolers I keep talking about, the Go to State Team, "hired" him to coach them. Like I've said, they were an amazing, unique group of boys. Because the ballpark was being used for the Class B championship, the tournament committee laid out a grass field beyond the parking lot for warmups. We were assigned one half and the North Lake Orcas were assigned the other half. Coach Hart and a couple of eighth graders off of the middle school team had already taken our ball bags out to the field. The boys picked their own warmup partners and got to work with stretches before doing any throwing. The boys knew the routine. All I had to do was stand around and look important. I'd made out my lineup the evening before and submitted it to the tournament director when we arrived at the stadium. There really wasn't much to do now except worry. I cringed a little when I saw Darryl Douglas, the North Lake coach, sauntering over to our side of the field. He was a nice enough guy, but I had a pretty good feeling about what it was he wanted to discuss. He didn't disappoint. "Hi, Larry. Nice to be facing off against you guys again." "Hello, Darryl. We do seem to have a pretty good rivalry going." This would be the second time in three years we'd be meeting for the state title. "I'm hoping we at least get a base runner this time," Darryl laughed. Eric Simmons had thrown a perfect game at the Orcas in the title game two years ago, a game that will be talked about for years. "You did okay against us in April." We played the Orcas on their field in a non-league game. They would be our opponents in our annual spring break "Nooner" game next year. We found ourselves on the short end of a 6-3 score in the April game. I didn't throw Chandler against them, electing to save him for a league game that was a couple of days away. Raul had pitched well for the first five innings, but we had a bit of a breakdown by our bullpen in the sixth as three pitchers combined to give up four runs in that inning. "We didn't see your ace in that one." He gave me a knowing smile. I knew what was coming up next. "Too bad about your two kids," he said, referring to the suspensions of Raul and Zack. "Yeah, but as you know those things happen." "I know what it's like to play shorthanded." He apparently had less faith in the abilities of Nick and Jeffrey than I did. They were undoubtedly more talented and had better attitudes than the two suspended players. Their problem was experience and maturity, not talent. But, I said nothing. Yes, we were lacking a bit in depth, but I'd just as soon he thought we were hurting more than we actually were. "Here comes Lenny," Darryl said. He was referring to Lenny Madison, the tournament chairman, who was coming out with the plate umpire for the coin toss. I called Chandler and Korey over. We joined Darryl and two players from the Orcas. Everybody was introduced. North Lake had come from farther away so they got to call the flip. They called heads. Robbie Baker, who would be the plate umpire, flipped the coin and it landed tails. Scott always claimed that tails never fails, even though he was wrong half the time. "We'll take the hammer," Chandler informed the umpire, meaning we would be the home team. Not long after that we were informed that the B game was in the top of the seventh with the home team ahead 5-1. It was time to gather up our gear and trek through the parking lot to the ballpark. As soon as the B game was over and the field was cleared, the grounds crew would drag the infield and each team would be given ten minutes for a quick infield practice. We would have to wait around a bit, but we needed to be in the ballpark and ready when our turn came. I was able to send Chandler, Korey, and Phil ahead. Chandler had done what he could warming up on the empty field, but he needed his time in the bullpen throwing off of a mound to be completely ready to pitch. As I walked to the ballpark thoughts of Phil and his first time at my house popped into my head. Funny how Phil has been the theme of this trip to state. At my first two state finals my mind was totally on baseball. Is my wandering mind telling me I am getting complacent? I thought about yesterday's game and how from the time I set foot on the field until the last out of the game the only thing on my mind was baseball. Maybe complacent wasn't the right word. Satisfied might be a better word. I was satisfied with where the team is and where my program is, even after the incident of the night before. As long as that satisfaction didn't lead to overconfidence, I would be okay, is what I told myself. What happened after the altercation at the bus stop is still sharp in my mind all these years later. It all started with Phil taking his shirt off while Q and I took ours off in support. My mother accepting, Phil while at the same time letting me know that I had not done a good job of being responsible, made me realize in an offhand way that Phil had been accepted. I wonder what she would have thought had she known the real reason we had a surprise visitor. I remember the sexual innuendos in my bedroom. I can still remember getting incredibly excited as I watched Phil unbutton and unzip his jeans. Seeing the bulge in his white briefs had me fighting for breath I was so turned on. And when he started rubbing his balls, my knees were shaking, and I was sitting down at the time. I adjusted my cock in my jeans and was slow to let it go. Even through the layers of cloth, touching myself felt so incredibly good. When Phil's jeans came off I was so in lust with the boy who'd been tormenting me I thought I was going to have an orgasm on the spot. "He has a boner," I said to everyone in general. His briefs were bulging out to the point where his waistband was almost pulling away from his abdomen. Q and Jung and Perry had been telling him to take his underpants off and rub his aching balls directly. I heard a voice that sounded like mine say, "Take your undies off." "I will if somebody else takes his off," Phil replied. Phil closed his eyes as he rubbed his balls through his briefs. I looked at Q, Perry, and Jung, wondering which one of us would be brave enough to do what Phil asked. My thoughts came back to Earth as we entered Gesa Stadium. We were here for baseball, not for reminiscing. Truth be told, I was not okay being distracted. If one of my players was this distracted it would have gotten way down under my skin. It was time to tuck the past into a corner of my brain and put it into baseball mode. Maybe I was reacting to the suspensions, trying to take my mind away from the task at hand. I don't know if that was the case and I was not into self-analysis. I'd let my mind wander and I needed to be the best coach possible right now or I'd be cheating my players. Rich and I found seats next to George Bednarzyk, Jeffrey's dad. Really, he was mine too, since the day he first met me in the Mayfield town park when I was thirteen. I'd been sitting on a bench in the park drinking vodka out of a bottle that I'd expertly hidden in a paper bag. It wasn't my first time drinking in the park—I had this crazy idea that maybe I could pick up some man and get paid for sucking his cock. I'd had my eye on George. I swore he was ogling me during his jogs through the park. He wasn't, but I was certain he was. Since he wouldn't come on to me, I decided to come on to him. As he jogged along the path going past my bench, I stood up, staggered, mumbled something, and puked over his new running shoes. I was drunk out of my mind. It just so happened that George was a drunk, too. Only he had over 20 years of sobriety. He somehow got me to his house. His first words to me when I finally came to were simple and prophetic. "You never have to drink again." While I did drink a few more times after that, it wasn't nearly as much fun. Just after turning fourteen I drank myself into a coma and ended up in a hospital and then in rehab. I've been sober every day since then, which was over seven years ago. I love George Bednarzyk the way one loves a father. From eighth grade on I lived as part of his household after my father kicked me out of the house for coming out as gay. My father was a drunk, too, and started getting me drunk when I was ten. I hated my father for years, but he is sober today and we've made our amends and for the most part have buried our resentments. Dad works for the county road department and Coach Miller is his boss. One of the gifts dad got from sobriety is the ability to be promoted to be road foreman of one of the county road crews. That would never have happened when he was a practicing drunk. George is one of the top lawyers in the county. His wife is a gem of a woman, but then so is my real mom. It doesn't matter, I have two moms in my life whom I love very much. Jeffrey, his older son, has been like my little brother since he was seven. Everything he knows about sex he learned from me. I was a part of just about all of his sexual firsts. But there is a lot more than sex between the two of us. There is a deep love that is the equal of my love of Rich, who will be my husband once we graduate from college. My life would feel empty without either one. George, who we all called Mr. B, had brought his younger son, Sammy, along. Sammy was an eleven-year-old sixth grader. He was quiet, studious, thoughtful, and a heterosexual stud—at least in his mind. He'd already lost his virginity, both to females and to his brother Jeffrey. Jeffrey could be a wild boy—Hurricane Jeffrey was not a misnomer. It stood to reason that older brother would teach younger brother about sex, just as I had taught Jeffrey as my "younger brother". But, Sammy had also managed to manipulate Jeffrey into losing his cherry to a sixth grade girl who was a friend and sex mate of Sammy's. Okay, I've talked too much. I know you've heard about my helping get the Go to State Team started at Mayfield, how I was team captain as a senior, how I was an All-State player on our first State Championship team, and how I've done well as a baseball player and student at college. It's time for the game to start, and I am ready to watch the Mustangs win another state title. Chandler and Korey were the starting battery for us. Both of them were seniors and they were boyfriends. I think they've been best friends since they were in their cribs and have been boyfriends since they were in grade school. I've messed around with Korey's twin brothers, but never with either one of them. If I didn't have the world's greatest boyfriend, I wouldn't mind hopping into bed with either one or both—they were a pair of teen hunks. The only person I have sex with outside of Rich is Jeffrey, which is cool with Rich. He will play around a bit with Nicky if we're all together and I'll mess around with Sammy if he and Jeffrey insist. Except for those two, I'm not into younger guys. But like I've said, I've been into Jeffrey since he was a little second grader—or maybe it was the other way around; Jeffrey has been into me since I was an eighth grader. The first three innings were quick. All we managed was a walk by Toby and a base hit by Chandler. I didn't know a lot of the players on the team, so it was nice to see kids I knew leading the way. Chandler put down the first ten men he faced, striking out six of them, and some of us were beginning to wonder if he was going to duplicate Eric's perfect game in the championship game two years ago. That question was answered after the leadoff man struck out to open the top of the fourth. Their number two hitter then drew a full-count walk. "There goes the perfect game," Eric said. He, Noah, Mike the Donkey, and Ryan the Dawg were sitting behind us. Kevin and Kraig, Korey's twin brothers, were sitting behind them along with Hunter and Lars. Connor and Scott were in our row, sitting on the other side of Rich. "Does that make you happy or sad?" Mr. B asked Eric. "Good question. A bit of both, I guess, but I don't think anybody was expecting something like that again. Getting a win will be the thing to make us all happy." Eric was a great friend. Hell, he was a great human being. He moved to Mayfield as a sixth grader and was a grade behind me. I had a crush on him from the first moment I saw him. He was a fucking little cutie then, and he is a handsome young man now. Hell, I still have a crush on him. On Chandler's first pitch after the walk, the Orca's number three hitter got all of it and sent it over the right field wall. "And there goes the no-hitter, the shutout, and the tie," Mike observed. "That is very bad news for this Donkey." "And to the rest of us," Noah reminded him. "Oh, I wasn't forgetting you guys. It's just that Donkeys tend to take bad news hard." Then he brightened up and added, "But, they are always ready to watch a great comeback." The Orcas now had a 2-0 lead. When Chandler gave up a single to the next batter, Korey walked out to the mound to settle his pitcher down. I knew how those two operated; during a game they were pitcher and catcher, not boyfriends. "I can guarantee you Chandler is pissed," Kevin stated. "He told Korey he was going to throw a shutout, today." A four-pitch walk to the next hitter brought Coach Sanders out of the dugout. He and Coach Miller were another pair of heroes from my boyhood. They helped me through some tough times. Coach Sanders was the first person to flat out tell me I had a serious problem with alcohol. Of course, being the eighth grade stud that I was, I didn't listen. But, the seed had been planted. After Coach Sanders had his say, the game resumed. It took Chandler only two pitches to get out of the jam. The Orca hitter rapped a ground ball to Toby, who fed Stan at second. Stan made a perfect pivot, a pirouette worthy of any dancer, and the inning was over. Now it was time for the Mustangs to rally before the Orcas got it into their heads that they could actually win this thing. Chandler came up with two outs and doubled into the left-center gap on a 3-1 pitch. He wasn't letting his bad inning affect his turn at the plate, which said a lot right there. He got a fat pitch and nailed it. Korey was the next hitter. He took the first pitch for a strike on the inside corner. He fouled off the next pitch. The count was 0-2, the pitcher holding the hammer. I'm glad I never pitched. I'm glad because a pitcher can get his ass kicked on an 0-2 pitcher's count just like he can on a 3-1 hitter's count. I don't know where it was he wanted to throw his pitch, but it ended up going right down the pipe—at least until it met Korey's bat. After that all we could do was watch the ball arc over the left field fence to tie the score at two. We were all up yelling and screaming like banshees. Mayfield brought a lot of fans—four rooter buses worth. That didn't count those of us who came by car. We definitely had more and noisier fans than the rich boys from the private school. Baseball was once again the sport in Mayfield with the championship trophies to prove it. The sport had fallen on hard times until the efforts of the Go to State Team helped restore the program to its former glory. A group of middle school boys had accomplished what the adults no longer seemed to have the passion for. The game went into the fifth inning tied. With the first Orca batter it was obvious that Chandler had just shifted his game into a new gear. He was dealing ,and when the dust settled all three Orca batters ended up carrying their bats back to the dugout. Chandler had struck out the side on nine pitches. Doing that was a very rare feat, even in the Big Leagues. It was known as an immaculate inning. Chandler was right there with Eric when it came to rare pitching accomplishments in a state championship game. Coach Sanders had talked to me after breakfast. What he said was real simple. "Be yourself and be your best self." He'd heard me talking about being totally dominant and shutting out the North Lake Orcas just like Eric did. Well, maybe not just like him, since I didn't say I was going to toss a perfect game, but I was thinking it. So what Coach was telling me was to get over myself and my ego and just go out and pitch the best game I can pitch. It's what I like about Coach. When he talks to you he doesn't fill you full of bullshit. He just says a few words and you know exactly what the fuck he was talking about. I remembered what Coach had said while I was putting the first ten guys down, then came a walk. Now, I knew I wasn't going to match Eric's perfect game, because that was, like, a once in a lifetime thing. But I sure as fuck didn't want their first base runner to be because of a walk. I was pissed off. I was so pissed I decided to blow the next pitch right by the next batter. It didn't work. I wonder if that tater he slammed has come back down to Earth yet. My next pitch was right down the pipe, too, and was slapped hard for a single. I was hearing a lot of noise I didn't like from the Orca crowd. Korey came walking out to talk to me. I don't know why he thought I wanted to listen to him. That was my frame of mind. "Just pitch like you can," he said, sounding like a coach. He wasn't a coach, so he pissed me off. I don't want you to get the wrong idea. Korey and I love each other, and he rarely pisses me off. When he does it is almost always when he's catching me. What REALLY pisses me off is that he's always right, just like his brother Kevin says he was when he was a catcher. "Listen to the fucking catcher," Kevin used to tell me when I was a kid. He meant listen to my boyfriend when he came out to the mound. Usually, I did, but sometimes he just pissed me off—like right now, standing on the mound in the State Championship baseball game. "I am pitching like I can, they're hitting my best stuff." I was whining, and I knew I was whining. "Bullshit." The umpire came out and called on us to "play ball", so Korey walked back to home plate, leaving me still pissed. I decided to show him who was pitching like he could. The result was my overthrowing and not pitching at all like I could, which led to a four pitch walk. Of course that brought Coach Sanders out. We were the same height, so he could stand there on the mound and look me in the eye. "You've been doing this since you were ten years old. You should have it figured out by now." Now, I know he was talking about me pitching in tough spots in big games, but for some reason my mind was just warped enough that I substituted giving head for throwing pitches and had to stifle a laugh. I mean I'd been doing that since I was ten years old, too." Coach saw my smile and asked, "What do you find so funny?" "Nothing, Coach. I'm good now. I'm ready to pitch." Which was true. It was like my sudden dirty thought had cleared my mind. Coach looked at Korey, who nodded. Korey knows me better than anyone. He said later that he could see that I'd shifted from being a friggen basket case to being ready to pitch. Coach shrugged and headed back to the dugout. Like I said, Coach didn't always say a lot, and he seemed to know exactly when to say nothing. I loved that dude—what a great man. I put my hand on Korey's arm before he could run back to home plate. "Hey, bro, sorry about earlier." "Not a problem. Let's go kick some ass." Next batter hit a grounder, but Toby and Stan had my back, and a double play got us out of the inning. Those two at the keystone might as well be twin brothers the way they worked together. I swear at times they thought and worked together like twins. I mean I grew up with twin brothers, so I should know. In the bottom of the fourth we tied the game up on my home run. I might have had my sucky moment pitching that inning, but I was determined to make up for it with my bat. In the top of the fifth, I pitched like I dreamed I would be pitching. I struck out the side on nine pitches and felt totally in a groove. The Mustangs went down in order in the bottom of the fifth, and Chandler did the same to the Orcas in the top of the sixth. It was in the bottom of the sixth that things started to get a little weird. Even though he didn't have to, Coach Sanders did everything he could to get all of his roster some playing time at the State Tournament. A player might not get into both games, but he'd either bat or get some time in the field in at least one of them. Not every coach had that sense of fairness. Of course, that made Zack's snit even more bewildering since he was all but guaranteed some kind of playing time in the championship game. The high school baseball re-entry rule is a little complicated. I sure as hell don't understand a lot of it, but I know most of it. I'm not going to get into the rule here, but I will explain how it worked when two Mustang players got hurt in the bottom of the sixth. Coach was down to having to use one of his two remaining players: Jeff or Nick. The player he went with was no surprise, but it was a surprise how things worked out since Nick was now standing on third base with one out as the go-ahead run in the bottom of the sixth of the Class A State Championship game. Toby hit a slow roller to the Orca second baseman, who had come in for a play at the plate. No matter, Nick took off on contact. The second baseman had to hurry his throw, and while it got to the plate at about the same time that Nick slid into home, the throw was to the catcher's right, who caught the throw and turned to make the tag on the sliding runner. But the tag was too late and Nick scored with the go-ahead run. The Mustangs now led 3-2. We all screamed as Nick got up and brushed the dirt off of his uniform. Nobody screamed louder than his brother Noah. Coach Sanders had been forced to put Nick in as a pinch runner, but he did not have to make his next move. We were all stunned when we saw Jeffrey grab a bat and stride to the plate to bat for Dean. God, I love Coach Sanders. He was giving the freshman a shot at playing in the state championship game, even after telling him he probably wouldn't play. This is how he's coached since so many of us first played for him on the middle school JV team. "He's being pretty generous here," Rich said. "I thought he'd have Jeffrey pinch run or put in an inning on defense if he played him at all." "I think he's sending a message," Noah noted. We all looked at him to tell us what that message was. "He's telling Zack and anybody else in the program who is paying attention that if you avoid being an asshole, you're going to play at some time. Jeffrey never once complained about his status—he was just happy beyond belief to be suited up and on the bench as a player rather than as a bat boy." "Coach Sanders really does rock," I observed. "Yes, he does," Eric agreed. "He truly does rock." While Jeffrey hadn't played an inning of varsity ball, he was an excellent ballplayer. He was going to be one of the stars on the team by the time he was a junior and senior. He stood at the plate looking confident, but I was certain he was doing all he could to keep his knees from shaking. I think I was as nervous as my "little brother". "I bet he's scared shitless," Kraig said. I guess I wasn't the only one who thought the Hurricane was well beyond nervous. He took the first pitch for a strike down the middle. While the pitch looked fat, we all thought he was smart to let it go. It gave him a moment to get his bearings. He had been called to bat in a one-run game, a situation he was positive he would never be in. He needed time to get his mind focused. At least, he had the presence of mind not to go after the first pitch, a pitch he simply wasn't prepared to swing at. Jeffrey then took two pitches for balls, giving him a 2-1 count. He fouled off the next pitch, and then brought everybody to their feet with a hard single up the middle. We now had runners on first and second with still only one out and Justin coming to bat. Once again the a Mustang player brought the crowd to its feet with a roar as Justin drilled the first pitch over the left fielder's head, scoring Toby and Jeffrey and giving the Mustangs a 5-2 lead. The smile on the Hurricane's face when he crossed home plate gave me shivers. That was the score going into the top of the seventh. We all knew that the Orcas didn't stand a chance against Chandler, and we were right. Dean was re-entered into the game at second and Nick went out to play right field. I wished I could look into the dugout to watch my excited "little brother". But, I didn't have to. The entire bench and the coaches were up at the railing to cheer on their teammates in the field. Chandler was up to the task at hand, enticing a weak popup to Justin in left, a sharp grounder to short that Toby made a nice play on, and punctuated it by getting the last batter to swing at a 1-2 pitch in the dirt. Strike three, game over. The Mustangs were the Class A State Champions for the third time in four years. Mayfield was unquestionably one of the powerhouse baseball programs in the classification. Nobody could question my using Nick as a pinch runner. With back-to-back injuries I had no choice. But, I'm sure the good citizens of Mayfield thought I had lost my mind when I sent Jeffrey to the plate. My reasons seemed sound to me, and Phil and Coach Hart agreed with me when I told them what I wanted to do. Jeffrey had been told he wouldn't play unless the game became a one-sided affair. Circumstances saw his best friend—no, they were more than best friends—they were lovers, not only enter the game but score the go-ahead run. I know I'm supposed to be thinking solely of winning a championship, but that's never been how I operate. Oh, I don't go saying everybody on the team is equal and should play equally. That is not how games are won, and winning games is one of the many things a coach gets paid to do. I try my best to give everyone a chance to participate, however. The two wayward ballplayers, Raul and Zack, thought they weren't going to play today. Raul thought that because he'd pitched poorly, yesterday. While he certainly wasn't going to pitch today, he was a decent ballplayer and an important member of the team. I wasn't going to start him, but he would have gotten a nice chunk of playing time. Zack would have played too, especially since he hadn't played on Saturday. He'd been loafing through practice, as he did all too often. He would ease off just enough to make me think he was going all-out even though he wasn't. But it was apparent to me and the other coaches that he wasn't putting out everything he could, and we would call him on it. He would then give more effort for a while until he felt like easing up again. He never seemed to figure out that we were always on to him. Coach Hart, Phil, and I were all in agreement that if he couldn't go all-out before going to the state tournament then I shouldn't feel obligated to play him in Saturday's game. Should we win and play Sunday, he would play, but his time would be minimal. I explained that to him before we boarded the bus in Mayfield. I guess he heard only what he wanted to hear. I knew Zack was potential trouble. He'd been up-and-down as a JV player. He played more JV than varsity as a junior, which wasn't a good sign. I was going to cut him before his senior year, but Coach Fitz talked me into keeping him on. He said Zack's parents were casual friends and were worried about how he would close out his senior year. They had told him that playing baseball would be something to motivate him, even more than a diploma. It all sounded offbeat to me, but I acquiesced to Coach Fitz's request and kept him. Coach Fitz has already made his amends and apologized for even suggesting I keep him. "First time I've ever asked you to do something like that," he said last night. "It will also be the last. I've coached long enough to know when an AD should keep his nose out of a coach's business. Been an AD long enough to know that, too." That incident was behind us. But, I wanted to do two things in the bottom of the seventh. I wanted to reward Jeffrey for his attitude and how well he'd accepted his role, or his non-role depending on how you looked at it. I also wanted everyone, from the juniors to the sixth graders on the middle school JV team, to understand that when you wear a Mayfield baseball uniform and do what is expected of you, you had better be prepared to play. There were never any guarantees, but I always did what I could to get a player into a game. While Jeffrey was young and inexperienced, he was also a very good player. He probably would make the varsity next year as a sophomore and would play a lot. Sending him to the plate really wasn't as goofy as it looked. He knew what to do with a bat. It wasn't like I was sending a Little Leaguer up there. He might end up being overwhelmed by the senior on the mound, but it wouldn't be because he wasn't a talented kid with a good head on his shoulders. Besides, one doesn't get nicknamed "The Hurricane" by being a shrinking violet. When Jeffrey singled sharply up the middle, I felt a surge of happiness run through me. Not because he made me look good, but because he made us all look good. He went up to the plate with a plan and it paid off. I did find out later that the plan of laying off the first couple of pitches to allow him to gain some focus was suggested to him by Korey as he grabbed his bat off the rack. Always nice to have good senior leadership. Justin's double was icing on the cake. Given the groove Chandler was in, it was unlikely he would blow a one-run lead, but there was absolutely no way he would blow a three-run lead, and he didn't. I'd still like to know what he found so amusing on my trip to the mound in the fourth inning. Whatever it happened to be, it seemed to take a big burden off of the young man's shoulders. After that, he went out and pitched like the ace he was. The celebration in the locker room after the game was appropriately noisy. I asked Korey and Chandler if they wanted the clubhouse celebration to be for the team only. They asked that the alumni be allowed to enjoy the atmosphere, but nobody else. "They led the way when they were Mustangs," Chandler explained. "Without what they did we wouldn't be having this celebration." The alumni had flocked to us to offer congratulations. We made sure the word got out to them that they were welcome in the locker room. They added to the celebration, while keeping somewhat in the background, letting the players dominate the party. The alums just kept displaying the kind of mature and caring young men they were. I also think a few of them liked the idea of seeing naked young high school boys prancing to and from the showers. Jeffrey came up to me and hugged me, thanking me for putting him into the game. "You're the most awesomest coach," he gushed. This was not the time to correct the lad's grammar, but I did mention to the naked boy that it might be a good idea if he wore at least a towel when he gave his coach a hug. He giggled and walked back to his locker. I don't think the swaying of the Hurricane's shapely ass was accidental. It was all I could to do to battle my imminent erection. Phil broke away from the celebrants and stood next to me. "It's a pretty amazing feeling." "Yes, it is. It brings back memories of our own celebration. It's nice to know what those boys are feeling, since we've been there." Phil and I had state championship trophies at home going back to our own high school days. Phil and Coach Hart had brought in some of the JV players who made the trip on a rooter bus, or with parents. Along with Coach Fitzgerald's twelve- year-old son David, they started gathering up our equipment to take to the bus. Nick came up to me and told me he thought that was what he and Jeffrey were supposed to be doing. "You two were players today, and you get to celebrate like players." Nick gave me a wide grin. "I can't believe we both got in the game." "And, you both contributed." "Thanks, coach." Jeffrey and Nick weren't the only ones to thank me that day. Players and alums both expressed their gratitude. They were the youngest players to suit up today and reminded me that the program had a good future ahead of it. The players dressed and headed out to talk to their parents and fans and to board the bus. There had been kisses and hugs before they got to the locker room, but now they could meet at a more leisurely pace. As the noise died down, Coach Fitz and I completed a final inspection to make sure we left the clubhouse clean and orderly. I thought about Phil and me as I looked around the clubhouse. I thought about that day on my bed when Phil, who had become all but the sworn enemy of my friends and me, was laying supine on my bed, stripped down to his white briefs, rubbing his balls through the cotton. He lay there with his eyes closed, his hand slowly moving up to his waistband and then down inside of the briefs. I thought about me shaking with a surge of desire like I'd never experienced before, even in my most intimate moments with Q. And I thought about what I did as I watched the hand of my new friend snake down to where his ball sac was. Next: Building Friendship