Date: Fri, 7 Sep 2012 07:08:59 -0700 (PDT)
From: Joe Hunter <hunterjoe45@yahoo.com>
Subject: Baseball Diamond Tails - 7H

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

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Support Nifty!   Joe

____________________________

BASEBALL DIAMOND TAILS - 7H
(copyright 2012, Joe Hunter)

:::::::::::::::::::::
 Left Field:  Part H
:::::::::::::::::::::

The next day I picked up the JV Captain and his friend 2Bad at nine as I
had promised.  The two boys were outside, ready and waiting, dressed in
shorts and T-shirts similar to the ones I had bought for Andy at The Gap.

"Really appreciate you guys doing this," I said as they climbed in.  2Bad
slid over next to me in the middle and I patted his knee.  "We could've
picked you up at your house.  I didn't mean to make you walk over here this
morning."

"It's okay, Coach.  I slept over last night."

"Yeah, we're always at each other's houses," Cap explained.

I put the truck in gear.  "Pretty good friends, huh?"

The two boys laughed.  "Yeah, we sort of are," 2Bad said.

Driving across town I talked about Andy and my team.  "It'll mean a lot to
Andy for you guys to be there today.  Just remember that he's sort of had a
rough time.  Give him a lot of encouragement.  Don't say anything to him
that's negative.  He's more fragile than he looks."

"We won't, Coach," Cap assured me.

"He's got a friend named Lester," I went on, "a year older than Andy.  Nice
kid, but he's afraid of the ball.  He's been trying real hard lately and
he's starting to improve.  Maybe you can work with him a little.  I'll
point him out to you.  Be careful with him.  Whatever you do, don't make
any jokes about family stuff, or welfare.  I don't think his home life's
too good."

"Okay, Coach," both boys told me seriously.

Negotiating the Saturday morning traffic necessitated doing a lot of
shifting.  2Bad, sitting in the middle, opened his legs so I would have
room to move the gear lever.  The second time I rested my hand on the
inside of his knee, he slid a little closer to me on the seat.  I stroked
him gently, moving my elbow into his groin where it brushed against a
hardness bulging under his satin shorts.  I patted his knee, rubbing my
palm on the satiny inside surface of his thigh and 2Bad pressed against me.

"We both sort of wish you were our Coach at school," Cap told me.

"Yeah!"  2Bad agreed.  "We was talkin' about it last night!"

"Come on, guys!" I protested.  "You got Coach Ben!  He's really nice"

"He's the greatest," Cap said.  "But we like you, too.  Andy's super lucky
to play for you."

With a smile, I nodded.  "He knows that.  I'm lucky to be his coach."

2Bad stirred and I felt his leg tense beneath my hand.  Out of the corner
of my eye I saw he was holding his loose shirt to cover where his friend
Cap was reaching beneath it.  I rubbed firmly on the inside of his thigh
and felt him quiver.

We reached my practice field early and the two boys helped get the
equipment out.

"Watch," I told them.  "Andy will get here first."

I kept a lookout and when I spotted Andy's distant figure coming on his
bike I told the boys to hide behind the truck.  Watching my sturdy little
ballplayer ride toward me I tried to keep a straight face, but it was
impossible not to grin.  Andy looked so perfect in his team uniform,
wearing his cap, and with his glove dangling by the strap from his
handlebars.  My kid from left field!

I greeted him warmly, "Hi, champ!  Guess what?  Got a surprise for ya!"

Andy's look of excited curiosity turned to one of glee when his two friends
jumped out from behind my truck.

"All right!"  He shouted happily and ran over to the older boys who patted
and tickled him while he laughed with delight.

"They volunteered to be assistant coaches for the day," I explained, giving
Andy a hug of my own.

"Yeah, Coach told us you were playin' a tough team," Cap said, "So here we
are to help out!"

I was looking at Andy proudly.  His uniform jersey was spotless, there was
a crease in his baseball pants and he had on his new Nikes that had the
matching team colors.

"Hey," I said to the two older boys, "Doesn't he look great?"

"Yes!" they both agreed enthusiastically.

"I ironed the pants myself," Andy declared with pride.

"You're the best kid in the whole world, champ."  I patted his shoulder and
Andy looked up at me, his eyes shining.  Then Cap grabbed a ball and,
followed by Andy and 2Bad, ran onto the infield to start a three-way toss
while the rest of the team arrived.

That warm-up/psych up practice exceeded even my expectations.  The presence
of Andy's two older friends added tremendous novelty and fun to the drills
we did, in addition to making Andy even more of a star and celebrity than
he already was.  Cap and 2Bad made a point of telling everyone how good
Andy was and how Coach Ben was recruiting him and my little ballplayer
thrived on the attention like a wilted flower sprinkled with water.

My two temporary assistants encouraged all the other boys as well.  I
pointed out Andy's 14-year-old friend Lester and Cap spent time with him
while 2Bad worked with Benjy, Jimmy and some of the other boys who had
trouble hitting.  I could tell by the happy laughter that everyone was
having fun.

We did plenty of batting practice, with Cap and 2Bad pitching at the kind
of speeds our boys were going to see in the game that afternoon.  They
worked it as a team, taking turns on the mound while the other stayed
behind the plate wearing a catcher's mask, encouraging my young hitters.
It worked beautifully and I blessed my inspiration of inviting the boys to
help me.

The final game of Home Run Derby was a total blast.  I instructed my two
assistants to pitch hard and fast, but to make the game more fun for the
weaker batters I modified the rules a little.  First I declared, "Not one,
not two, but three prizes!  One for the longest hit, one for the most hits
of all, and another for the best hit by a boy who doesn't have a hit in a
game yet."  There was cheering at this and lots of grins.  "Also," I went
on, "any contact, even if it's a foul ball, will be considered a hit.  So
don't be afraid to swing those bats!"

This was directed at the stubborn problem of my timid hitters, who were
often so intimidated at the plate that they would be afraid even to swing.

The boys all lined up eagerly to be in the contest.  I appointed my black
centerfielder, RayBan, as my helper judging the longest hit and the rest of
the team got behind the backstop to judge balls and strikes.  I kept score
on my clipboard.

My plan worked perfectly.  As Cap and 2Bad burned in the fastballs, my
players came up swinging aggressively to make contact.  I counted every
'Ping' and 'Plonk' as a hit, and in a few cases I even declared that a boy
had made contact when he really had not just to keep the scores close.

To my delight, Andy tied with RayBan for longest fly ball, but the really
fun surprises were Lester getting the most hits and Benjy slamming a
respectable line drive to win for the boys who had not yet made an official
hit in a game.  Both were beaming with pride when I announced their names.
Cap, who had worked with Lester, slapped his palm saying, "Told you!" while
2Bad hugged Benjy's shoulders and then gave Jimmy a quick squeeze as well
because he had been runner up.  The two younger boys smiled happily.

"All you can eat at Dairy Queen after the game!"  I told the three winners.

By this time parents were arriving for the picnic, including the one I had
deputized to bring ice and soda.  It took some time to get set up so while
we waited the boys, joined by my two guest assistants, played Strike Out
the Coach.  This was, by far, the game my team loved the best and they
never tired of it.  Of course, none of them, not even the two high school
boys, had the stuff to strike me out, but I always let Andy win in the end.
After hitting a few towering shots off both Cap and 2Bad that had them
staring, I gestured for Andy to take the mound and then, without making it
obvious, I whiffed a few of his changeups and struck out with the entire
group of boys yelling and cheering.

"You're the best, Andy!"  I yelled, giving him a 'thumbs up' sign.  His two
older friends ran up to congratulate him followed by the rest of the team
and Andy's face glowed with pride.

We all enjoyed the picnic.  Zach's father, who had brought the soda and ice
for me, now produced the sack of Subway sandwiches I had ordered and I
handed them out to Andy, Cap, 2Bad and Lester whose family had neither come
nor provided him with anything.  All four boys sat near me while we ate,
with Andy leaning close to my side. He said very little, content to listen
as we talked, but I could tell he was very happy.

After everyone finished, players and parents began walking, or bumping in
cars, along the rough dirt track that led to the league field on the far
side where the morning game was in its final innings.  The four boys and I
packed up the equipment, put the bags with Andy's bike in my truck, and I
left a couple of team fathers as a volunteer cleanup crew to take care of
our picnic remains.  With the boys sitting on the equipment bags in the
back I drove the truck slowly over the deep ruts made by the airport
maintenance crews working on the approach lights.

At the league field Andy and his friends jumped out to watch the last part
of the morning game while I parked behind the snack trailer.  I put Andy's
bike in the rack by the announcer's stand, made sure it was locked, and
then took the equipment bags over to the first base dugout.

The morning game ended in a heart stopping final inning with the last out
made while the bases were loaded.  My players had fun cheering for their
friends on both sides.  When it was over, I helped the coach in the first
base dugout pack his equipment and then moved our stuff in.

Having two eager assistants made team warm-up a lot easier for me.  Cap
took the outfielders and hit fungos to them while 2Bad supplied grounders
to the infield.  Having the two high school boys coaching had my kids all
wound up and I saw the other team watching curiously from their third-base
dugout.  When the umpire told us our time was up, my infielders did a
snappy around-the-horn drill I'd been trying to get them to do for weeks.
I smiled delightedly and slapped their palms as they came off the field.

"Lookin' good!"  I yelled.

The game that followed started very differently from the one we had played
at the beginning of the season.  No fire-balling pitcher for one thing.
Because the other team was locked in a close race for the League
Championship, they were saving all their good pitching for games the
following week, including the overwhelming 14-year-old who looked and threw
like a 17-year-old.

The young pitcher they put on the mound against my lineup was still better
than anyone I had, but he threw no harder than other boys my players had
seen, and they had just come from a practice with two high school boys who
threw even faster.  My kids came to the plate with confidence, and they
made contact.  Most of them still could not get the ball out of the
infield, but we created a lot of excitement.  Between occasional hits and a
few errors by the other team we got base runners and scoring opportunities.

When our side was at bat, I took the coaching box at third base, with Cap
and 2Bad alternating as first base coach and bench coach.  I told them
before the game to be as aggressive as possible with the base runners.
"This team can kill us whenever they want to with their pitching, so go
ahead and take chances.  Let the kids run.  Try stealing on every pitch if
you want to!  What the hell, stir things up!  The other team is capable of
making mistakes.  They did the last time we played them.  Who knows what
might happen!"

This strategy worked beautifully.  In the very first inning my excited
hitters swung the bats with abandon, got on base, and then stole more
bases!  As the stunned players on the other side were still trying to
adjust, Andy, my little champion, came up and ripped a line drive into the
right-field corner that scored two runs.  He scampered to second, stole
third on the second pitch to the next hitter and was grinning like an imp
when he bounced up after a perfect slide to slap my palm.  I had never seen
him so excited before.

"I'm gonna score, Coach!" he whispered, his dark eyes shining.

"Go for it, Champ!"  I whispered back.

Andy did exactly that.  He edged his way warily down the base path taking a
huge lead and then, as soon as the catcher started his throw back to the
pitcher, he shot away toward home plate.  The surprised pitcher never even
caught the ball.  It sailed past him and bounced in the infield.  By the
time the second baseman gathered it up Andy was at home plate.  Our stands
went wild and his teammates all poured out of the dugout to congratulate
him.  I saw Cap give Andy a big hug and the two boys went into the dugout
where they sat together with Andy's friends Benjy and Lester, talking
excitedly.

We finished that first inning with a three-run lead, almost got a fourth
before they put us out and the other team went to their dugout in shock.

What followed was something seen frequently in sports, a powerful team
looking ahead to bigger contests getting nearly upset by the weak team they
play first.  We almost stole that game.  The other club never recovered
from the shock of that first inning and, at the end, they went into panic
mode.

It helped that my boys did so well on defense, always their strongest
point, and they never looked better than they did in that game.  Andy led
the way, making catch after catch in left field, including an over the
shoulder thriller that almost took him into the fence again and brought the
crowd to its feet cheering.

"Man!  He is a good little player," Cap murmured, standing next to me in
the dugout.  2Bad nodded in agreement.

"He's the greatest," I told them proudly.

2Bad looked at me.  "You really like him a lot, don't you."

"More than you could ever believe," I whispered.

The boy leaned against me, brushing his head on my shoulder.  "Andy's
lucky."

In the fourth inning, Andy made a play on a line drive to the corner that
saved at least two runs.  He came trotting in from the field looking proud
and happy, got congratulations from me and then went to Cap who gave him
another quick hug.  That inning he came to bat and made another hit,
driving the ball up the middle for a single.  Then he stole second base on
a very close play.  He was stranded out there and did not score, but I
don't think he even cared.  He was enjoying himself too much.  I patted him
again as he headed out to the field, telling him, "You're playing great,
Champ."

We actually kept a lead in that game until the third inning when the other
team finally rallied to go ahead by a run. Even after that the score stayed
surprisingly close.  They were only up by two runs as we came up for our
last at bat in the top of the final inning.  They were not playing well,
they knew it, and several times during the game I had heard their coach
yelling at them in the dugout.

"Don't let up on these guys," I told my excited players.  "You've got them
scared to death.  Swing those bats and sock it to 'em!"

Cap and 2Bad clapped their hands, got the boys cheering, and they were all
yelling like wild Indians as I trotted across the infield to the third-base
coaching box.

I won't ever forget that inning.  I have it recorded in my scorebook from
that season and I still like to get it out once in a while on cold winter
evenings for a replay in my mind.  The writing in that worn book is faded
now, but my memory of that wonderful time is still fresh.

The other team was on its third pitcher.  They had still not used any of
their best guys who were being saved for the next week.  The youngster
starting that final inning was one of their 13-year-olds, a solid
rangy-looking young boy who could throw fairly hard.  But he was nervous
and it was obvious his coach had put a lot of pressure on him.  All he
wanted to do was get three outs and go home.

My first batter was slender Benjy, Andy's school buddy, and as he stepped
into the batter's box I heard Andy shout something from the dugout.  Cap
was coaching at first base, clapping his hands, shouting too.  Then the
entire dugout began to cheer and stomp their feet.  2Bad, acting as bench
coach, had all the boys up yelling like crazy.

Benjy dug in confidently, still all fired up by his big win in Home Run
Derby earlier.  He worked the count to 3-1 and then stroked a nice little
hit through the right side.  It was his first real hit of the season - all
his other times on base had been on walks or errors - and he was grinning
wildly as he ran across the bag at first base.  He slapped palms with Cap
and looked across the diamond at me to be sure I had noticed, wiggling with
happiness when I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

The following batter was Lester, with Andy kneeling in the on deck circle
ready to go next and calling encouragement.  Lester had played well all
day.  Winning the home run Derby prize and working with the two older boys
had inspired him and now, from the way he stepped in at the plate, I could
tell he was a lot more confident than usual.  "Give it a ride, Tiger!"  I
yelled, clapping my hands.

That is just what he tried to do, too.  The 13-year-old kid on the mound
burned one in and my 14-year-old that no one had wanted turned on it,
belting a line drive right past the startled pitcher's head into the
outfield.

"Oh yeah!"  I shouted, pumping a fist.  "Way to go!"

The centerfielder made a good play on the ball, but we now had runners on
first and second with nobody out and our dugout was going crazy.  Even the
parents in the stands were beginning to stamp their feet.

Over at first base Cap was hugging Lester, patting his back.  Both boys
looked across to me grinning and I grinned back, waving to them.  Then I
looked at Benjy at second.  "Stay sharp, now!" I called.  "There are no
outs."  He nodded back excitedly.

Andy was the next batter.  Noisy cheers greeted him as he came to the
plate.  Our dugout chanting and stomping.  My sturdy little ballplayer, the
shortest boy on the field, looked awfully small and vulnerable as he took
his stance.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  For all his small size, what
courage my boy had!  He was the heart and soul of his team.  As I listened
to them cheering for him I thought, 'Get a hit, Andy.  Get one for me!'

It was a terrific at-bat.  Andy had a small strike zone and the young
pitcher, scared of walking him, was trying to put his throws over the
plate.  His first two deliveries were very close, but Andy let them go past
and the umpire called them balls.

"Good eye, Champ!"  I yelled, clapping my hands.  "Good eye!"

"Make it be there, Andy!" I heard Cap yelling from first base.

The pitcher fired a couple of nice throws low in the strike zone and Andy
fouled them off, sending the first high up and behind the announcer's
stand.  The band of small boys that fought over foul balls to bring them to
the snack bar for free sodas raced after it.  The second foul went deep,
way behind the bleachers on the left side.  My heart beat fast in
excitement as I watched it.  I had never seen Andy hit a ball so far.  I
turned back.  Andy had been watching too and now his eyes met mine.  I
nodded.  Slowly, deliberately, I gave him the sign to 'hit away' and then
pumped my fist.  Andy's face was expressionless.  He gave me a tiny nod in
return and stepped in.

At that moment, somehow, I knew.  "It's going to be the next pitch," I
whispered to myself.  "This one.  Right here."

I did not crouch over as I usually did in the coaching box, but stood tall
and proud instead, waiting.  The youngster on the mound seemed to take
forever.  Andy stood in, watching, his Louisville Slugger, the bat I had
bought him, poised above his shoulder.

At last the pitcher delivered.  Andy's small compact body un-coiled like a
spring as he brought his bat through the ball.

There was a tremendously loud, "Thwang!"

All the power weeks of work had given him was in that swing; all the pride
and determination that dwelt in that little frame.  And perhaps all the
affection that I knew he kept in his heart for me.  It was like a picture
in some book.  Andy's head stayed down, his arms were fully extended and he
finished in perfect balance, sturdy legs wide apart and his bat all the way
behind his body in one hand.  As he lifted his head, watching the flight of
the ball, every person in both dugouts and the stands came to their feet.

It was not a towering shot.  It only went medium-high.  The centerfielder
even started back, thinking he had a chance at it.  But it was way too
long.

"Oh, man!"  I yelled and threw my clipboard in the air.  The pages of the
scorebook fluttered, and the creases and folds they got when the clipboard
fell back to the ground are still visible.

"Yeeeeeeooooowwww!

Andy's home run fell well beyond the center field fence.  It bounced off
the windshield of a car parked there, splintering the glass and then spun
off into the weeds.  A horde of children who had been leaning on the fence
out there, watching the game, went chasing after it as the burglar alarm in
the car with the broken windshield began whooping.  Our team dugout went
absolutely nuts.

Wearing his special little smile, Andy tossed his bat and began trotting up
the base line.  He slapped Cap's palm as he rounded first.  Ahead of him,
Benjy and then Lester touched third and headed to the plate to score.  They
slapped my palm grinning delightedly as they went past, and then came Andy.
I was bursting with pride.  It had to have been showing in my eyes as I
held out both my hands for Andy to touch with his as he tagged.

"Way to go, son," I told him, my voice nearly choking.

Andy gave me a look filled with love and then headed for home plate and the
reception that awaited him.  Everyone in the bleachers was standing,
applauding, and all his teammates were there along with both high school
boys.  Andy was mobbed as he came across the plate and taken in triumph to
the dugout where he got a long hug from his friend Cap.

I ran to the fence by the left-field side and handed two five-dollar bills
to one of the small boys hanging out there.  "Go get that home run ball for
me!" I told him.  "Split the ten bucks with whoever has it."

When I came back to the coaching box the third baseman, the same boy I had
tried to intercede for with his coach in our previous game, looked at me
and said, "I'm glad Andy got that, Coach.  He's a great kid."

I smiled and patted his shoulder.  "I think he's great, too.  I hope you'll
tell him how much you like him, yourself.  I know he'd appreciate it."

The boy nodded.  "I will."  He kept looking at me, hesitating, and then
added, "I think you're the best, too, Coach.  Andy's real lucky.  I'd give
anything to be on your team."

"That's...." It took me by surprise, and for an instant all I could do was
stare.  Then I stroked his shoulder again.  "That's about the nicest
compliment I've ever had.  I won't forget it.  I wish you were on our team.
Remember, you can come see me anytime.  I'll always be glad to help you
with anything."

He nodded.  "I'll remember, Coach."

With all the shouting and excitement dying down I began to pay attention to
what was happening on the field.  At first, I thought the other coach was
going to have a heart attack.  We were now leading by one run and I suppose
the specter of losing to our team sent him over the edge.  Stalking out
onto the field, he began screaming at his pitcher in a way that made me
embarrassed for him.  Then he yanked the kid, banished him to the dugout
and to my vast amusement sent in his ace, the big kid we had faced in our
first game against them.

This move was a humiliating admission of defeat for that coach.  In order
to protect young pitchers' arms our league imposed strict limits on the
number of innings a boy could pitch in any one-week period.  Under those
rules, if a boy threw only one pitch it still constituted an inning
pitched.  Bringing in his ace to close us out was going to cost that coach
an inning of his best pitching at time when they needed every bit for games
that would determine a championship.  It was a huge concession to how well
we were playing.

As I watched the big ace throw warm-up pitches there was a tug on my arm.
A little boy was standing next to me holding up a baseball.  "Thanks, son,"
I told him, accepting the ball and giving him a pat.  "Did you get your
share of the reward?"

He nodded and grinned.

"You play baseball?"  I asked.

This brought another eager nod.  "T-ball next year!"

"That's the way," I said.  "I bet you'll be good!"

The kid looked up at me, eyes gleaming.  "I wanna be on your team!"

"You keep playing," I told him, "I'll watch for you.  I promise."

"Okay."  He stared at me again, nodded and then scampered off, but at the
gate in the fence he suddenly turned back and yelled, "My name's Skipper!"

I waved.  "I'll be looking for you, Skipper."

The third baseman, who had been listening, smiled and I said, "I'll be
looking for you, too.  Don't forget."

"I won't, Coach," he promised.

The big ace was still doing warm-up so I ran over to our dugout and gave
the ball to Andy.  "Hang on to that, Champ," I told him.  "We have to write
on it and put it with your trophies.  Man, what a shot!  That car's burglar
alarm is still going!"

Andy grinned up at me, eyes glowing just as Skipper's had.  "Thanks,
Coach."

Getting down on one knee and talking rapidly I explained the significance
of the pitching change to my excited team.  "More than anything else, they
wanted to save this guy for their game next Tuesday," I told them, glancing
from face to face.  "Now you got 'em so scared they have to use him!
You've beaten them!  They're admitting that without this guy they can't
win!  And even with him - who knows?  This kid isn't Superman!  He can be
hit.  Go up there and swing!  Don't worry about making an out.  Who cares?
Just by making 'em use this guy you've already won!  Get in there, make
contact with the ball - and let's see what happens!  Remember, good things
happen when you put the bat on the ball!"

I held out a fist and the boys all crowded in to touch it with theirs.

"We heard about this kid," Cap told me as I got ready to run back to my
coaching box.

"Yeah," said 2Bad.  "He's good, but he ain't all that great.  There's
others around as good.  He's just big for his age!"

"He can be hit," Cap assured me.

"Encourage the kids to swing the bats," I urged.  "Don't let 'em get
scared."

"We won't, Coach," 2Bad assured me.

After the excitement of the first part of that inning, the rest was kind of
an anticlimax - but it was still fun.  We made that big pitcher work hard
to get three outs on us and the pressure of the situation must have
affected him because he was not nearly so overwhelming as he had been the
first time we had seen him.  My boys made plenty of contact, mostly foul
balls, but with a few good raps mixed in so we put two more men on base,
almost scoring another run.  Only a spectacular play saved them.  When
Chris scorched a line drive up the base line my friend the third baseman
laid out and caught it, turning what would have been at least a run scoring
double into the third out.

"Beautiful play!"  I told the boy with a rueful grin.

"Thanks, Coach."  He gave me a little smile that was a lot like Andy's,
hesitated for a moment looking up at me, and then turned and went to his
dugout.  I hustled across the field to slap the palms of my players coming
out onto the field.

"Show me that defense now!"  I told them.  "You can do it!"

I went over to my pitcher, Zach and put an arm around him.  He was my
second best 14-year-old and had already been pitching for two innings.
"You're throwing really well today.  Just keep puttin' 'em in there.  Don't
try to be fancy.  Challenge these guys.  If they get hits, they get hits.
But try not to issue free passes.  Just throw your good hard stuff and
challenge 'em."

"Right, Coach!"  Zach smiled up at me.  "Man, we're doin' good arn't we!"

"Better believe it," I told him with a grin.

That other team did come back on us, but we made it tough for them and they
did not look very good doing it.  They were in a panic that they might
lose, their batters over swinging and waving at bad pitches.  If I had
known the game would end that way I would have saved Andy to throw against
them.  It was a made to order situation for his slower speed.  But I had
already used Andy in the third inning and could not switch him in again.

Once again it was my friend the third baseman who saved them.  He was the
only batter to keep his head and had an excellent at-bat, fouling off
pitches until he got one to hit.  Because he was a solid, very well built
boy with a beautiful swing he stroked a triple to the right-field fence and
then scored the tying run on a sacrifice fly that Andy caught in left
field.  That gave us two outs and I thought the game might go for extra
innings, but the other team had one last gasp left.

My tiring pitcher walked a batter, losing him on a very close pitch that I
thought was a strike.  "That's okay," I called to him.  "You're looking
good.  Get the next one!"

We had a chance on that next batter.  He hit a ground ball to the left side
of the infield that Chris, my game young shortstop, just missed on a diving
try.  The ball shot through into the outfield but Andy was right there as
always to scoop up the ball and hold the runners.

Then, with boys on first and second, the ace pitcher for the other team
came to bat.  He was twice the size of anyone on my team, but even so he
still almost failed to get the job done.  Zach threw in hard, just as I had
told him to, challenging the hitter, and the big kid, who looked as if he
should get a home run at every at-bat, took a nervous swing, stroking the
ball into the left-center gap.  Both Andy and RayBan dashed for it.

If the ball had been a little closer to Andy and he had gotten it, the game
might have ended differently.  But it ricocheted off the fence toward
RayBan.  He picked it up and, instead of throwing a shot directly to home
plate as Andy would have been able to do, he threw to Chris, who was acting
as cut off man.

We still almost made the play.  The other team's runner on second had
started at the crack of the bat and his coach waved him around third,
sending him home.  Chris took the incoming throw and made an excellent
relay to Doug, our catcher.  There was a play at the plate with the runner
sliding in.  It was close.  I think it could have gone either way.  But
after a dramatic pause the umpire yelled, "Safe!"

The other team had pulled it out.

A cheer went up from their stands and the other team celebrated, but it was
a halfhearted celebration.  It had not really been a victory for them.  To
my intense satisfaction my boys did not seem downcast at all.  They had
never really expected to win and they all knew they had played well.  My
two temporary assistants greeted the players coming off the field and had
nice words for each one.  The very first thing I did was to thank Andy,
RayBan, Chris and Doug for the play they had tried to make at the end.

"Great job," I told them when they were together in front of me.  "A close
play like that could go either way.  You did everything you could possibly
do."

Andy held a fist for the others to touch and they all looked very pleased
with themselves.

My whole team, players and coaches, lined up for the handshake.  "You guys
did great!"  I told them.  "You got nothin' to be ashamed of.  Hold those
heads up!"

They did exactly as I told them and I noticed that the other team treated
them with respect.  I shook hands with everyone on the other team, gave a
nice word to all of them and then looked around for the other coach, but he
had not come out.  The last person I shook with was the third baseman.  I
regarded the sturdy sandy haired boy with a friendly smile.  "What a
beautiful clutch hit in that last inning," I told him fondly.  "You're such
a gutsy player.  I know your coach must be proud of you!"

The boy looked at me a little sadly.  "He never says so."

"Then he's crazy."  I patted him on the shoulder.  "That's the second or
third time I've seen you save your team.  You know, I think you and Andy
are a lot alike.  You're both full of heart and courage.  You're champions.
You're the kind of boys every coach dreams of having on his team."

Giving him another little tap on the shoulder I asked, "Are you doing
anything next Saturday?"

He shook his head.

"I'm taking Andy and some other kids to the beach.  Why not come with us?"

The boy's face lit up.  "Sure, Coach!  Thanks!"

I nodded.  "Fix it up with your parents and call me tomorrow.  We'll work
the times out.  Don't say anything to Andy, okay?  I want to be a surprise.
And keep an eye on him in school for me, will you?  Be friends with him.
He could use some."

"I will, Coach," the third baseman promised.  "And I'll call you."

"Good," I gave him my number and then went back across the field to gather
my boys in the dugout.

"Guess I don't have to tell you guys how proud I am," I told them.  "You
know it.  Every one of you did great today.  I didn't want you leaving
until you heard me say that!  Plus we got a ceremony to do!  Come over
here, son!"  I drew Andy close to me.  As always he was keeping his face
expressionless but I knew his little signs well enough to see how
tremendously proud he was.

"Have you got your ball?"

Eyes shining, he looked up and handed me his home run ball.

"Today was very special," I told him, pulling the felt tip pen out of my
notebook.  Carefully I wrote the date, the teams and 'First Home Run of the
season, three RBIs' on the ball, signed my name and handed ball and pen to
RayBan.  "Sign it and pass it on," I told him.  "Everyone sign it!"  Then I
hugged Andy's shoulders.  "You've been an inspiration to this team at every
practice and every game.  Congratulations, son.  You're just the greatest."

"A cheer for Andy!" Cap yelled and the dugout erupted in noise.  Cap and
2Bad pummeled Andy's back as the whole team crowded around my little
leftfielder, patting him and shaking his hand.

After everyone signed the home run ball I announced, "Home Run Derby
winners to Dairy Queen!  But I bet they'd like some company!  Let's all
go!"

The boys cheered and there was a rush out of the dugout.

Andy did not go dashing off with the rest, but remained with the two high
school boys to help clean up and pack the equipment.  I noticed that he
stayed very close to me, sometimes brushing his hand on mine, glancing up
with a soft expression in his wide dark eyes.  He was smiling his little
smile and I smiled back at him, giving him a pat.

Andy accompanied me while I went around closing up the field.  Then we went
to my truck, which was mobbed because every boy wanted to ride with me.
There was considerable pushing and shoving for seats in the back where most
of the room was already taken up by the equipment bags and Andy's bike.  I
sorted it out by insisting that RayBan, Benjy, and Lester ride with us
since they were winners along with Andy of Home Run Derby prizes and then I
let them choose who else could go in the back with them.

Cap and 2Bad got in the front with me, Cap in the middle this time, leaning
against me, and 2Bad riding shotgun.

"Have we got everybody?"  I yelled out the window.

There was a chorus of "Yeah!" and off we went.

The Dairy Queen was only a few blocks down the road so the parents and team
members followed my truck there in a caravan.  We invaded the place, taking
it over and it took quite a while for the two women working there to catch
up with all our orders.  I made sure Cap, 2Bad and the Home Run Derby
winners got taken care of first, and then there was also another surprise
order I had to put in.  As I was waiting for Andy and Lester to decide what
they wanted I felt a little tug on my arm.  Looking down I found a small
boy peering up at me, holding some money.

"Tell them what I want, Coach," he pleaded.  "I wanna' chocolate cone with
sprinkles."

"Skipper!"  I exclaimed.  "What are you doing here?"

Andy and Lester both looked over.  "He got in back with us, Coach," Lester
said.  "I thought he was someone's brother."

I laughed and picked up the little boy.  "Nope.  He's a stowaway.  That's
what he is.  OK, Tiger," I tickled Skipper and he giggled, "Since you're
here, a chocolate cone with sprinkles you shall have.  You want a tiny one,
a big one, or great big one?"

Skipper grinned and wiggled happily.  "A great big one!"

I made sure the boy's order was put in with the others and told him, "Put
your money away and save it.  You're official team mascot today.  I'll
treat you.  How would you like to meet the kid whose home run ball you got?
Andy, meet Skipper.  He saved your home run ball for you."

The little boy shook Andy's hand shyly and then Andy took the ball out so
Skipper could admire the writing we had put on it.  "See?"  Andy showed
him.  "My Coach wrote this on it for me."

Skipper nodded and pointed at me.  "He's your Coach, ain't he."

"Yup."  Andy said.

"He's nice."

Lester bent over and whispered something to the little boy that made
Skipper's eyes widen.  He looked at me in awe.

"Come on guys," I said.  I got all my boys plus Cap and 2Bad together at
one table.  Andy made sure he was sitting right next to me.

"The deal is all-you-can-eat," I told them smiling.  "So when you finish
the first round you can have more if you want.  Just don't make yourselves
sick."

The boys grinned at each other.  "I know I can eat more than one round,
Coach," lanky RayBan told me.  He rubbed his hands together happily.  "Man,
this is gonna be good!  I'm gonna try all three kinds of Sundays."

The Dairy Queen party turned out to be an unequaled success.  Everyone had
fun.  The boys kept running back and forth between the tables trying each
other's treats and talking excitedly about the game.  Andy's incredible
home run got replayed several times and went farther, bouncing off more
windshields with each re-telling.  The Home Run Derby winners and the high
school boys went back for seconds and then both Andy and RayBan went back
for a third round.

"Come on, Benjy," I teased.  "Don't you want thirds?"  But the slender boy
just grinned, patting his tummy and shaking his head.

"You guys won't be able to eat for a week!"  I told my two outfielders.
Andy gave me his special smile.

Little Skipper had a marvelous time.  He managed to eat a huge ice cream
cone without getting too much of it on himself and then sat drinking in all
the baseball talk.  Cap and 2Bad told some good stories about their games
that we all listened to with interest.

"I'm really glad you guys came today," I told them.  "Andy and the whole
team loved it.  I know you sure helped me a lot."

"Heck, Coach," Cap said.  "We had fun.  It was great."

When everyone was finished and it was time to go home I gave RayBan back to
his mother.  "Nice job today, slugger," I told him.  "Now that I know you
and Andy can eat so much I'm gonna be careful about letting you win at Home
Run Derby again!"

His mama, a heavy black woman laughed and said, "Be glad you don't have to
feed him all the time, Coach.  This boy eats me out of house and home."

I put Benjy, Skipper, Lester, and 2Bad in the back of my truck and told the
older ones, "Keep a close eye on the little guy.  Don't let him jump
around."

"Don't worry, Coach."  Lester pulled Skipper onto his lap, put his arms
around him and the little boy snuggled back happily.

Across from them, legs curled around the equipment bags and Andy's bike,
2Bad and Benjy leaned together, the older boy with an arm around Benjy's
waist.  "We'll be OK," 2Bad assured me.

Andy slid in beside me up front with Cap taking the window seat.

"Did you get enough to eat, Champ?"  I asked, patting Andy's firm round
thigh.  He nodded and gave me his little smile.

Our first job was to get Skipper home and on the way back to the field I
yelled, "Anyone know where the kid lives?"

"Go over to our practice field, Coach," Lester called.  "It's somewhere
close to there."

I turned down a narrow road behind the fire station and drove to our
regular practice field where I parked and got out.

"Think you can make it home from here?"  I asked, lifting Skipper out of
the truck bed.

He nodded and looked around.  "Is this where you practice?"

"Yup.  Every weekday afternoon.  If you come on Monday I bet Andy and his
friends would let you swing the bat a little."

The little boy beamed up at me.  "Someday I'm gonna' be on your team!"

"I'll be looking for you, Skipper," I promised.

The youngster scampered off and I told Lester, "Next stop is your house.
You'll have to navigate for me."

I had never been to where this boy lived.  Lester called directions through
the open back window and after turning south on the airport road he guided
me into a maze of side streets.  At last we pulled up in front of a
dilapidated cinderblock house in a raunchy neighborhood of weedy, unmowed
yards littered with junked cars. Staring around I thought what a shame it
was for a nice kid like Lester to be stuck in such a dump.  I was a young
dumb coach then, and had not yet learned that nice kids and good players
were where you found them.

"Before you get out," I said, "I want to ask you guys something."

The three boys in back crowded around the sliding rear window so they could
hear me.

I grinned down at Andy sitting next to me.  "Andy doesn't know it yet, but
next Saturday I'm taking him to the beach and the Water Park."

"Cool!" Benjy exclaimed, and Andy looked up eagerly.  "For real?"

"For real.  Now what I was hoping," I said, looking at the others, "was for
you guys to sort of go along with us to keep Andy company.  How about it?"

The boys looked at each other gleefully.  "Yeah!"

"Good.  I was kind of expecting you'd say yes.  We'll be gone all day.
Probably stay late at the water park... so let your parents know."  I
smiled at Lester and Benjy.  "Don't tell the other kids on the team.  I
don't want anyone feeling left out."

"Okay, Coach," they promised.

"We'll see you Monday, Les" I told him and after hoping out Lester waved to
us as we drove off.

Benjy was next, a house in a much nicer area not far from the school he and
Andy attended.  He and 2Bad high-fived and then Benjy said goodbye, running
to his front door where his mother stood waiting.  We rearranged the
seating, putting 2Bad next to me and Andy on Cap's knees.  Then the boys
waved to Benjy and I put us on course for a cross-town trip to Cap's house.

2Bad spread his legs giving me room to shift and I noticed that he arranged
his loose billowing shirt so that it screened off the thigh he had pushed
against mine.  My hand went under it, sliding on his satin shorts, the
muscular leg beneath firm and smooth under my palm.  As the edge of my hand
went up into his groin it brushed against a hard bulge.  The boy leaned
against me.

"I'm really glad you invited us today, Coach."

"Oh yeah, Coach," Cap said.  "This was awesome.  Andy, it was so perfect
that you got a home run.  You played a super game."

"Geez, I'll say!" 2Bad agreed.

Andy was smiling, leaning back against Cap's chest.  As I maneuvered
through Saturday's late afternoon traffic Cap stroked my young ballplayer's
thigh through the tight baseball pants.

The boys all talked happily on the way home.  Mostly they talked about
baseball, but the older boys also told Andy about their school and asked
questions about his.  I liked the way they included him in the
conversation, speaking to him as an equal, without condescension.

When we reached Cap's house I gave 2Bad a last caress and the two high
school players got out reluctantly.

"We'll need to get an early start next Saturday," I told them.  "I'll pick
you guys up at 7:30 right here."

"Okay, Coach," Cap said and the boys waved as Andy and I drove off.

The moment we were around the corner Andy slid over next to me, looked
around quickly and then pushed both uniform pants and jock down below his
knees.  Then after pulling up his shirt he leaned back against me with a
sigh.  The boy was rigidly hard.  I took his thick little shaft between
thumb and forefinger, feeling it throb at my touch.

"Can we go to your house now, Coach?"  He begged, sliding a warm little
hand into my groin.

"You bet," I assured him and rubbed gently.  "Did you have fun today,
Champ?"

"Oh yeah, Coach.  Today was so awesome.  Thanks for everything."

"I didn't do that much, Champ.  You did it all.  You and all the other
boys.  And it was you that hit the home run!"

Andy stretched and made a soft high sound as I rubbed him a little harder.
He seemed enormously aroused, squeezing his butt tightly to swell his rigid
boyhood under my hand.

"Uh, Uhhhh...."  With a low moan he closed his eyes.  "Coach... It's
like... like... somehow... you make things happen.... And it's so
good... Uhhhhhhh... so good... like this...  Ahhhhhh..."

He twisted, stretching sensuously, pulling his sturdy perfectly rounded
legs up to strain his knees apart.  I rubbed him faster and his head arched
back.

"Uhhhhhhhhh... My home run, Coach..." His voice was husky with passion.
"My home run... When you gave me the sign...Ahhh Ahhhhhhh... Ohhh, I
knew... You wanted me to do it... I just knew I... Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, Ah Ah
Ahhhhhhhh... Oh, Coach... Oh... My home run... Ohhhhh..."

The boy arched, kness straining apart, his throbbing shaft pulsing rapidly
beneath my rubbing fingers.  He bucked, hips jerking, dribbles of slippery
warmth rolling off the tip....

Eyes closed, lips parted, Andy writhed in ecstasy until at last he sank
down on the seat.  "Coach..." He whispered, turning toward me.  "My home
run.  I just knew I was going to... And I saw you looking at me... And it
was you... It was you..."

I hugged him tight with one arm and kept holding him until I had turned
into my driveway and we were safely in the garage with the door down.  Then
I bent to kiss the boy, pulling his trembling body close.  With a caress, I
carried him into the house to strip off the uniform, baring his smooth lean
body.  Much later, as we lay in the hot tub, arms wrapped around each other
Andy stirred and whispered, "Coach?"

"What, Champ?"

"You don't like any of those other boys more than me, do you?"

I hugged him tightly.  "No, son.  You're my wonderful ballplayer, my
champion, the most wonderful boy in the world.  I could never like anyone
better than you."

With a soft little sound he nestled against me.  "I just wanted to be
sure."

Stroking him tenderly my palm slid over the perfection of his lovely form,
all silky and slippery with bubbles.  "I wish you could stay with me all
night, Champ."

Andy nodded.  "Me too...."

"Try to fix it so you can next week."

He nodded again.  "Yeah."

My lips brushed his soft hair, his eyes, his upturned nose...  "You don't
mind having the other boys go with us on the beach trip, do you?"

Andy shook his head.  "It's more fun with them, Coach.  I like having them
with me.  They're my friends.  But after, Coach... after... it's just you
and me isn't it?"

"Just you and me, Champ," I whispered.

Andy sighed, hugged, and wiggled sweetly.  "Fuck me again, Coach."

"Yeah..." I kissed his hair, my hand drifting down onto my boy's firm
rounded butt, fingers pushing between the cheeks.  "First you gotta promise
me something."

"What?"

"Don't get hurt in the next two weeks.  When I nominate you for All-Stars I
want you to be healthy."

Andy squirmed and hugged tighter.  "OK.  I promise, Coach."

I shook him a little.  "I mean it!  You almost ran into that outfield fence
again today, making that great catch.  I saw it.  Now, I want you to be
careful!"

This brought forth a little giggle.  "OK, Coach."

My hands roved over his compact little body under the swirling water.
"Come on, Champ," I whispered.

Cradling him in my arms I climbed out of the tub, clouds of steam rising
from our heated flesh, drifting up into the darkness.  I dried the boy and
carried him into the bedroom where Andy lay on the wide bed with his knees
pulled up, spreading himself open.

"Do it slow," he whispered.  "Make it last and last and last...."

That night, after I had driven him home, Andy and I made a little ceremony
of putting his home run baseball with his other awards, clearing a space
for it by the 11 and 12-year-old All-Star trophy.

"It looks really great there, Andy," I said, putting an arm around his
shoulders.

The boy nodded happily.

I read to him for a long time that night, from a book I had gotten for him
called "The Kid Who Only Hit Homers."  He listened eagerly and kept begging
for "just one more" at the end of each chapter.  When he fell asleep at
last I was reluctant to leave him and sat looking at the sleeping boy in
the glow of his little ballplayer night-light.  It was quite a while before
I could force myself to get up and tip toe out of the room.

[ To Be Continued In Parts I and J ]

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

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.

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contributions and keep the Archive online.  Check the Nifty home page for
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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