Date: Mon, 12 Oct 2015 03:24:23 +0000
From: Douglas DD DD <thehakaanen@hotmail.com>
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

<Larry Sanders>

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.

<Marty Carlson>

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.

<Chandler Ecklund>

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.

<Marty Carlson>

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.

<Larry Sanders>

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