NINE LIVES Dana Coggins
The Atlantic State Tigers are a formidable looking ball club. This is their second year in Division I. Their Coach, Pete LeBlanc, another ex-major leaguer, is a tough son of a bitch; you know his team will be tough too.
Their cleanup hitter and first baseman is an enormous Freshman named Clarence Bowman. The other Tigers call him "Junior." He must be at least 6'6". Not just tall-Big! Watching him at practice, I can tell that, along with his size and strength, he's quick and very agile.
Buddy leads off with a bunt. Their pitcher makes a good play and gets him by half a step. I single to left, Bin singles to right and Buster triples to right center. He scores on Bert's sac fly. We're up 3-0. They get two back off Bin in their half of the first. He walks the leadoff batter, but gets the next two. Then, Junior hits one out of sight.
With the benefit of a couple of sacrifice flies and a solo homer by Buster we go up 6-2 going into the fourth. Bin has settled down nicely even though Junior has been trashing him the whole game; you know, that street talk stuff. None of it seems to bother Bin. It's nothing he hasn't heard before.
In the fourth, Junior starts talking about Jessie and Midge, especially Jessie. "Here, pussy, pussy. That's one triflin' 'ho'. I bet you bleepers are havin' a good time with that li'l pussy cat! Do you take turns? Or is it first come, first serve?"
At the end of our half of the fourth, Bin intercepts Junior on his way back to the Tigers' bench and says, "You watch your mouth, boy." Bin should have kept his own mouth shut, because now Junior knows he's struck a nerve.
Junior's trash talk is no worse than a lot of stuff that goes on with regularity in pro ball at almost any level. It doesn't get to me the way it seems to be getting to Bin. If it bothers the women, they aren't letting on. The way I look at it, if they're gonna play with the guys, they have to take what goes with the territory.
Junior leading off in the fourth starts up the trash talk again, "Just look at that 'ho'. I sho would like to enter that lair. Put that ball in there, you bleeper; I'll hit it right into her lair.
Bin's first pitch is high and hard, right at Junior's ear. Only an athlete with superb reflexes could escape being hit. Junior drops to the dirt, barely getting out of the way. He gets up and charges the mound.
Pop, who headed for the mound the second Junior went down, steps between Junior and Bin, and to everyone's amazement, flips Junior right on his face with one of those karate moves right out of a Bruce Lee movie.
Players from both sides rush to the scene. The Tigers outnumber the Vikings by more than 2 to 1, even counting our women. It figures to get real ugly. Pop, in a crouch, turns to face the oncoming Tigers. After what happened to Junior, who's still on the ground gasping for breath, the rest of them are not so anxious to be next. This gives the coaches and umpires a chance to get control.
LeBlanc turns on Junior who's finally getting to his feet, "Bowman, you are going to apologize!"
"Bull! That bleeper could of killed me. I was just retaliatin'."
LeBlanc holds his ground, "You are going to apologize right now. Your scholarship is riding on it." Junior, speaking to Pop and Bin, mumbles half-heartedly, "I'm sorry."
At this point, Junior gets knocked on his ass again. By my Sweetheart, Jessie! She clips him from behind right in back of the knees. In football, that's a fifteen yard penalty. She gets up, and with her fist in his face she says, "Not them! Me! You apologize to me! And you'd better sound like you mean it!"
Junior gets up, quickly this time, and says to Jessie, "I'm sorry, Miss. It was just trash talk. I didn't mean nothin' by it."
The tension is still so thick you could cut it with a knife. Then, Jessie steps up to Junior, grabs his big curly head, pulls herself up and kisses him on the cheek, all sweaty and covered with dirt. She steps back, smiles at him and says, "Thank you."
Now, Junior smiles. He leaps into the air and practically dances toward home plate, caressing his cheek where Jessie kissed him, "Whoo hee! Yee ha! I ain't gonna wash this grill for a week! Whoo hee!" The tension is gone. The game can resume.
Bin is sky high now; he strikes out Junior on three wicked pitches. Junior goes back to the bench, still smiling and caressing his cheek. Bin has no trouble the rest of the way. We win, 6-2.
The media likes to call it "chemistry." It's what happens in sports when a team becomes a team and not just a bunch of individuals, each doing his own thing. It's happened now with the Vikings. You can sense it. That business with Junior, Bin's rage, Pop's timely intervention, and Jessie unbelievably cooling things off with a kiss. It's all combined to bond the Vikings in a way no one could possibly explain.
The Vikings have become a real team now, and stupid as it must seem, I'm more excited about it than I was when I got that World Series ring!
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