Baseball Dads: Sex, Drugs, Murder, Children's Baseball Part 20

Russ pushed his tee into the ground and placed his ball on it. Dwayne's new outlook on life was really beginning to make sense to him. It was so primitive and raw, yet streamlined and sensible. Russ gripped his club tightly with both hands and pulled into his backswing.

A voice called out from behind them. "If you guys are going to be this slow all day, I'd appreciate you letting us play through."

It was Royce Featherby III, the pompous thirty-five-year-old blue-blood trust-fund-baby billionaire owner of several multinational companies, most of which had ties to Middle East oil and war profiteering. There wasn't a golfer in Royce's foursome that wasn't wearing oldschool golf knickers, argyle socks, a pastel shirt, and a visor.

"This is a gentleman's game, guys," Royce said snidely. "A gentleman would let us play through."

Russ remained frozen in his backswing. He looked over at Dwayne, who nodded with a smile.

Russ brought his club back down and walked purposefully toward Royce's pretentious waiting foursome. Three of the upper crusters were seated in golf carts. Only Royce was out of his cart, leaning against a large stone water fountain, offering a fake yawn as Russ approached.

Russ took a big pull from his joint and blew it right into Royce's thin, yacht-tanned face. "Do you have any idea who the f.u.c.k that is over there?" Russ asked, pointing to his friends.

"I don't know," Royce responded sarcastically. "Two golfers and a caddy?"

Royce's friends chuckled.

"Oh, it's like that, huh?" Tommy walked over to stand beside Russ, showing his support. Tommy knew he might be able to add a "crazy black guy" feel to the dispute, even though he'd never actually thrown a punch. He even tried to walk with a touch of gangster swagger, but he ended up just looking injured.

"I'll tell you who that is," Russ said as he pulled down his gla.s.ses to display his wild, bloodshot eyes. "That's the motherf.u.c.king Jedi Alliance. And if you don't back the f.u.c.k up and happily play at whatever pace we deem proper, we will unleash The Force on your uppity a.s.ses until the angels of heaven scream and blood pours from your ears."

A look of horror swept over Royce and his friends' faces.

"And if you ever refer to me as a caddy again," Tommy added, "I'll jam every one of your custom-fitted golf clubs all the way up your a.s.shole and stomp on your s.c.r.o.t.u.m with my golf cleats until you scream that Billy Dee Williams is your daddy. Do I make myself clear?"

Royce was silent. His eyes had welled up with tears. He was considering peeing in his pants.

"I asked you a question, boy!" Tommy yelled.

"Yeah, I mean yes sir, I mean-it's just that, I don't know who Billy Dee Williams is."

"Billy Dee?" Tommy shot back with disgust. "Lando motherf.u.c.king Calrissian? Are you f.u.c.king with me right now? Jesus! That's the most racist thing I've ever heard! Get the f.u.c.k off this golf course right now before I disembowel you with a ball repair tool, you arrogant little b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Royce began to slowly back away toward his cart. Tommy lunged at him, waving his driver while making lightsaber noises. Royce dove behind the wheel of the cart and sped away, his friends close behind him.

Russ lit another joint as he watched the foursome disappear into the parking lot. He turned to Tommy, and they exchanged a high five.

"There's a large part of me that wants to inform you guys that you've all gone completely insane," Steve said to the group. "But this Star Wars philosophy on life appears to be pretty effective. I mean, I was always more of a Star Trek guy, but s.h.i.t. Not knowing who Lando Calrissian is? That's a whole new level of racism. That's tantamount to the Holocaust."

Dwayne stood back proudly, a.n.a.lyzing his ramshackle group of forced friends. They now appeared ready to embrace this new lifestyle. He hadn't stopped to think, much less care, what his friends' reactions might be to his new approach to the world. But he liked the idea of this not being a solo mission. He liked the idea of strength in numbers.

It was obvious that they were buying in, too. He could see that they'd been awakened, as he had, through the simple act of not taking s.h.i.t.

"Gentlemen," he addressed his foursome, "I can't say that I have this endeavor we're embarking upon clearly mapped out. I take great joy, though, in seeing that you may come to know what I now know: We are in control. We deserve respect. We don't have to sit idly by if respect is not given. There is no real hierarchy. The caste system has no true control. We choose what rules do and do not apply. We ask for nothing that is not deserved. We are reintroducing ethics and natural law to a society that has tossed them aside, in favor of lives led by greed and pseudo spirituality."

Dwayne extended his arms out wide, his head tilted upward and eyes closed, like a rock star soaking in the glory from the stage.

"We're the new evolution of man," he continued. "We're the suburban Jedi."

Large grins overtook the faces of Dwayne's friends. He could see that their worldview had received a ma.s.sive overhaul. The transformation had taken place. Even with Steve. They now looked at the world differently. They looked at it as Dwayne did.

"Get ready for where this will take you, guys," he said. "We're going to burn this motherf.u.c.ker down, and build it back the right way."

The newly formed Jedi Alliance continued on through eighteen holes of golf in the blistering Texas sun. Following four of the most spectacular tee shots ever made off the first tee box, the men were certain that this was to be a round of golf that would end with a record score. They had grand visions of a plaque being hung in the pro shop for all club members to envy.

Unfortunately, a superior att.i.tude on life had no effect on the cruelest of sports. The tee shots on hole #1 ended up being the only respectable shots made that day. However, that evil wh.o.r.e named golf, no matter how hard she tried, had been unsuccessful in stripping the crew of their newfound mental superiority.

The foursome stood in the parking lot after the game, drinking beer and pa.s.sing joints. Dwayne hopped into his truck to slap on a pair of flip-flops. When he tossed his warm dank cleats over to the pa.s.senger seat floorboard, he noticed something that had not been there before. An envelope with photos peeking out. He rifled through them. It was more photos of Estelle. Just like last time, except far more explicit.

Estelle was in a seated position between two men who were standing. The men were only visible from the waist down. She was nude, while the men had on unfastened pants. Estelle had a firm grip on each less-than-soft p.e.n.i.s. She'd probably been playing them like a circus seal on the horns.

"Jesus, Estelle," Dwayne said under his breath. He knew she'd slept around, but he'd always figured it was one at a time. He hadn't expected this. The rage began to grow.

Somehow he managed to remind himself that he was a Jedi now, and he put the beast back in the cage. In an extraordinary display of forgiveness, Dwayne decided to let it go. He loved his wife. She loved him. They were working it out. Those photos represented the former sh.e.l.l of her. She was different now. He knew it.

Dwayne took a long pull from a joint and let all of the anger go. This was how he rolled now. He returned to his crew, feeling fine.

In Dwayne's absence, five of the club's bag boys had joined Tommy, Russ, and Steve. The bag boys delivered and retrieved carts and loaded and unloaded golf bags. Each bag boy had been sent one at a time by the manager of the club to ask the men to extinguish their marijuana cigarettes because of complaints. But in the end, all five boys were swayed by The Force, joining the Jedi Alliance and smoking weed with the baseball dads.

Russ shared the group's ideas about the power of positive thinking, convincing the youthful Jedi apprentices that they could make it over the ma.s.sive ravine that cut across the fourteenth fairway in a golf cart if they simply believed they could.

As Russ began his drive home, he glanced off in the distance at the fourteenth fairway. A lone cart barreled full-speed right up the middle. He noticed three of the bag boys sitting on the bench seat of the cart, with the other two hanging on to the back.

"YOU GOTTA BELIEVE!" Russ yelled, his body nearly halfway out the window of his Ferrari as he pumped his fist in the air with excitement.

The boys all looked back toward Russ and pumped their fists, yelling and whooping as the cart launched up the elevated edge of the ravine to make the seemingly impossible jump of a lifetime, equipped heavily with the power of positive thinking and an equally large lack of forethought. They quickly disappeared over the forty-foot drop-off.

Russ slowed and slid back in the cabin of his car. He watched as a tiny puff of smoke appeared above the ravine's edge. He pushed his sungla.s.ses firmly onto the bridge of his nose, rolled up his window, and continued home.

His phone beeped from a text on the text chain. He glanced in his rearview mirror and noticed that Dwayne and the other guys were behind him, taking the same way home.

DWAYNE:.

For future reference, this whole using the force thing is more of a lifestyle choice. I'm pretty sure it doesn't nullify the laws of physics.

RUSS:.

Duly noted.

STEVE:.

For the record, I was as curious to see if they could pull it off as anyone.

TOMMY:.

I hear ya, man. I was pulling for them.

DWAYNE:.

Me too. Oh well. Pretty cool way to go out, anyhow.

RUSS:.

f.u.c.k yeah.

TOMMY:.

I'm digging this thing we're doing by the way, D. I suddenly feel like going home and making sweet love to my wife.

STEVE:.

Me too. I'm gonna rock that a.s.s when I get home.

RUSS:.

That's disgusting, Steve. Don't tell us that s.h.i.t.

STEVE:.