Baseball Dads: Sex, Drugs, Murder, Children's Baseball Part 43

Dwayne was happy with his answer. It wasn't technically a lie. His first choice would have been that they not be a.s.sholes to begin with.

"Mr. Devero, I've had a few people tell me that you've been acting odd lately. Do you care to comment on that?"

"Sure, I'll comment on that. I've stood up to parents recently who don't respect the game of baseball. They want to have an 'everybody is a winner' mentality, and play 'daddy baseball.' I think it's important to teach kids how to play the game. I think it's important that they want to win. There are plenty of ent.i.tled little p.u.s.s.ies out there, Detective. This town is full of them. I think we should raise our kids to actually accomplish things, and I started teaching that lesson on the baseball diamond when the coaching spots were vacated. Somebody had to step in. I did. But I did it my way, not the loser way."

The detective nodded his head. He liked Dwayne. He couldn't stand all of the ent.i.tled little p.u.s.s.ies in town either. He could tell right away that Dwayne had earned every penny he had. He admired that.

"Oh, also," Dwayne continued, "I recently had some heated phone calls with some past-due accounts here at work. These were guys who had plenty of money, and they were looking for loopholes to get out of paying me for work I had completed. They f.u.c.k people over all the time, if I may speak bluntly. I simply held them accountable. They inherited most of their money and screwed people over for more. I earned mine."

Detective Loffland chuckled. "What about your buddies, Mr. Devero? What about Russ Paisley, Dr. Tommy Johnson, and Steve Winwood? That's a great name, by the way. But tell me about your friends, please."

"Well, to be honest, we can be a bit rowdy when we drink. We've been known to party, sir. Especially Russ. He's a lunatic. But we're good guys, detective. You'll see that when you speak to them. We just like to have a good time."

Again, Dwayne felt good about his answer. He didn't say that they didn't murder people. It wasn't necessary. He simply told it like it was, with no bulls.h.i.t. The detective obviously appreciated the approach.

"I don't think I'll need to talk to your buddies," the detective said as he rose to his feet. "Between you and me, those f.u.c.kers that got killed and went missing probably got what was coming to them. I'm just glad I got to interview someone who seems sincere. And I'd like to thank you for not raising p.u.s.s.ies. n.o.body should be allowed to f.u.c.k with baseball."

"Amen, Detective."

"You take care of yourself, Mr. Devero. And if you see anything suspicious, please give me a call."

The two men shook hands again by the door. It was a good, solid, tight-gripping handshake that only honest men give.

The entire team showed up on time for batting practice and warm-ups that afternoon before the game. All of the coaches were at least fifteen minutes early. They were ready to play ball.

Jade had gotten shirts made for the coaches. She felt it was important for them to match perfectly. The shirts were slim cut and made to fit snug. They were bright orange, with "Tigers" written in black and silver sequins.

"Wow, Jade, you really went out of your way," Dwayne said as Jade handed out the shirts.

"Really amazing craftsmanship, Jade," Tommy stated, looking awkwardly at the others.

"Thanks, sweetie," she replied with a wink to Tommy. "The people who used to make my outfits at The Cabaret made them. They have the best sequins. They never fall off and wind up stuck in your v.a.g.i.n.a or anything."

Jade waited for the men to put on their shirts. They looked back at her with blank faces.

"Come on, guys, the game's about to start. Put them on!"

Steve glanced sideways at the others. Dwayne shrugged and pulled his shirt off. Tommy, Russ, and Steve followed suit.

Russ struggled to pull his shirt over his furry gut. He was frustrated with the slender cut. He was even more frustrated by the extra attention Jade had been giving to Tommy.

Steve pulled his shirt on and tucked it into his tiny gray coach's shorts. He seemed pleased with it and smiled at the others through his dorky spectacles. Dwayne could not have cared less. He was far too focused on winning. All that mattered to him was that they matched. He pulled the shirt on and sparked up a small joint, then pa.s.sed it to the others.

While Tommy was pulling his sparkly new shirt over his head, Jade reached over and pinched his nipple and grinned. He grinned back, knowing full well that it was driving Russ insane.

She then turned and walked back toward the stands, glancing back at Tommy a couple of times along the way.

"Are you going to tell me what in G.o.d's name happened after the fundraiser?" Russ demanded. "Why the f.u.c.k is she calling you sweetie? And why did she just tweak your G.o.dd.a.m.n nipple?"

Tommy just smiled and walked toward the dugout with Dwayne and Steve.

"Keep her off that soul pole, Tommy!" Russ yelled as they walked away. "Not cool at all!"

Dave the umpire was behind home plate watching Alex warm up, pitching with Russ's son, Jackson, at catcher. He called for the head coaches to come meet him by the backstop to discuss the rules for the playoffs.

Gray Smith trudged out of the opposing team's dugout to shake Dwayne's hand.

"Sorry, guys," he apologized. "Reese went missing. You probably heard. Jesus, I don't know what's going on around here lately. Anyhow, I'm filling in."

Gray was a spineless nerd. He was tall and skinny with bright red hair, freckles, and fair skin. He had no business coaching baseball. He had most likely never even held a baseball. When they shook, Dwayne gripped Gray's hand extra firmly, and gave him a look that said I own you. Gray looked nervous as h.e.l.l.

"Okay, men," Dave the umpire said. "Playoffs rules are a bit different. We go six innings, no matter how long it takes. No time limit, and no run limit. Dwayne, you're the home team. Gray, you guys bat first, so get your sticks and let's roll. Play ball!"

Dwayne patted his a.s.sistant coaches on the back. "This is what it's all about, guys," he said. "This is what all of the hard work has been for. Let's have smart coaching today. It's f.u.c.king playoffs time."

Gray Smith a.s.sumed his position as first-base coach for his batters. He stood roughly fifteen feet from Dwayne's dugout.

"Good luck today, guys," Gray nervously offered.

"f.u.c.k you, Ginger," Russ said back. "We're about to rape your dreams. Eat a d.i.c.k."

Gray looked startled and turned away. Steve hung his head and put his hand over his face.

"Russ, why do you have to be such an a.s.shole?" Steve snapped. "He was just being friendly."

"Kiss my a.s.s, you Obama-loving liberal." Russ stated flatly to Russ while still staring at Gray. "Get your game face on."

"We're going to dance all over these guys," Tommy threw in. "Just like Jade on my big brown ding-a-ling."

Russ scowled at Tommy and shoved a fistful of sunflower seeds in his mouth. Steve smiled.

Just as Dwayne predicted, the game turned into a blowout. The late Reese Pepper's team was ma.s.sacred, just another example of what happens when daddy baseball meets a winning strategy.

Alex pitched for the first three innings, before Dwayne pulled him so that he would be available to pitch the following game. As long as a pitcher stayed under thirty pitches, they could pitch back-to-back games. This was done so as not to do any long-term damage to kids' arms.

He struck out six batters in the first three innings, and the other three got a small piece of his curveball, just as he intended, and were thrown out at first base. Tommy's son, TJ, pitched the fourth and fifth innings, and Russ's son, Jackson, came in to close in the sixth. They each pitched exceptionally well.

The only thing that rivaled the talent at the pitcher's mound was the batting. The boys brought the wood and exposed the major weaknesses in putting talentless kids in field positions that require talent.

Alex hit two b.a.l.l.s over the fence. Jackson and TJ each had inside-the-park home runs. Steve's son, Jonathan, got his first-ever triple off a well-placed bunt and infield errors. Even Ricky Dale's and Pete Rearden's sons managed to score. It was every bit the victory Dwayne had predicted.

The final score was 270.

The losing team slumped into the consoling arms of their parents. Dwayne called for his team to meet him in the outfield and take a knee. They crowded around him in excitement, slapping each other's backs, reveling in the win. Moms and dads lined up behind them, proud.

Dwayne stood to address his team. His three a.s.sistants lined up beside him, arms crossed, sungla.s.ses on, looking not too dissimilar from horribly dressed secret service agents.

"Well, Tigers, we did it again," Dwayne stated firmly to the kids.

Cheers erupted. Dwayne allowed them to hoot and holler for a moment before raising his hand for silence.

"I want you to know that I don't feel like I've done my job as a coach," he continued, "unless the kids on the other team cry themselves to sleep after meeting you."

The parents looked moderately dismayed. The kids broke into another round of wild cheers.

"You have destroyed their dinner ... their evening ... their week ... their month. You have forced them to question what they are capable of in life. You have chewed up their spirits and spit them back in their faces. You have snuffed out the light of joy in their young lives with your fielding and beat their souls into oblivion with your bats. And for this, I commend you."

The team hung on Dwayne's every word. He had fast become their hero. The parents, on the other hand, were distressed.

Holly Dale, wife of the late Ricky Dale and mother of Ace, raised her hand sheepishly. "Coach Dwayne," she said. "I think I speak for all of the parents when I say that ... while we're all happy with winning a couple of games, I'm not sure that we're sending the right message with this kind of talk. I mean-"

Holly Dale was interrupted by the shrill sound of Russ's coaching whistle. Russ blew until there was no more breath left in his lungs.

Holly looked around, hoping for backup from other parents so that she wouldn't be left to confront this lunatic alone. When she received none, she tried again.

"I just-"

Russ immediately blew the whistle again as loudly as he could, cutting Holly off before she could get started. She became agitated and turned directly to face Russ.

"I don't know who you think you are, but-"

Russ blew the whistle again with everything he had, stepping toward her and coming less than a foot from her face before his lungs finally gave out. He pulled his sungla.s.ses off and stared angrily at her with his beady, bloodshot eyes.

Under the bright lights of the ballpark, a tense, strained silence blanketed the parents. No one moved. Russ c.o.c.ked an eyebrow and snarled his lip around the whistle. Holly, now overcome with fear, stepped back among the parents.

"Thank you, Russ," Dwayne said. "Now, I know we've come a long way in the last couple of weeks, but let's not start hiring hookers and buying blow just yet. We still have our toughest games ahead. We have to remain focused if we want to make it to the championship. I know that many of you have been told by your parents that winning isn't everything, but that's what losers always say. That's why we keep score. That's why we practice. We play to win. End of story. We've won a couple of battles now, team. We have a few more left to win. And then, we will win the war. Stay salty. Stay gritty. Our next game is in two days. They're a good team. And I want to win."

"You're trained killers now, guys," Russ jumped in. "I want them p.i.s.sing blood when it's over."

The kids jumped up and screamed. A couple of dads nodded in agreement, offering a refreshing (albeit mild) level of approval.

"Bring it in, team!" Tommy yelled. "Tigers kill ... on three!"

The kids threw their hands together in a circle. "One, two, three. TIGERS KILL!" they shouted before heading off the fields with their parents.

Coach Dwayne and his a.s.sistants sent their boys home with their moms and ex-stripper stepmom. Dwayne wanted to burn a couple of joints in celebration.

He joined Russ, Tommy, Steve, and Dave the umpire in center field beneath the well-lit scoreboard after everyone had left, and sparked up. With the exception of Steve, the men seemed satisfied with the way the playoffs were shaking out.

"Great job out there today, Dwayne," Dave said, taking a hit from a joint and looking up at the score. "Those boys are taking your direction well. You might just win the whole d.a.m.ned thing."

"G.o.dd.a.m.n right we will," Russ reported. "We're gonna turn this motherf.u.c.ker on its head."

"And the field looks outstanding, Dwayne," Tommy added.

"I think I saw a patch of dead gra.s.s behind first base," Steve stated with agitated disgust. "Maybe we should murder a family and bury them there to get it blooming again."

Steve turned and marched off the field toward the dugout. He grabbed his son's baseball gear, headed out to the parking lot, and left.

"f.u.c.king Democrat," Russ groaned, watching as Steve's Prius pulled out. "Maybe we should bury him there."

As Steve left Jenny Field, he noticed an unmarked police car parked in the corner of the lot. Inside the car sat Detective Loffland, silently watching the men who gathered at center field.

He picked up his phone and hopped on the text chain.

STEVE:.

Guys, there's a cop watching you in the parking lot!

All of the coaches and Dave received the text at about the same time. They pulled their phones from their pockets and read the text, then attempted to steal an inconspicuous glance at the parked cruiser.

"We're fine, guys," Dwayne whispered in counsel to the others. "The detective was cool. He's probably been checking everyone out. Let's get our gear and head out."

The coaches made their way to the dugout while Dave the umpire headed to the scoring box to shut the lights and scoreboard off. Dwayne texted Steve back.

DWAYNE:.

Thanks for the heads-up, Steve. We're fine. Relax.

RUSS:.