KELSO'S SWING, CHAPTER 6
BY DELL FRANKLIN
At the next practice, Kelso stationed Beth behind the plate during batting practice and stood just off the batters box for a close-up of his hitters. In between Bobbi’s lobs to the plate, he lashed grounders at his infielders while Marstrulavich hit fly balls to the outfielders. Monica proved the only hitter not needing help. The rest were anemic with swings and stances as fundamentally wrong as he’d ever seen. Jill had the tools to hit, needed her power harnessed. Annie was un-athletic, had poor wrist action. Lacey, a left-handed hitter, dropped her back shoulder, had a hitch in her swing. He liked the way she moved lightly on her toes propelled by quick-twitching muscles, and he liked her eagerness to learn. She played rover, half in the infield, or if need be in the outfield, wherever Kelso needed her.
After watching her hit three balls he took the bat out of her hands and stood at the plate left-handed (Kelso was a switch hitter), and said, “Cradle the bat low on your shoulder, horizontal, like this, left elbow down, not raised. All the dopes who know nothing about baseball and learned from dopes, want the elbow up. Well, there’ll be no elbows up on this team, period. Elbows up means pop-ups and lazy fly balls.” Kelso rifled three of Bobbi’s pitches on low lines into right field. “I have bat control.” He lined a pitch into leftfield. “I want you swinging level, or down on the ball--especially you, Lacey, because, with your speed, you’ll be a weapon hitting the ball hard on the ground.”
He handed her the bat and stood close behind her, took her hands and lined up her knuckles correctly. “More wrist action this way, Lacey. Bat on shoulder. You’re slap hitter, a hard groundball hitter, a line drive hitter. No pop-ups. No fly balls. If you hit a can of corn, your speed’s wasted. You hit grounders, they gotta catch ‘em clean and throw you out. Now go ahead, swing that bat!”
Kelso urged her to watch the ball right into her bat, and she immediately made contact. She could hardly contain her thrill at hitting hard grounders through the infield. “Thatta girl! Slasher!” He clapped his hands. “Look at those ropes! I was told you girls were stupid, you couldn’t learn, wouldn’t listen, hated men, had no talent, you were mean and nasty and hopeless and un-cooperative, but goddammit, I think there’s hope!”
Secretly, he was shocked and pleased at how quickly they learned and how hungry they were to improve. When Lacey stepped grinning from the box, Claire came up. The girls, who were catching Marstrulavich’s grounders and flies, had become enthused. Yet Claire stood with an obdurate look on her face, elbow up, bat straight up. Kelso folded his arms. He stood behind her, ordered her to hold the bat low and flat on her shoulder, and when she resisted, he forced her to cooperate.
I am NOT comfortable this way…COACH!” she sneered.
“You will be,” Kelso said calmly. “Line up those knuckles like thus. That frees up your wrists. Look, as one of our prized tit monsters, like Beth here, and Bobbi, you are going to be a secret weapon. But this is the way it is now—you all swing up, swing lazy, hit weak poopers that never leave the infield, you got their outfielders playing you so shallow you’ll never get hits. So I want you swinging DOWN on the ball, like woodchoppers, and pull the ball, so they have to throw you out. I want you to hit high chops. This is not about you, Claire, it’s about team. You are a vital part of this team. You have the quickest wit and the sharpest tongue. This is a very valuable asset, cuz I’m gonna turn you into a crackerjack bench jockey.”
“What the hell is that?”
“You’ll see. Now Claire, if you’re gonna be a mainstay on this team, start wood chopping.”
He spent time with her. “Swing down, straight from the shoulder. No jiggling the bat. One motion, pull the trigger, kid. Ahh, there’s a high bouncer. There’s a line drive! Ahh. Hah! Claire the quick-learner. Claire the terror. Thatta girl! Pretend the ball’s my head, watch it right into your bat.”
Like Lacey, she could not contain her grin as she repeatedly hit high chops and hard grounders to third and short. When Kelso ordered her out of the box, he smacked her on the ass and she whirled around, prepared to slap him.
“Don’t touch my ass, coach!”
“It’s a baseball ritual, Claire, a show of acceptance when a coach or teammate slaps a player on the ass after a good play. I expect all you girls to slap each other on the asses after you make good plays. Claire, stop being an over-sensitive prima-donna.”
“Fuck you.” She gritted her teeth and ran out to second base. Then Kelso, without success, tried to get Beth to swing down. She did not want to. There was no dealing with her. Kelso felt her to be the worst kind of bossy alpha female—impossible to coach. She was married to a spineless jellyfish like Mark so she could run him ragged. She had no sense of humor, especially about herself, a necessity if you were going to play the game, and especially for an agitator like Kelso. He hoped from subtle coaxing the girls would police this bitch.
Later, as he continued lashing grounders at his infielders, Penny groused about being moved to third, claiming she was a shortstop and “only a shortstop.”
“You’re a thirdbaseman now!” Kelso growled at her.
“But I’ve played shortstop all my life!” she cried.
“Those days are over. Maria plays short. She’s got the stronger arm. You’ll make a fine third sacker. You’ll play where I say you’ll play. This team’s never won a game with you at short, so we’re going with Maria. Period. Over and done.”
“Then hit me more grounders! You hit Claire and Maria and Jill seven in a row, and you only hit me four!”
Kelso twisted his body in a feminine pose, fluttered his wrist, scrooched up his face like a spoiled brat. “Oooooo, the ogre only hit me four balls and the other girls got seven!” he cried in a falsetto. “Boohoohoo! Poor little me! I’m not getting special treatment and I’m gonna whine and cry like a spoiled baby and tell my daddy…boohoo…”
The girls found themselves giggling and Bobbi laughed out loud. Kelso straightened out. “There’s a reason for everything I do. Stop thinking about yourself, Pissy Penny. I might hit you ten in a row, or ignore you. You are no longer about you, woman, you are about team!” He lashed a vicious grounder that bounced off her small bosom. A bleached blond, with a tight, worried face, she crouched low, arms dangling, like Kelso wanted. “You want grounders, I’ll give you grounders!”
He worked her without mercy, grounder after grounder, exhorting her to stay low. She demanded more. He began calling her Pepper-pot Penny. After batting practice, he conducted a spirited infield and outfield drill. He kept the action nonstop while Marstrulavich roamed around, calm, casual, encouraging them. When practice ended, they complained of how sore they were. Exhausted, they were dragging as they trekked to their cars, Kelso observing them, bat on shoulder, again the hangman. He relit his cigar stub.
At the next practice, Kelso stationed Beth behind the plate during batting practice and stood just off the batters box for a close-up of his hitters. In between Bobbi’s lobs to the plate, he lashed grounders at his infielders while Marstrulavich hit fly balls to the outfielders. Monica proved the only hitter not needing help. The rest were anemic with swings and stances as fundamentally wrong as he’d ever seen. Jill had the tools to hit, needed her power harnessed. Annie was un-athletic, had poor wrist action. Lacey, a left-handed hitter, dropped her back shoulder, had a hitch in her swing. He liked the way she moved lightly on her toes propelled by quick-twitching muscles, and he liked her eagerness to learn. She played rover, half in the infield, or if need be in the outfield, wherever Kelso needed her.
After watching her hit three balls he took the bat out of her hands and stood at the plate left-handed (Kelso was a switch hitter), and said, “Cradle the bat low on your shoulder, horizontal, like this, left elbow down, not raised. All the dopes who know nothing about baseball and learned from dopes, want the elbow up. Well, there’ll be no elbows up on this team, period. Elbows up means pop-ups and lazy fly balls.” Kelso rifled three of Bobbi’s pitches on low lines into right field. “I have bat control.” He lined a pitch into leftfield. “I want you swinging level, or down on the ball--especially you, Lacey, because, with your speed, you’ll be a weapon hitting the ball hard on the ground.”
He handed her the bat and stood close behind her, took her hands and lined up her knuckles correctly. “More wrist action this way, Lacey. Bat on shoulder. You’re slap hitter, a hard groundball hitter, a line drive hitter. No pop-ups. No fly balls. If you hit a can of corn, your speed’s wasted. You hit grounders, they gotta catch ‘em clean and throw you out. Now go ahead, swing that bat!”
Kelso urged her to watch the ball right into her bat, and she immediately made contact. She could hardly contain her thrill at hitting hard grounders through the infield. “Thatta girl! Slasher!” He clapped his hands. “Look at those ropes! I was told you girls were stupid, you couldn’t learn, wouldn’t listen, hated men, had no talent, you were mean and nasty and hopeless and un-cooperative, but goddammit, I think there’s hope!”
Secretly, he was shocked and pleased at how quickly they learned and how hungry they were to improve. When Lacey stepped grinning from the box, Claire came up. The girls, who were catching Marstrulavich’s grounders and flies, had become enthused. Yet Claire stood with an obdurate look on her face, elbow up, bat straight up. Kelso folded his arms. He stood behind her, ordered her to hold the bat low and flat on her shoulder, and when she resisted, he forced her to cooperate.
I am NOT comfortable this way…COACH!” she sneered.
“You will be,” Kelso said calmly. “Line up those knuckles like thus. That frees up your wrists. Look, as one of our prized tit monsters, like Beth here, and Bobbi, you are going to be a secret weapon. But this is the way it is now—you all swing up, swing lazy, hit weak poopers that never leave the infield, you got their outfielders playing you so shallow you’ll never get hits. So I want you swinging DOWN on the ball, like woodchoppers, and pull the ball, so they have to throw you out. I want you to hit high chops. This is not about you, Claire, it’s about team. You are a vital part of this team. You have the quickest wit and the sharpest tongue. This is a very valuable asset, cuz I’m gonna turn you into a crackerjack bench jockey.”
“What the hell is that?”
“You’ll see. Now Claire, if you’re gonna be a mainstay on this team, start wood chopping.”
He spent time with her. “Swing down, straight from the shoulder. No jiggling the bat. One motion, pull the trigger, kid. Ahh, there’s a high bouncer. There’s a line drive! Ahh. Hah! Claire the quick-learner. Claire the terror. Thatta girl! Pretend the ball’s my head, watch it right into your bat.”
Like Lacey, she could not contain her grin as she repeatedly hit high chops and hard grounders to third and short. When Kelso ordered her out of the box, he smacked her on the ass and she whirled around, prepared to slap him.
“Don’t touch my ass, coach!”
“It’s a baseball ritual, Claire, a show of acceptance when a coach or teammate slaps a player on the ass after a good play. I expect all you girls to slap each other on the asses after you make good plays. Claire, stop being an over-sensitive prima-donna.”
“Fuck you.” She gritted her teeth and ran out to second base. Then Kelso, without success, tried to get Beth to swing down. She did not want to. There was no dealing with her. Kelso felt her to be the worst kind of bossy alpha female—impossible to coach. She was married to a spineless jellyfish like Mark so she could run him ragged. She had no sense of humor, especially about herself, a necessity if you were going to play the game, and especially for an agitator like Kelso. He hoped from subtle coaxing the girls would police this bitch.
Later, as he continued lashing grounders at his infielders, Penny groused about being moved to third, claiming she was a shortstop and “only a shortstop.”
“You’re a thirdbaseman now!” Kelso growled at her.
“But I’ve played shortstop all my life!” she cried.
“Those days are over. Maria plays short. She’s got the stronger arm. You’ll make a fine third sacker. You’ll play where I say you’ll play. This team’s never won a game with you at short, so we’re going with Maria. Period. Over and done.”
“Then hit me more grounders! You hit Claire and Maria and Jill seven in a row, and you only hit me four!”
Kelso twisted his body in a feminine pose, fluttered his wrist, scrooched up his face like a spoiled brat. “Oooooo, the ogre only hit me four balls and the other girls got seven!” he cried in a falsetto. “Boohoohoo! Poor little me! I’m not getting special treatment and I’m gonna whine and cry like a spoiled baby and tell my daddy…boohoo…”
The girls found themselves giggling and Bobbi laughed out loud. Kelso straightened out. “There’s a reason for everything I do. Stop thinking about yourself, Pissy Penny. I might hit you ten in a row, or ignore you. You are no longer about you, woman, you are about team!” He lashed a vicious grounder that bounced off her small bosom. A bleached blond, with a tight, worried face, she crouched low, arms dangling, like Kelso wanted. “You want grounders, I’ll give you grounders!”
He worked her without mercy, grounder after grounder, exhorting her to stay low. She demanded more. He began calling her Pepper-pot Penny. After batting practice, he conducted a spirited infield and outfield drill. He kept the action nonstop while Marstrulavich roamed around, calm, casual, encouraging them. When practice ended, they complained of how sore they were. Exhausted, they were dragging as they trekked to their cars, Kelso observing them, bat on shoulder, again the hangman. He relit his cigar stub.
