"kelso's swing" [chapter 31]
The Tides crushed Legends in their opener, impressing all those watching with their business-like execution and controlled intensity. Meanwhile, the league had enacted a new ruling banning Kelso and only Kelso from coaching third or any base because of his alleged harassment of opposing players. Undaunted, he flashed signs from the top step of the dugout, still situating his fielders and talking to hitters and base runners, though he missed a more intimate interaction with opposing players. Marstrulavich took over the third base coaching box, allowing Annie to take over his old position at first. Her only task was to remind each runner how many outs there were. Toni, who possessed the flexibility of a gymnast, moved around third and ran the bases like a cat. Kaycee had no glitches in the outfield, and when she hit a drive in the gap in left center and turned it into an inside-the-park homerun, the girls were in a frenzy awaiting her at home plate, where she slid in, popped up, and reveled in hugs and back-slaps and butt-slaps.
When the game ended, and everybody shook hands, and they all walked toward the parking area, Kelso caught Spike's stare, which was of grudging respect, and nodded at him. Spike nodded back. Later, in the Tides, the coaches sat near the dartboard and watched the new girls mix with the regulars. Kelso remarked, “They got a new swagger. The new talent has 'em stoked. Look at Kaycee—right in the middle of things. Life of the party. She was never that way with those Murphy's girls. And Toni's in there, too, an experienced jock, a calming influence on and off the field. She's already allying with Monica. A good, contending alliance.”
Marstrulavich frowned. “I think jealousy's already set in.” he said dryly, lighting up one of Kelso's vile victory stogies.
“Bullshit. They only been together one practice, one game.”
“Beth's resentful,” Marstrulavich said with finality, and paused to allow Kelso to soak in his statement. “Becki's resentful, too. She's pissed off you moved her to right, thinks you're favoring Kaycee because she's a vivacious vixen. These women, they got antennae. They don't like being wronged.” He studied his stogie. “Becki didn't like you not spending any time mollifying her like you did Kaycee after moving her to center after promising her third. Becki's allied with Claire, who's allied with Beth, who both hate you no matter what you do or say, and they're just itching for a new reason to hate you even more and get rid of you. I see big trouble ahead.”
“Oh for God's sake,” Kelso cried. “Stop being a doomsday alarmist!”
Marstrulavich pulled on his beer, puffed his cigar. “I watch and listen, Kelso, while you yell and judge. I see things you don't see. These female alliances, they just don't hate men, they can hate each other. Right off you can see Kaycee trying to pull certain girls out of certain alliances over to an alliance she's forming. Divas can't stand not manipulating and eventually controlling. They're not happy unless they're stirring up dissension and...mayhem.”
“Jesus Christ, Stroolo, we just won twelve zip, the girls are celebrating, and you're turning it into the end of the world,” He drained half his beer. “Give it a rest, ey?”
“Go ahead, think what you want,” Marstrulavich said with the air of a man who had “been there” before. “But when things start going bad, and we lose a game or two, and that Kaycee fucks up and you don't discipline and yell at her like you do the rest of the girls, and so far you haven't yelled at her one time, you've catered to her every whim like a temperamental superstar, well. these women'll turn on you with a vengeance even you can't deal with.”
Kelso sighed. They sipped their beers, puffed. Then, just as Kelso prepared to make his case against his assistant coach, Kaycee materialized beside them, Toni behind her, smiling like a person with an impish plan.
“Let's shoot some darts, coach,” she said, grinning. “Some of us are gonna play doubles.”
Kelso glanced at the smirking Marstrulavich puffing his cigar in the back-bar mirror. “Nah, you go ahead.”
“Awh, come on coach.” She made an exaggeratedly disappointed face. “Don't you shoot darts? I bet you're a good shot, the way you play pepper.”
“Not this time.” He puffed his cigar, stared straight ahead.
“Okey-dokey. Maybe next time.”
Right off two men, regulars, joined them in doubles. Kelso drained his beer and they walked across the street to the Sunset, where Stella, radiantly tanned and healthy, abundantly endowed in jeans and midriff blouse, a bow in her hair, sat with a local salesman and gambler named Caruso whom Kelso despised. He and Marstrulavich moved to the opposite end of the bar. Kelso had wanted to call Stella and tell her about his dad, because she adored Ray Kelso and felt him to be the most manly man she'd ever known, and Ray Kelso and wife May adored Stella and felt her to be a quality person of great character who would have made their son an ideal life companion, and yes, wife, even if the woman wanted no kids, only dogs and cats.
The coaches ordered cocktails and Marstrulavich said, “You gonna tell Stella about your dad?”
Kelso shook his head. “Nah, you're the only one's gonna know. I don't need a bunch of embarrassing pity.”
Marstrulavich nodded. When his own father died suddenly of a heart attack when he was thirteen, Ray Kelso, at the funeral, put his arm around Marstrulavich and told him that from this point on, if he ever needed anything he would be there for him as if he was his own son. Tears poured down his cheeks, quite a paradox for a man who engaged in at least one street fight a year and put a member of a notorious motorcycle club in the hospital with a broken sternum and jaw after a traffic altercation in Long Beach while on his delivery route at the age of 58.
“Nobody'll know,” Marstrulavich said, and they clinked glasses. At the other end of the bar, Stella, smoking and sipping Drambuie, never once glanced Kelso's way, and ignored him when she walked past him and exited out the back door with her new man.
Marstrulavich flicked ashes and said, judiciously, “You can probably beat a woman and call 'em everything in the book, but they'll never hate you as much as when you lose interest in 'em in the old sack.”
When the game ended, and everybody shook hands, and they all walked toward the parking area, Kelso caught Spike's stare, which was of grudging respect, and nodded at him. Spike nodded back. Later, in the Tides, the coaches sat near the dartboard and watched the new girls mix with the regulars. Kelso remarked, “They got a new swagger. The new talent has 'em stoked. Look at Kaycee—right in the middle of things. Life of the party. She was never that way with those Murphy's girls. And Toni's in there, too, an experienced jock, a calming influence on and off the field. She's already allying with Monica. A good, contending alliance.”
Marstrulavich frowned. “I think jealousy's already set in.” he said dryly, lighting up one of Kelso's vile victory stogies.
“Bullshit. They only been together one practice, one game.”
“Beth's resentful,” Marstrulavich said with finality, and paused to allow Kelso to soak in his statement. “Becki's resentful, too. She's pissed off you moved her to right, thinks you're favoring Kaycee because she's a vivacious vixen. These women, they got antennae. They don't like being wronged.” He studied his stogie. “Becki didn't like you not spending any time mollifying her like you did Kaycee after moving her to center after promising her third. Becki's allied with Claire, who's allied with Beth, who both hate you no matter what you do or say, and they're just itching for a new reason to hate you even more and get rid of you. I see big trouble ahead.”
“Oh for God's sake,” Kelso cried. “Stop being a doomsday alarmist!”
Marstrulavich pulled on his beer, puffed his cigar. “I watch and listen, Kelso, while you yell and judge. I see things you don't see. These female alliances, they just don't hate men, they can hate each other. Right off you can see Kaycee trying to pull certain girls out of certain alliances over to an alliance she's forming. Divas can't stand not manipulating and eventually controlling. They're not happy unless they're stirring up dissension and...mayhem.”
“Jesus Christ, Stroolo, we just won twelve zip, the girls are celebrating, and you're turning it into the end of the world,” He drained half his beer. “Give it a rest, ey?”
“Go ahead, think what you want,” Marstrulavich said with the air of a man who had “been there” before. “But when things start going bad, and we lose a game or two, and that Kaycee fucks up and you don't discipline and yell at her like you do the rest of the girls, and so far you haven't yelled at her one time, you've catered to her every whim like a temperamental superstar, well. these women'll turn on you with a vengeance even you can't deal with.”
Kelso sighed. They sipped their beers, puffed. Then, just as Kelso prepared to make his case against his assistant coach, Kaycee materialized beside them, Toni behind her, smiling like a person with an impish plan.
“Let's shoot some darts, coach,” she said, grinning. “Some of us are gonna play doubles.”
Kelso glanced at the smirking Marstrulavich puffing his cigar in the back-bar mirror. “Nah, you go ahead.”
“Awh, come on coach.” She made an exaggeratedly disappointed face. “Don't you shoot darts? I bet you're a good shot, the way you play pepper.”
“Not this time.” He puffed his cigar, stared straight ahead.
“Okey-dokey. Maybe next time.”
Right off two men, regulars, joined them in doubles. Kelso drained his beer and they walked across the street to the Sunset, where Stella, radiantly tanned and healthy, abundantly endowed in jeans and midriff blouse, a bow in her hair, sat with a local salesman and gambler named Caruso whom Kelso despised. He and Marstrulavich moved to the opposite end of the bar. Kelso had wanted to call Stella and tell her about his dad, because she adored Ray Kelso and felt him to be the most manly man she'd ever known, and Ray Kelso and wife May adored Stella and felt her to be a quality person of great character who would have made their son an ideal life companion, and yes, wife, even if the woman wanted no kids, only dogs and cats.
The coaches ordered cocktails and Marstrulavich said, “You gonna tell Stella about your dad?”
Kelso shook his head. “Nah, you're the only one's gonna know. I don't need a bunch of embarrassing pity.”
Marstrulavich nodded. When his own father died suddenly of a heart attack when he was thirteen, Ray Kelso, at the funeral, put his arm around Marstrulavich and told him that from this point on, if he ever needed anything he would be there for him as if he was his own son. Tears poured down his cheeks, quite a paradox for a man who engaged in at least one street fight a year and put a member of a notorious motorcycle club in the hospital with a broken sternum and jaw after a traffic altercation in Long Beach while on his delivery route at the age of 58.
“Nobody'll know,” Marstrulavich said, and they clinked glasses. At the other end of the bar, Stella, smoking and sipping Drambuie, never once glanced Kelso's way, and ignored him when she walked past him and exited out the back door with her new man.
Marstrulavich flicked ashes and said, judiciously, “You can probably beat a woman and call 'em everything in the book, but they'll never hate you as much as when you lose interest in 'em in the old sack.”
