1 LOOK N HOOK 2 HERES THE RUB, BUB, YOURE A CUB by J. R.

[b]1 LOOK ‘N HOOK

“Sean, our little league is short a baseball coach. You would be perfect for the job.”

“Yeah? How much does it pay?”

“You know it’s voluntary.”

“Yeah? I’m crazy about you Roxanne, but I know you. You aren’t going to let this be voluntary.”

“Get a life my love. Since you graduated high school, about the only time you get out of the house is with me.”

“Well that’s because I work at home.” As a freshmen Sean designed web pages for some friends. It came naturally to him. It developed into a part-time business, and now a full-time business.

Looking into Sean’s shiny blue eyes, Roxanne moves her hands to his hips and her lips passionately to his soft cheek. “That’s the whole point! Would you want your office to become a jail cell?”

With tongue in cheek, “Betray me with a kiss, would you? I suppose you already gave the athletic director my name and number.”

As Sean sees the embarrassment on Roxanne’s face, he turns his lips toward hers as he wraps his arms around her shapely hips. His tongue penetrates her beckoning mouth in a moment of timelessness. Roxanne gratefully reciprocates as her fingers roam to his eager buns, squeezing his softness.

Sean looks deep into Roxanne’s passionate brown eyes, “OK. OK. OK!”

“OK? You’ll do it!?”

With a sly smirk Sean seductively whispers, “Yes, I’ll do it! Come on upstairs!”

With her charming laughter, “You slime ball. I mean coaching!”

All googly-eyed, “You need coaching? I’ll give you coaching!”

“Stop it!”

2 HERE’S THE RUB, BUB, YOU’RE A CUB

When Sean arrives at the ball field, most of his kids are there already. As soon as he pops the trunk they all come running to him, mobbing him, “Are you our coach? Are you our coach? …”

Bending down on one knee, placing a hand on the shoulders of two boys, making eye contact with each boy individually, “I’m Sean [pronounced Shawn]. And yes, I’m your coach.”

Spontaneously, the boys go into what seems to Sean as some sort of a tribal chant. The volume nearly knocks him over. As he recovers balance, smiling, “Who’s gonna help me with the equipment?”

“Me! Me! Me! …”

“Wow! You’re an energetic bunch.”

Arnie asks, “What’s the name of our team?”

“The Cubs.”

“Ugh. Why didn’t you pick the Padres!?”

Jerry interjects, “No! The Dodgers.”

“I didn’t have a choice. Names and teams were already picked when I came on board.”

Half the kids sadly say, “Oh well.”

By the time they set the equipment up, all twelve boys are present and accounted for. “OK guys, I’m coaching alone, so I need volunteers for captains for today’s practice.”

With hands waving madly, “Me Sean! Me! Me Sean! …”

Picking the three biggest boys, “OK what are your names.”

The huskiest boy, with short brown hair and blue eyes, “I’m Ricky. Rick The Quick!”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The tallest boy, with slender build, a short Afro, and bright brown eyes, “They call me Karim. Accent on the second syllable.”

“I’ll remember that.”

The most athletic looking boy, with bored expression, soft spoken, “Michael.”

“What happened to your enthusiasm of one minute ago?”

“Uh, um…I wanted to be captain. But now that you picked me, I don’t want to.”

Compassionately, “You know Michael, I think you’re gonna be a way cool captain.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, eyes lighting up, “Ya think so!?”

“I definitely think so. You get first pick—were dividing into three squads to play a scrimmage.”

Short, slender Jeff pipes up, “Watsa scrimmage?”

Smiling, “So you’re the team spokesman. A scrimmage is a practice game. I want you to play it like a real game, except for pitching—I want pitchers aiming right down the middle, and no fastballs today. It’s to early in the season to be throwing hard. And no curveballs—never. Your arms aren’t developed enough to be putting that kind of stress on them.” Jose and Michael groan. Others look pleased.

With the three squads picked, “Are you rrready to rrrumble?”

Simultaneously, “Yeah!!!”

“OK. The catcher calls balls and strikes, and foul balls. The pitcher calls outs. Captains manage their respective teams. That frees me to instruct and get to know each of you. Soooo pppplay ball! Ricky, your squad is up first. Karim and Michael, get your guys positioned in the field. You have eight guys, so play with two outfielders.”

Practice goes remarkably well. All the boys are on their best behavior for their new coach, not that they are all impressed with Sean. Fred thinks to himself that Sean must be gay—he’s gentle rather than macho. When Sean approaches him to give him some hitting tips Sean puts his hand on his shoulder. If looks could kill, Fred would be arrested. “Oh, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

With tongue in cheek, “That’s alright.” Sean had already removed his hand and now finishes his perceptive instruction. Fred couldn’t believe that Sean had sensed he was uncomfortable with the touch, worrying that he could read his thoughts as well. Fred feels quite embarrassed, but somehow the eye contact Sean makes with him helps him get over it quickly.

Alex, on the other hand feels completely mesmerized with Sean–his angelic looks: hint-of-green blonde hair blowing freely in the breeze, tantalizing blue eyes, baby face of a movie star, barely noticeable hair on his arms and legs, and a shapely butt, he imagines. Had Alex been born a decade sooner he wouldn’t need to guess. When Sean was a kid, everyone wore tight, short shorts to baseball practice. When playing in the streets, they usually wore a bathing suit and no shirt, most of the summer. And the popular bathing suits were Speedo bikinis*. They felt free as the bees, proud of their boyhood. With the exception of Jeff, these boys wear heavy, baggy shorts seemingly down to their ankles, including Alex. Jeff wears thin polyester shorts, just above the knees.

Alex feels high as a kite when Sean shows him how to reach way back to throw the ball farther. Not settling for a pat on the back, Alex throws himself onto Sean for a big hug. Sean turns slightly to the side, as he wraps his arms around Alex. “Thanks Alex. You’re quite a guy.” Alex feels disappointed that Sean turned to the side, yet deeply appreciates the hug and warm remark.

Watching most of this encounter, Jose thinks to himself, “Impressive. More of these whites should act like Hispanics. This would be a better world. Sean really rocks. I’ll have to kiss him on the cheek when I go for my hug.” Jose is clueless as to Alex’s romantic feelings. Fred, however, spits and swears under his breath.

By the time practice is over, each boy received some coaching from Sean who got to know them individually. Jamie runs to bring the bases in. Twin brothers Arnie and Jerry put the equipment back in the bag. Jose runs to Sean. Sean senses that he’s coming for a hug, squats down, and greets him with open arms. With a smack on the cheek, Sean falls over backwards. The team bursts out laughing and starts piling on top of them. All except three. Steaming with anger that could melt titanium, Fred mutters, “They’re all f—in’ faggots!” His buddy Roy knew how he’d react so didn’t join in, but feels envious of them. And Clyde shyly watches, also with envy.

Sean laughs so hard that it hurts, “If that kiss didn’t kill me, this stampede certainly will!”

The screams and howls intensify. “Help!” Sudden silence. “I can’t breathe!” Who’s talking?

“Oh, Jose. Are you OK? Let’s get off him.”

Jose stumbles to his feet, rubbing his eyes. Jeff cries out, “Jose, can you see?”

“By the dawn’s early light,” Jose adds. Everyone groans; then starts to head out, giving each other high five’s and chest bumps.

No one’s there to pick up Karim, Jeff, or Alex. “I’ll bring you guys home.”

“No, Sean, we’ll wait.”

“I can’t leave you here alone.”

“OK, thanks Sean,” Alex quickly asserts, before Karim says no again.

As Sean drives off, “So where do you guys live?” After each boy responds, “Alex, you’re closest to the field, so you’re first.”

“Shucks Sean, I wanna be last.”

“Can I trust you being alone with me? Jeff you’re only a block from my house, so you’re last. Karim, that makes you the monkey in the middle.”

Offended, “Hey! No fair!”

“No it isn’t. Especially seeing you on the ball field. You set a fine example—no monkey business.”

Happily, “Thanks—except when we piled on top of you!”

Smiling, “Good point. Hey Alex, which of these is your house?”

“The beige one with brown trim.”

“Hey Alex, why the sad face?”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you and appreciate you.”

As Alex opens the door, “This is gonna be a fun year.”

Sean reaches over to squeeze his shoulder, “You bet!”

* The era of bikinis in the street was 1975 to 1985.

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