"Morehead was supposed to be a gimme," scowls Coach Z wielding a fungo bat as cicadas rattle in the afternoon heat of early September. “From now on you’ll practice with intensity!"
"A hit of Beech-Nut aughta keep us going," offers Duke Schneider tearing open a new pouch and passing it down the bleacher.
"You think this is funny?" Coach Z shouts stomping over to home plate. “Get out to your positions and repeat after me, freshmen first: ‘All my life I wanted to be a Cardinal, work hard, work hard’.”
Having what I thought of then as a punitive coach was a new experience for me. One in high school occasionally made us run extra wind sprints after a bad game or lackluster practice, but I was unsure how to respond to a coach who cursed at players and demanded work chants. We freshmen had little choice but to go along with it, either needing to play to keep a scholarship or to earn a spot on the team. The seniors had no such constraints, having played their first two seasons under a different coach. They were starting to have misgivings about a young coach who talked about his own minor league experience as much as the previous season’s games.
First up on the freshman chant list was pitcher Monty Holland, a tall fireballer from southwestern Kentucky. He stuttered out the first line and the rest of us muttered the refrain. Then strong-armed catcher Wally Wojton eagerly blurted out the next and only verse to groans from the seniors as fielding practice commenced. Next up was compact second baseman Steve Keller whose squeaky “Cardinal” drew an equally high pitched response from the upperclassmen. To my relief, Richie Cunningham called it right out from shortstop and then it was time for the outfielders, none of whom were freshmen.
“Sat on the can and ended up a Cardinal,” croaks left fielder Tony Valenti gloving a one hopper and unleashing a rope to Stevie covering second base.
“Work hard, work hard,” we respond with a few chuckles joining the cicada buzz that’s picking up in volume and pitch.
“Called on the wife and came back a Cardinal,” screams Bo-hawks snagging a fly ball hammered to right center and wheeling a throw to me on second.
“Work hard, work hard,” we echo with rising glee to match the locusts surrounding the grass field.
“Choked on my chaw and hacked up a cardinal,” coughs Duke Schneider grabbing a lined shot down the first baseline and whipping it home.
“Work har…”
“Sop right there you assholes!” screams a red-faced Coach Z slamming down his fungo. “Come back tomorrow if you’re really ready to work hard.”
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